September 10, 2003

“There is no there there…” There isn’t anything there – there isn’t anything anywhere, but somehow, everything is. As I breathe through the moments and live my life, I am making an infinite series of decisions, yet I am aware of so few of them. I am making an infinite number of observations, thoughts, words crafted in my head – yet so few of them are ever preserved to become any part of anything more meaningful than drive alone. Pattern, routine, rut… How does it all benefit us? How do we ever reach a point where we are able to break free, to live for the moments alone, and to be a part of Arcadia – a part of what life really should be. I think that in some way, I find the model for life to be in Arcadia, yet there’s no way I can ever find that meaning, purpose, model – whatever it really is – in my own life, because I don’t think there can ever be a true definition of Arcadia, and, above all – there is no way of finding Arcadia. I suppose that to some degree, there is that sense of somehow being able to reach the land of Arcadia – the place that’s one (or the infinite) step beyond utopia; yet I still believe that if I ever were indeed to reach that place, I would never know it; or, if I ever knew it – I would not truly be in Arcadia, because yes, the very definition of Arcadia is that it is in defiance and it does defy order. Thus, I am left with a situation where I am uncertain that I will ever find anything, and the knowledge that if I do, I won’t know about it. Yet the perfect thing about believing in Arcadia is the knowledge that it won’t matter when we get there. In all realities, Arcadia could be death – the oblivion you spoke of, because perhaps at that point there isn’t any definition of anything at all; there really isn’t anything at all… There’s just that nothingness, so perhaps Thomasina did reach Arcadia with death. The thing is, though, even though there is comfort in knowing that there has to be some path somewhere that the lucky ones will step onto, I still wish that there were a way in which we could live out our lives in Arcadia now. It’s as if maybe that perfection -- the modified definition of perfection, of course – the perfection that is the lack of meaning and the living for living – maybe that perfection is something that we will one day reach. Of course, in our world, we’ll never know it. There’ll always be something that’s driving disgust, distaste, dissatisfaction – and why should there be? Why are we placed in a world where there is this seemingly programmed function for unhappiness? And here, perhaps, I open another question with no answer, another question that the generations of time have pondered – why is there evil? All I can think of right now as an answer that has been offered us is that apple in the Garden of Eden, but as much as I feel slightly sacrilegious to say this, I don’t believe that. Maybe I believe in the philosophy of it, though; in the idea that there’s always a temptation.

I don’t know. I think maybe we need these questions, maybe we as a species can’t understand what we are in, because maybe, just maybe – understanding would ruin it. I’ve decided that as much as I’d love to in so many circumstances, we can never stop time – nor can we go back to the past, because doing either of these tasks would ruin the beauty of the moments. If we stopped time, the moment would cease to exist as exemplary; if we went back in time to relieve memories and our favorite days, those times would be ruined by realization of things that maybe weren’t so wonderful, because yes, our memories are distorted by us, and we don’t remember the imperfections. As a matter of fact, we know we didn’t appreciate those moments then as much as we do now, but if we were reliving those times, the knowledge that they were beauty would probably put more stress on us not to ruin them, and even to enjoy them further than we maybe already had, and the desire to reach perfection would ruin it (just as the desire to be in Arcadia blocks the entrance to Arcadia). So maybe all these questions make it better for me in some way. Maybe by searching for the answers in life, I’m always going to be looking for the beauty, for the meaning, and then somehow, I’ll always find it. I’ll always know in some small way that there’s something good about what I’m doing, because there has to be, and I’ll always find it. You’re right – it is the quest, it is the journey… because there is no destination. As Alan Watts said, we’re never going to know the end of our lives when it comes. Death is nothingness, so we might as well just enjoy it now, because there probably is no answer. The questions will go on forever, until infinity, and it’s probably just questioning, and the thinking about it, that matters. Maybe the meaning of life is merely to love it, and to wonder about it. If I can believe that’s the case, then maybe I can believe I’m doing something right – and that a lot of people are doing something right. And that alone makes the world a lot more beautiful than it was a few minutes ago. I’m thinking of Thoreau again, “Olympus is but the edge of the earth every where. The hard part is realizing it,” and I think our Olympus is happiness… happiness is everywhere, and it’s hard to find some answers to our questions, but the solutions that I find only make it better. When I delve farther into curiosity about the world and myself, and I become so much more disillusioned with so many things, I have to at the same time try to determine what I would wish the world to be, and by doing so, I’m able to pick out a few things that at least somebody’s doing right. And that’s how to be happy… that’s how to live.