by Jordan Bates
There’s a certain feeling—a feeling that’s also kind of an experience and an idea and a way of seeing. This feeling is central to my perspective and my shifting identity, my perpetual becoming. And I always want to articulate it, but I can never seem to find the necessary words.
Everything is happening. This is all actually here.
That almost gets at it. I mean, it works for me. Contains the meaning I wish to convey. I could say it that way and it could be that simple … if language weren’t so subjective and flat and insufficient.
The problem is that most people would read those eight words and see something banal or uninspired or even meaningless and would move on to another something in milliseconds.
When really I suspect that those eight words constitute the most astounding and un-process-able and soul-shivering and speechlessness-inducing fact, when seen from a certain non-default perspective—an almost out-of-body, all-encompassing perspective, the perspective of an infant or a god, a perspective which, as Emerson wrote, “see[s] the miraculous in the common.”
But the only people who would read those words and feel The Fact in that way are the ones who are already in on the secret, the un-swallow-able monolith of a truth—that this is all really existing right now.