(yanked from somewhere and edited for my own purposes and amusement)
There is a chasm between the lives we lead, and the lives we wish we led.
This world, the so-called “real world,” is just a front. Pull back the curtain and you’ll see the libraries are all filled with runaways writing novels, the highways are humming with escapees and sympathizers, all the receptionists and sensible mothers are straining at the leash for a chance to show how alive they still are. . . and all that talk of being practical and responsible and dependable and all sorts of other words ending in "ible" is just threats and bluffing to keep us from reaching out our hands and placing them around the neck of that heaven in reach before us.
You can taste it in the shock and roar of a first, unexpected kiss, or in the blood in your mouth that instant after an accident when you realize you’re still alive. It blows in the wind you feel on the rooftops of a really reckless night of adventure. You hear it in the magic of your favorite songs, how they lift and transport you in ways that no science or psychology or magic could ever account for. It might be you’ve seen evidence of it scratched into bathroom walls in a code without a key, or you’ve been able to make out a pale reflection of it in the prechewed and tasteless plots of movies they make to keep us entertained. It’s in between the words when we speak of our desires and aspirations, still lurking somewhere beneath the limitations of being “practical” and “realistic.”
When radicals stay up until sunrise, wracking their brains for the perfect sequence of words or deeds to fill hearts (or cities) with fire, they’re trying to find a hidden entrance to it. When children escape out the window to go wandering late at night, or freedom fighters search for a weakness in government fortifications, they’re trying to sneak into it—for they know better than us where those doors are hidden. It's in sadness that we as adults lose those forgotten ways. When teenagers vandalize a billboard to provoke all-night chases with the police, or anarchists interrupt an orderly demonstration to smash the windows of a corporate chain store, they’re trying to storm its gates.
There are those who live in those places that we can only visit. Poets and artists and madmen who venture out to the edge and beyond. The art that speaks to us of love and wonders undiscovered is their message back to us. Sometimes they come back. More often they are lost there forever, and can only provide us hints and clues of how to find them if we only dare to try.
When you’re making love and you discover a new sensation or region of your lover’s body, and the two of you feel like explorers discovering a new part of the world on a par with a desert oasis or the coast of an unknown continent, as if you are the first ones to reach the north pole or the moon, you are charting its frontiers.
( It's not a safer place....Collapse )