Because a life unexamined is lived without intention.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Recently I've read several blogs--hmmmmm....perhaps I should qualify that as "blog-operas," that have left some interesting questions floating about. The topic at hand? Reality.
Tangible, tasteable, pungent reality.
Scene One: The Offense. Random musings, memories or opinions that apparently clash with another's such stuff.
Scene Two: The Comment. Sarcasm and contempt; snarkiness penned and then keyed and sent through the virtual mist.
Scene Three: DRAMA. So the comment is commented upon and then the favor is returned and there is deletion and right on cue, enter another post guised as a ravishing rant spouting fountains about truth and reality...
Truth? Reality? Exactly how do we define such concepts in this vague and anonymous dimension? Glowing text on a blackened screen stares blankly at me. No face, no warmth, no pulse. Who's there....on the other side of this electric box that keeps me company in the night?
How do I know you're real? That your children are more than figments of a detailed imagination? That the attractive face on your profile isn't a download from freepix.com? And the poetry you post really isn't stolen from the journal of an ancient Aunt, long passed from this life? How do I know?
It's strange...this intangible world of words. One might assume it to be harmless, yet it evidences not. You need only to read the pained and angry sentiments glaring on the screen to catch the fragrance of raw human emotion. How does a total stranger hurt us with their unattached perspective on our lives? How do we open ourselves--at times with intimacy so deep and bloody, the gelatinous marrow of our souls pasted up for complete strangers to stumble upon and dissect.
What drives the dissected....what drives the dissector? Loneliness? Power? The need to be heard? Do we seek virtual relationships that are decidedly two dimensional, to escape the messy 3-D ones that leave endless cracker crumbs in our beds? Our lives....our minds?
This is so clean.
Or is it?
The iron tang of betrayal is found on some screens, generous support and warmth on others. Outrage and justification, hope and hilarity. Loquacious dialog, patronizing prose...romance and treachery, beauty and lust. If you could distill a human soul, remove it from the body with no physical manifestation at all, perhaps we'd find ourselves here, with a blinking cursor and a blank screen.
If our lives were nothing more than a compilation of our writing--comments and questions and stories; memories, dreams....fears. What would your novel be titled? Would your neighbors recognize it? Your spouse...your children?
Those that know the "real" you.
Blogland is amazing. It's taught me much about myself. Honesty about why I write....what I discover in these connections, how I've come to quite literally care about people that I'm not certain even exist.
I think I've found it has more to do with me....than you.