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TWENTYSOMETHING by Ishi Dinim
The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both.
-- James A. Michener
Life is filled with uncertainty. If anyone out there thought I was dead, you're not alone. I thought I was too. The last few months have made me feel like curling up in a ball, and for a lot of the time that's what I did. My body had finally given up on me, telling me not so subtly, "enough". My curiosity at wondering how much I could take has evaporated into knowing how fragile things actually are. In a world that is becoming more synthetic and fantasy driven, grasping what life is about becomes confusing, intangible. I know that I will die because nature always wins, but I'm now not convinced that's going to happen just yet.
I consider myself a very decisive person. Not knowing what was happening to me, or the "right" course of action to take, really became frustrating. Coming from an exceptionally active and laborious half year of life experience then screeching to a halt into a limping hibernation. Imagine a brilliant wild cheetah transforming into a mangy sloth with mild Ebola. I had to stop withering. There was sleep to catch up on and some serious time to dwell.
Then the rain came, relentlessly, a month it pelted, feeding a meandering river. Muddy, it became swollen, depression seeping into a cracked foundation. I must leave my apartment. How many days has it been?
When you feel like a ghost in your life, there comes a shift, an immediacy forcing you to appreciate the gravity of each situation. You could be blown away from all this so effortlessly. The details count in a different way, fleeting and precious. Standing in line at the grocery I smiled at the little things: kids, peoples' mannerisms, my own wounds. Merino wool really is a gracious gift for them critters to share with us. Very good soups got me back some equilibrium. I accepted not knowing what to do to fix my perceived disaster. I was determined to do less, there wasn't much I was capable of if I'd wanted to. By just relaxing, came a time for contemplation. It was as if the world in all its ugliness and beauty revealed itself in more "real" terms. A gift, in the form of Vonnegut's A Man Without a Country, found its way to me and it all seemed a bit more bearable after that. My own significance, which seemed immense and fraught with pettiness, fit in perspective to a larger picture. This struggle of being human is what it is, and sometimes it's not a hell of a lot of fun.
Basically there is some good news, I don't think I'm dead yet. Though I highly advise pinching oneself every once in a while just to check. There is some great stuff to do if you're still here.
Ishi graduated from Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design in 2001, with a BFA major in photography. He makes films, collects cacti, and ponders many things. Currently he is trying to figure out what to do with the rest his life. contactishi@yahoo.ca waiting to hear echoes back.
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