We'll Dig His Grave With A Silver Spade

Today was a mixed bag. So was the whole of this week, actually. On the upside, I got to talk about Robert Frost with my seniors today, and they actually participated in discussion and analysis of it, to my surprise and delight.

Which segues into the point of this entry. Robert Frost is probably my favorite poet, certainly of the early 20th century. T.S. Eliot is amazing, and e.e. cummings was groundbreaking, but there is something about Frost's work that really resonates with me. "The Road Not Taken" is the quintessential Fall poem, and the bittersweetness of it sets me thinking about life and all the myriad steps that lead up to the present moment. It's this sort of ode to the "What If" game, while at the same time, accepting the results from decisions made, without trying to return to a point in the past which is irrevocably lost.

At the same time, there's this guarded optimism about the choice made; the options have been weighed, everything considered, and a decision is reached. There's no real second-guessing, just this sense of "well, if I get the chance, I'll get back to this." Given my apparently congenital inability to let go of things, this is something to which I aspire.

I know you've all read the poem, but it bears posting, I think:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Later, flipsiders.

I Know Where You Go When You Want To Fall

While traveling today, I happened to pass a field of sunflowers. Over the past few months, I've passed it many times. In the spring, when they were just emerging, in the summer, when they formed a joyous cacophony of yellow and now in fall, when they formed a darkening procession of mourners, lamenting the passing of life and time. In a few weeks, they will crumble to dust, leaving no trace of their existence until next spring, and their cycle begins anew.

The whole scene was obviously rather melancholy, with the skies supplying tears for the botanical funeral procession. It was also appropriate, I feel, since I have just completed what is most likely my last summer in Bulgaria. With nine and a half months to go before I have to resume the "normal" course of my life, it feels like I've entered a season of endings. There is still much to be done, though, and I'll doubtless be kept too busy to really dwell overmuch on this sort of thing. After all, I have to get everything in order for the life-reboot.

I suppose it's just one of those things that you have to occasionally step back and watch: the passage of time and your position in it. Much like the sunflowers, we have our own cyclical nature; birth, production, decay, gestation/reflection, repeat. While we may not be as punctual or predictable as they are, it's still worth bearing in mind.

Later, flipsiders.

I Was Alone, I Took A Ride

Lately, I've been running around all over this corner of the country, dealing with various paperwork things, medical issues, that sort of thing. In the process, I've rediscovered the meditative effect of travel time. When you're on public transit, and especially trains, there's a certain rhythm as the wheels move, as the seat bounces in time with the road or track. The landscape streams by, the sun moves across the sky, and you have a chance to focus on the scenery and reflect on life.

Yesterday, in particular, made something clear to me: my life is meaningless without understanding. Every day, I learn a little bit more about myself, and a little more about the world, and how I see my place in it. Above all, I need the freedom to explore, mentally, physically and metaphysically. If I can find people to explore with me, all to the better. If not, then I'm better off just striking my own path and relating what happens.

The ancients were on to the right idea when they declared that words have power. Not power in the superhero "I can now defy physics" sense or in the political sense, but rather power in the gnostic sense of things. To name a thing is to place a cognitive framework around it, to make the unknowable a bit more knowable. You make the previously uncharted reaches more accessible. That thrill of understanding is what I live for. This is why I want to study linguistics and cognitive science in greater detail. If we accept that words are the currency of knowledge, then I want to work in the mental mines, extracting pure understanding from the labyrinthine corridors of consciousness.

It all sounds a bit overly dramatic, I know. That doesn't change what I see as the fundamental truth of the matter. I'm on a journey of understanding, and whatever side-stops or detours I make, the ultimate goal remains the same.

Later, flipsiders.