Carambolages. Paris. No Words.

Carambolages. Grand Palais. Le Dieu tutelaire Samvara et sa paredre Vajravarahi. Tibet. 15th/16th Century. 

Je Suis?

So I try to work out what I think and I try to work out what I feel and I realise I think nothing and feel nothing I could possibly be proud of next year. Or even tomorrow.

And this is what they want.

And I don’t want to do what they want.

They want me to be frightened.

And they want me to act in the way their cartoon versions of me act, to prove themselves right, to prove their vicious circle is actually virtuous.

And I feel myself drawn to doing just that, to acting on rage and hurt: I want to avenge myself on them for their belief that no-one should have a belief different to theirs. I want to impose my tolerance on these people. I want to force them to give up their reliance on force to overcome their uncertainty. I want to destroy their capacity for destruction. I want to be certain my uncertainty is preferable to their certainty.

They mustn’t win. There may be reasons why I don’t do what they do, think the way they think, it may be so much easier for me. But they mustn’t win.

So what I think I’m thinking right now is that there’s actually something greater than them or me or you or what you think and do or I think and do or what they think and do. Not God or Allah, not some greater super-someone, but a greater something. A courageous something that unites. A strong something that protects both its own and those not its own. A kind something that teaches and hugs and desires. A joyous something that laughs and mocks itself and sees its own holy ridiculousness, that kisses and cries and eats and drinks and sings and dances. A childlike something that wonders and wanders and stares and digs around for truth. A liberated something that is free to say what it wants, free to fail, often, and not mind. An organic something that’s blood and soul and flesh and thought and emotion, that lives and dies and lives again.

And I think I’m thinking maybe first I have to calm my own rage, see my own blindness. Maybe I have to acknowledge my own greatness, celebrate my own spirit. Maybe I have to acknowledge and celebrate theirs and yours. Maybe I have to try a lot harder to believe we can all change.

I think I think – and I might be completely wrong – that it’s not all impossible; I think I think that tomorrow – right now – we could each open ourselves up to the elusive something a little more. And be a little closer to not ever giving them what they think they want.