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"Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night."
-William Blake
"Some are born to sweet delight; some are born to endless night." That speaks so true to me. Sometimes I feel as though there is a universal dichotomy, of those who are happy, and those who are sad. I feel that some are born to simply live a miserable and painful existence, while others are born to a blissful and happy existence—and there is nothing that anyone can do to change their fate.
However, at times I am filled with a strange uplift; I feel as if all time were echoing through me, as though all powers were mine. My vision becomes clear and far, and I feel as though I can change my fate—that I can experience the joy of living—that I can taste the exultation of life—that I may become filled with the effervescence of existence.
But, the inspiration fades; the champagne goes flat. The muscles in my body cease to move, my mind is fed upon by carrion. The effervescence of life filters from my skin. And my blood—that sparkled like so many rubies and diamonds—loses its luster.
I cannot decide what I should do over this long weekend—should I stay here, where I will go for consecutive days without human interaction, and fade slowly, softly, quietly into insanity; or, should I drive eight hours to stay with my Dad, when I may or may not be just as agitated and confused as I would have been if I had stayed here, but will have to spend more money, drive for such a long time, and deal with the aggravating task of dealing with people.
Lately, I have felt as though my mind is on the verge of grasping some great enlightenment about the world. I stand at the top of a walkway that passes over a busy road, and for hours watch the river of cars and faces flow beneath me; I can sense a great knowledge and wisdom lurking there—floating in the air, above the streaming roadway—but it is just outside of my grasp of understanding. I know I can someday gain this knowledge. Even right now—at this very moment—I feel as though my mind is trying to grasp something. And when my mind finally understands, I will be a God, and know every detail of the world and the universe.
But looming just behind this great zenith of understanding, awaits a doom, a sadness, a failure—my downfall. You see, at times, my mind’s hold on reality is precarious, hanging by such a delicate thread; and it’s all I can do just to lay down outside on the grass in some unknown area, and let the fluster and discomfiture pass out of my mind. However, sometimes it can take days to pass. During these spells of agitation, my mind get muddled, my senses are either dulled or intensely aggravated—I can’t tell which—and it’s impossible to think clearly. It’s hard to read, I write in non sequiturs, I can hardly speak; I understand what it is to be absolutely nothing, and I can embrace all of humanity, taking their pain as my burden, since it would be nothing compared to the pain that afflicts my mind and body.
I want to forget the world—escape from it, pretend it doesn’t even exist. But the world is there. And sooner or later it is going to come up and punch me in the face. So I might as well start thinking about it now. What do I think about the world?
