on that bench

Un bel giorno, un bel giorno per morire. I sit on one of the benches in the Plaza and watch the shades of humanity fade away. Once, I wondered about the lives of every individual that I noticed. Where would he go after the point where I took notice of him? What was the destination of the woman? Where were those children heading to? How long had that couple been together? How did they meet? So many questions and no answers. Throughout life, one meets countless people – this is not taking into consideration the people one never meets but form the background of humanity in one’s life, i.e., the waiter at the restaurant one knows one will never set foot in ever again.

Everyone is busy living life. And I realized that were I to desire to know the answers to all these questions, I would simply go mad. This is not to say that I am not mad already. So I unnaturally renounced the desire to know. Perhaps renouncing is too strong of a word; I simply evolved.

And as I sit on that green bench, of wood and steel, I wonder again. Somehow I forgot what I once learned: no answers shall come. Then again I am quite comfortable with this now. I prefer to question even if it means that I shall have no clarity.

I am air. I go from one point to another. My body withering away. And I smile and find it all quite curious. What a funny metamorphosis one goes through … dare one say it is all in vain? What I can divine, what registers in my mind is to me, is half-satisfactory. Thus, I keep it to myself, for I am conscious that in this predicament it is best to retain it in me … to prevent the change in phase, into a greater confusion.

The air is chilly. I hear the words that have been said to me from all directions, a multitude of voices have borne these and they, like rivers voraciously making their way to that point where they return to their anything-but-sacharine source. I am that delta where sweet meets bitter, that point that is both sea and land. Alas, the triangle for this is what I imagine a delta to be, is not the basic unit; it only purports to be this to the untrained mind.

So I sit on this bench, imbibing the stimuli from this ephemeral world that my mind chooses to interact with.

I do not know what I am doing in Santa Fe. I can give one answer and one answer only: restoration. And I may try to decode this though I don’t feel a necessity to do this. It is quite simple, it is a word and it has no meaning.

Everything I need is within me, within this mind of mine that rages. The only thing that lies outside of me is his raging. Could there be a more perfect loss?

And now I return to the bench, this green bench where I have forgotten myself. I am sorry. Remember? Oh yes. My thoughts became intwined and I forgot to look back – when one looks inside, one does tend to lose one’s way. It is as complex as answering the question of what is a noun’s relationship to reality; what is its function? All I know is that it has to do with time vis-à-vis that thing that it represents or purportedly represents. Oh what a funny thing this thing is!

But once more, I am to try to engage in this endeavor for the desire to divagate is much too strong.