Monday, February 14, 2005

introspection on extroversion

When I'm with others, my mind now stops. I sink into a role, becoming just that, and for that moment, all is well. All is as it should be.

At this moment, I am alone, and my mind is no longer at ease. Is that 'me' that they see even real? It's definitely a part of me, a part worth exploring, but what happens when I've unlocked its secrets? Will I abandon them for myself? Have I done this before?

The people around me right now are talking to eachother. They're discussing the stupidest shit imaginable, throwing in quotes from movies, and discussing the relevance of those quotes. Their words aren't important, and if I were to write out the dialog, all that they're really saying would be lost. I won't write what my ears hear them say, but instead what my mind hears:
"I want to share with you this much truth about myself.
I want you to see me this way.
Being with you here, right now, has meaning to me."

I'm under the impression that most see life as a series of such moments, with gaps in between that aren't worth mentioning. They live lives of community - experiencing, growing, sharing, and dying. All of this in terms of each other; everything happens to a member of a group. When I die, will those who knew me gather around to proclaim what I meant to each of them? Is that what I am, or am I something that's my own? Something real.

When you look at me, do you see me as a friend, acquaintance, relative, lover, or artist, or do you see me? When you hold my hand, are you wondering what kind of father I'll be? When you read these words, are you wondering what effect they'd have on others? Am I being measured by what I have or haven't put my hand to? Can you instead search my eyes, words, and deeds and find me within them - something that has no expression or external relevance, the only image of truth in myself that I've ever known. The only thing I can touch and be sure of.