Look Up

I've learned a lot of things this year, and one of them is that words lie. Art is merely an expression of the essence and truths of our beings and the closer it comes to resembling the original feelings, the more beautiful it turns out to be. But it's important that we don't let expressions of art replace what's actually in our hearts -- just because nothing can actually capture that, so we must live to manifest it all.

Literally and less importantly, I write a lot, and even when I don't weave any lies or stories, I feel dishonest because of the notion that I can't capture myself in art. But as long as I keep in mind that I'm not exactly anything definable, I think it's totally valid. That said, I wrote this on an index card today ...

I contemplate death a lot. On sunny days I drive to the cemetery and sunbathe at the top of the hill, surrounded by tombs and gravestones, and I think about how each memorial is meant to honor a real person. How each one represents a life of ecstasy, agony, and love that at one time changed the world. How every person means something to somebody else.

Then I go to a concert, the mall, a school assembly, and see all the people -- talking, touching, hurting, living -- and I wonder why so few of us fail to consummate how meaningfully beautiful these peoples' lives are now.

"Are you in love with her?"

"No ... I'm in love with you. And I'm in love with your beautiful woman. And I'm in love with your kids. And I'm even in love with your unborn child. I'm even in love with your anger! I'm in love with anything that lives!"

[In America]

posted by Allison Francis @ 5:30 PM