Who are you?
I am me.
Yes, but who is, me?
I am a man. A member of the species. The Human race. I am known by many identities. I am sometimes called, He. Sometimes by a designated, formal label which identifies me from cradle to grave. I am that person, so called – and many other labels which I have accumulated over the years since I first became conscious of my existence, Me.
I am primarily referred to by that official identifier, name, moniker or handle or combinations and variations thereof. At other times I am assigned, or pick up labels, by those who alike, hate, respect, despise or even fear me. This chest full of labels has been given to me by strangers, friends, foes and family alike. Respectfully and grudgingly by one or the other. I bear them with pride, one and all.
Yes, but which of those are you?
I am, one and all. Sometimes together. And at other times separately. I am never really one without the other. I have identities because I have roles and responsibilities. Hopes and dreams. Fears. Aspirations. Loathings. Desires. Expectations. Sometimes a hard shell. At other times glaring weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Together these all serve the purpose of identifying and defining who I am. Some can be dispensed with when they no longer serve any purpose. Once the role has been practiced and enacted resumption can be undertaken as easily as changing a coat or removing the morning makeup of presentativity. Nothing but cloaks which are worn and discarded as necessary. No more, no less. I am who I have always been.
And who is that?
I can tell you that I am but mere nothingness being blown here and there across the vast expanse of interstellar space. Currently, I seem to be perched atop this apparently huge speck of dust which appears to be teeming with a variety of life forms. Fascinating to stop and study the surface appearance of seemingly random activity all around.
Observation shows that sense can be made of such chaos. The hidden patterns which are to be uncovered and examined open up a broad spectrum of other possibilities to be pursued, even amidst all the hustle and bustle of pressing priorities or entrancements …..
And, what does that make you?
What I have always been – nothing in the grand scheme of things. And, apparently, I am not going to learn anything new from you. You offer nor show me no reason to continue wasting my precious few remaining moments explaining the inexplicable to you while we hurtle through space and time on this piece of galaxian flotsam.
See, that makes me impatient and arrogant. And that is another of those cloaks which I have picked up over time and slip into when the situation warrants its protection.
And how does that make you feel?
Is it suppose to make me feel a particular way? Is it suppose to be good or bad to be short on patience and puffed with arrogance? Do you enjoy the feel of a heel grinding you down? Am I suppose to feel like a giant when I have stepped on someone out of impatience or because they have become an obstacle in my path? An irritant? A mere distraction? A spot on my lens as I peer inquisitively into the surrounding confusing and murky landscape? Pleasures find and enfold us. Habits we develop and embrace for security, re-assurance.
But, I still don’t know who you are?
I am who I was back then, who I am now and who I’ll be minutes or hours from now. I am the muse. Sometimes the artist. Other times the audience. Often times the critic. And many other cloaks and masks. Who do you want me to be? And why should I become that person when you cannot tell me or know who I am? Do I question as to who you are, perchance? Have I, by chance, approached you and – demonstrating the slightest of curiosity or merest of interest in your self-centered existence – enquired as to your reason for being?
So you see, I can be many things at once and none of these at all. I may be the eternally optimistic or the hopeless pessimist. When called upon, the cynic with the sacarstic aside coated with light doses of cynicism. But I am also a realist with a practical bent. Favours pragmatism. An idealist with ingrained visions of beauty, grace; majesty, principles such as integrity, trust, truth, justice, divinity; where acts of simple kindness are often overshadowed and trampled underfoot by baseness, selfishness, ignorances, prejudices, intense navel-gazing, short-sightedness ( brought about by those who are well-intentioned but shouldn’t be allowed within a mile of an idea much less be placed in positions of decision making. They are just not visioneers. )
Chide you those who are dreamers? Admonish those who dream? Remove or restrict any room which may accommodate possibilities, probabilities, predictability, random chance countered by variables – leaving the minute of the minutia to the dense problematic mathematic excursions of formulae. Why not stop to smell the roses, savour the experiences, live the moments, enjoy the sights, recall the scents and taste the flavours. Kick back and relax. We all dream. And as tiny stars are born it is up to us to nourish them into maturity, providing guidance and moulding the malleable forms into what we conceive to be the right environment. Along with the appropriate training manuals for those unforeseen instances which were not foreseen.
So you dislike the attention to details? Mathematics?
One must know danger to be on guard against a surprise encounter resulting in endangerment. There is cautiousness and then there is hysterical, mind numbing paranoia. Some form of symbiotic co-existence. Is there any practical reason why this question should or should not be pursued further? As a specie there are those among us who consciously sit and plot of ways in which they can and will hurt, destroy and even kill us. Should we be made aware of the methods and means so that we can better prepare ourselves against such attacks? Or should we be left in the dark to face our unimaginable fears and horrors in relative ignorance? Perhaps locking ourselves away in some armed underground bunker worrying and planning – hour after hour, day after day – of ways to thwart any attempt at attack? Who’s the inmate and who’s the guard? Should all our whims and fancies be catered to with total indifference to the cares, worries and concerns of others? Perhaps we already have too much on our plates unable to spare a mere moment to the plights of others? Some priorities do over-ride.
Who is the programmer?
I don’t have the penchant for facts and figures. I don’t deal with abstract concepts that move along in a linear fashion. They eliminate the undisputed fact that shit just happens; and all one can do about it is to be prepared for that moment when you’ll have to step outside the lines for a short while. Someone else is going to have to go themselves – sooner or later. Pray that there isn’t a lineup; it’s not pay as you go – and you have no change in your pockets.
No, I don’t dislike details. They don’t define me. I am not beholden to the idea. I create and pursue. I construct and deconstruct the basis upon which the idea is founded. I even question the very notion of the idea itself, its validity, purpose, usefulness, implementation and consequences. I examine. I may polish and shine with wild abandon or simply pour bits of dirt, sand or rocks over ideas that should not be dragged into the light of day by malacious creatures.
Defender and champion on one hand; detractor and critic on the other. A mirror held up to the innocent and the depraved alike.
And, who did you say you are?
I am, who I’ve always been … Me.
31/01/2022 17:13:21 -0500