• Travis Ryan

Lessons from Light

Can the color continue,?

Is it an issue?

When I’m with you, to feel the waves crashing off the pencil.

As I scribble.

The lights above the bed decide flicked and dim too

I feel the wild connective nature of my mind being opened into a perspective that it was undoubtedly made for to begin with. How the strings and random pathways that allegedly connect everything in this beautiful and listless environment, with forces beyond comprehension, tangle together, exposing their random nature is far from just a luck of the draw choice after all.

Is this creation?

Is this amazing?

Is all of this conjecture?

Interesting how these days laced with the summer’s daze and evening haze, don’t even make it onto the page before they are answered, leaving the question mark at the end of the line, no longer attached to the extended inquiry, lonely and curious about its own bent existence. It’s odd, to see the gifts the path has laid, upon its flashy change of game and rhinestone riddled “fate” with some persistence.

The click from a lighter is very reminiscent to the sound a record makes when the needle slips, as it glides over wax, each press sounding different. Maybe that’s the intention. Behind smoking and getting twisted. We’re all “unique” but dying to fit in causes tension. And in a desperate attempt to right the wrongs sometimes we turn to new wrongs for that mission.

Should I go back?

Is there even a back to go to?

These answers follow the same instantaneous schedule as it’s predecessors. More unemployed question marks, standing on the corner waiting patiently for any new lines of inquiry regardless of how small holding cardboard signs reading “will work for food?”. Staring at the endless lines of cars speeding by to their certain destination. We don’t need these relics of punctuation, they become obselete in the oppressive heat that comes with a summer rolling in. always knowing that the answers are within, never far off.

Lights, they always seem to flash in the periferal of your eyesight right up until the point where you actually look right at them.

That’s life sometimes.

This is the opposite type of situation, the lights flash in front of you, only for as long as you’re willing to be present to their show of electric force. And as soon as you start trying to look around and determine the source of this beautiful luminous performance that’s sharing it’s presence with you, it floats away and you’re left with darkness and a feeling of discomfort and slight self hatred for curiosity killing the metaphorical cat.

Sometimes these jobless, resource sucking question marks (if that is really their name) are more of a drain on the present experience than the merchants of new informations they pretend to be. The very agents that have tasked themselves with bringing the pertinent facts forward, can become a roadblock so large and anxiety provoking that you can no longer see the intended truth or facts anymore. Focusing on the “hows” can sometimes obscure the “what” of the situation. Sometimes less information is the necessary ingredient in fully appreciating an experience.

We would all rather ride a rollercoaster, blissfully ignorant of what makes this machine run, or “safe” most of the time, then to take a 40 hour class on the physics, and material structure necessary to build this “amusement park ride”. The magic show of life much more fullfilling if you stay locked into the shiny center of the light show, instead of the darkness around it.

This should’ve been a revolutionary discovery on my part. Should have been a life changing development. But just sat there, being exactly what it was built to be, as did I, as I watched another moth slam its body weight into the hot lightbulb over and over until it lay motionless on the ground, blissful and dead, never having figured out the source of the light within.

So easy an insect has mastered it. Yet so hard that it cuts to the core of personal “courage” and “strength”. The scientific method seems less scientific when blinded by these jagged shards of light that remain.

Eyes on the prize, always eyes on the prize

“insert propaganda here” “writer” “human”

Travis Ryan


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