The Creative Clipboard of Epic Impermanence
- “There must be something more…”
-Plastic - “Her eyes were glowing wildly…”
-Chronicles of Ham - “You, human child, are a tree…”
-Confessions of a Maybe Palm Tree
““There must be something more”, I tell myself. Those spoken words are a reassuring wave of comfort, a hand that pulls me from the grave within which I have been resting. What is that something more? I have nearly exhausted all possible hypotheses through an extensive experiment of trial and error. I believed once that engaging in a revolt against the system to which I belonged was the road to enlightenment. It wasn’t. Many hours spent alone within the confines of a cell, and a white padded cubicle, and an institution designed for the treatment of mental disease are the societal consequences of my rebellious behavior. However degrading, lonely, spiritually devastating these real experiences proved to be, they are perhaps to what I owe my relentless inquiry into the nature of existence. Having been stripped of ‘freedom’, self-will, and all material possessions in those isolated instances of incarceration and institutionalization, I had only myself and my thoughts. For some, this would have led to an endless rampage of anger and thus further civil intervention. For others it would have meant a permanent installation of irrevocable nightmarish fear and subsequent submission to the demands of daily life. For me, it spawned a euphoric understanding of myself in relation to my environment. I survived, and was better for it.
-From ‘Plastic’
Her eyes were glowing wildly like the embers of a campfire on a winter solstice night. She had no memory past or present that could account for her entrapment, no recollection of any moment which immediately preceded her current circumstance. She knew only that which the moonlight had afforded her; the words of the apparition before her were a source of salvation for the weary girl. After a deep breath and a moment of silent prayer, she sacrificed herself to the will of the daunting voice echoing mysteriously throughout the depths of the chamber. She brought her wrist to her mouth, and while tears of desperation poured from her eyes, she hesitated, waiting for a monumental interruption that would save her from what she was about to do. The moment never arrived, and so she closed her brown eyes, and with her teeth, tore at the skin from her delicate wrist, shredding the fibers of her arm, leaving a gaping hole of exposed flesh. She screamed in pain, and when the taste of blood began to irritate the sensitivity of her famished stomach, she released her mangled arm from the grips of her mouth and fell heavily upon the floor.
From ‘Twenty-Something: The Chronicles of Ham’
“You, human child, are a tree. Some days you think of yourself a wilted stem in a broken pot, without proper water, suffocating and dry, hungry and dying. Other days your mind is aligned with the truth of your presence and you are as I, tall and free, the boundaries that once seemed to hold you dissolve in your own radiance and you are fearlessly love. Which do you choose to be, human child? Do you wish to grow outwards, expanding your selfish influences across shaky grounds, collecting and conserving for the benefit of your useless fears? Or will you choose to grow upwards and beyond what is shallow and immediately satiating, will you coil your roots down into the meaningful depths of understanding and will you reach your mind to occupy the space where thoughts are lit by the same force that awakened the stars? Will you cling to your greedy expectations or will you simply be? Life will not give you anything: what is meaningful are those lessons that awaken within you that which you already know. You are a tree as I am a human, the word is irrelevant and the form is no matter because the love is the same.”
-From ‘Confessions of a Maybe Palm Tree’
© 2009 Rasham Writes - The Work of Rasham Nassar
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