The goal in Life is to survive. This comes in many different forms. And then once that has been accomplished, if it’s accomplished, the goal is to enjoy the journey called Life. So it seems strange that someone would choose instead to spend time isolated, indoors, in cool, grey spaces, invoking a sort of eternal, manmade winter when all the outdoor sunshine is radiating benevolently (or does it burn?) upon the roses and grasses and mountains and muddy plains and hues of skin, ranging from pale purple-veined-transluscent to deep brown-obsidian; one is essentially ignoring life by staying inside, choosing to instead create things about life, in a weird imitation that tries to transcend and sometimes succeeds and sometimes does not. And these things created, they don’t offer answers. They just ask more questions.
Why not just simply live Life instead? Enjoy the moment. Go outside, and savor it.
Because it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair.
Sometimes it’s more fair. Sometimes it’s less fair. It is unbalanced.
How many times have we heard it? Life isn’t fair. But how many times have we heard it? There are staggering gaps in the game called Life.
Not every child survives childhood.
Not every brilliant mind is acknowledged.
Not every mouth is given enough food.
Not every girl is given freedom to choose who she marries.
Not every boy can refuse going to war.
Not every person is afforded the love he or she wants validated.
Not every person is afforded the same safety walking down an ordinary, seemingly benign street.
Not every people is able to gaze on their past, because it has been destroyed.
No one is afforded the same home, the same education, the same body, the same brain, the same opportunities. And some of these things are more advantageous than others, because they are more advantageous when it comes to surviving and when it comes to enjoying. When one thinks about this unfairness, when one actually thinks about it…
“Heck, that’s old!”
“Thinking about it, noticing it, is new. You do things and don’t watch. Then all of a sudden you look and see what you’re doing and it’s the first time, really.” (Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine)
…a penetrating sadness sets into the soul, one that cannot ever be lifted, one that sticks like a leech and that will slowly drain away all the essence, if one is not careful, because once realized, it is enlightenment, and it cannot be unseen. But,
if acknowledged when necessary and fed ever so often, and fed healthfully and mindfully, it will instead initiate a symbiosis between it and the thing called living. This nourishes the creating.
When you’re given the chance to live, you should take it. But what if you’re not? What, then?
“Where there is life, there is hope.” -Jules Verne
What if there’s only death? What if there’s only war? Only bloodshed? Only bullets? Only hatred? Only crumbling ruins and desecrated grounds? Then the hope leaves, for a bit.
Art helps resuscitate the hope. Resuscitate: revive from apparent death. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed. And Art not only resuscitates hope for the artist, but for the patron. For the seer, the listener, the feeler, the wanter, the hopeless… Because Art is suspended in the space between living and not living, between the gaps, where the unfairness exists.
Some may write it off as being sentimental.
To be human. To be an artist. To create. To think. To philosophize. To operate. To heal. To mother. To father. To help. To teach. To feed. To survive.
The goal in Life is to survive. This comes in many different forms.