They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. In stating as much, they omit the fact that the absent heart may be neither fond nor profound. Hence in many cases I suspect it is but momentarily vacant. Such is the explanation for my period of absentia from blogging.
With that stated, my return to writing is an exercise in conflict. Specifically, in the aftermath of the November election, I've been in search of vision...the ability to see beyond my own malaise in order to capture the essence of the existential angst that envelopes my own psyche and leads me to conclude that all is not well in the evolving identity we define as the human condition.
In order to offer insightful observations on this or any other subject, I frequently travel the only path I've found fertile enough to germinate a glimmer of advancing awareness...isolation. You see, I'm convinced that the momentum of our fundamentally mundane and mechanical morass is the very means by which we find ourselves disconnected from that which can keep us traveling towards a more meaningful and noble destination...a more perfect humanity and the sustaining spirit that would invariably accompany it.
The election of Barack Obama, on its surface, incites hope, which is as it should be. On the other hand, the circumstances that led a majority of Americans to effect his election require a more thorough examination...one that respects, retains, and relies upon the missing elements alluded to above...that being both the curiosity and the cynicism necessary to move us forward while simultaneously forcing us to question the prudence of our precarious path...the one we've traveled to get here as well as the one we're still walking.
Let me be clear. In stating my clearly cautionary pessimism, it should not be construed as an indictment of our newly elected president or his aspirations for our advancement, which he so artfully outlined during an inspirational campaign.
Notwithstanding, in light of our unprecedented economic uncertainty, I suspect we are a society and a world in the throes of an inevitable sea change...the kind that history so aptly tells us has the potential to signal the death knell of an antiquated "ism" or to embolden the emergence of one that has not yet been defined. At the same time, history also tells us that the gravity of these tipping point events is rarely identified at the time of arrival.
For the seeker...a moniker to which I aspire (redundant and ironic)...travails and time are intertwined in an effort to envision what exists around the bend while lacking tangible evidence. It's the equivalent of reading a book and predicting the ending without having read the intervening chapters...a feat that defies logical construction yet one that is achieved and that is frequently recorded by historians as the astute observations of a visionary...all of which illuminates the unfortunate predicament of the seeker.
The seeker assumes the role of a prism...demonstrating a willingness to see what went before, endeavoring to receive it as real while hoping to tease essence out of its obviousness in order to emit something that is more than the sum of its observable parts...only to be defined as an instrument of distortion...despite the fact that the vision that the prism (the seeker) emits is wholly constructed from reality...though ordered in ways that defy convention and incite accusations of engaging in acts of incantation or pessimistic prognostications.
I'm reminded of one of my favorite expressions, "Everything's shit...until it isn't". The prism realizes that the reverse is equally profound, "Nothing's shit...until it is". Those who are able to ascertain these moments of transformation are met with ire in the here and now...and then...at some point in the distant future...the still blind byproducts of humanity's persistent progeny proclaim the prescience of the prism...and history's equation remains intact.
Unfortunately, the seeker rarely has the satisfaction of witnessing the affirmation of his or her hypothesis. Death has long since consumed what remained of his or her human form. As such, all that is the tragic nature of the human condition is affirmed in a legacy of legitimacy never lived...though dutifully recorded years hence by virtual stone tablet statisticians in a surreal semiconductor society.
The heart stirs...though the circuitous circumlocution of the human condition remains elusive. A bend approaches...the seeker seeks.