I sit here, on this Sunday night, barely noticing the closing ceremonies of the 2014 Winter Olympics, my mind filled with endless questions, endless ideas, and a single, staggering truth.
I’ve wanted to jump for joy, laugh, run around like a little boy, and tell everyone what I’ve figured out. But I haven’t. And I won’t. For I have learned other truths. One of which prevents me from telling what I’ve learned. “No matter how many times I explain it. No matter how many words I use. No matter how many pictures I draw. No one that does not already know will ever understand.”
People believe what they decide to believe. It’s a harsh truth. Not a universal truth. I’m not sure any longer there is such a thing as a universal truth. Except perhaps for one. All things end. But I digress. People do, in fact, decide what they believe.
I find it disturbing how many people have decided, and believe, that the things of the world they do not like, do not understand, or fear, are the things that are wrong. Are the things that are sins. Are the things that are evil. It disturbs me to have learned this. It disturbs me to know I struggle with this truth in my life, my existence.
Perhaps it is natural to fear, distrust, and perhaps even hate, that which is unknown. Perhaps it is the unknown that reminds of us things in the corners of a room, in the dark, waiting to pounce on us. Perhaps these are the monsters under the bed. The demons in the closet. The devils in the dark.
I sit here tonight, wishing there were words I could say, words I could write, to capture the truth I’ve come to grasp today. I struggle with this, knowing I will never find a way. And even if I could, it would not matter. For the people I would share this with. The people most in need of hearing it. Of learning it. Would never understand.
They would, instead, relegate me to the ranks of the evil ones. The demons. The nightmares. The eradicated. The forgotten. The ignored. From that day forward, I would be the sad memory of the one that fell from grace.
I know this. For there are people I knew just a few short years ago, who view me this way. The sad story of the successful person, with the great career, that crashed and burned, and destroyed it all. It was such a sad thing for them to see.
The gulf between how I see things, how I believe, how I feel, and them, has grown with each day that has passed, until now, it exceeds the vastness of the space between the stars, and galaxies. I could no more talk with them than they could talk with me. Our words, worlds, and ways have fallen into parallel universes. Right next to each other. Unable to detect the others presence at all.
It saddens me to think of this. I would say to them, “It is only pain. It is only fear. It is only change. What are you afraid of? Why do you hide? Why do you run?” If there were some way I could.
There is not.
I write. You’ve doubtless noticed I write. It’s one of those things I’ve learned I must do. It’s part of me. Part of who I am. As a body breathes. As blood flows. As hearts beat. As children are born, grow old, and pass beyond the veil. I write. I can’t be any other way. The stories are endless. In my thoughts. My dreams. More than I can ever put on paper.
The stories never end.
I sit here tonight. Knowing I can never find a way to share the truth I’ve learned today. Knowing it would be pointless to even try. Knowing instead, all I can do is write. Stories. And perhaps. Maybe. Someone. Somewhere. Will be drawn by those words, by those tales, into a world they never knew was there.
And start their own journey to find the truths I seek. Knowing they could never explain them to anyone. For a very few would understand already. And the rest exist in a parallel universe. Right there. You can see them. They are real. But they rest an entire universe away.
How can I ever explain what can’t be explained? How can anyone?