Emily Rae Robles

the paradoxymoron


Isn’t it strange that, no matter how hard you try and forget that you’re going to die, no matter how much you pretend that you are at peace with whatever happens, no matter how dedicated you are to whatever personal beliefs you have, the moment you realize your life or the life of someone you love is in danger is the most terrifying moment of your life.  Someday, despite your arthritic joints and wrinkled skin, you will lift the corners of your mouth in a smile that looks more like a grimace, because age always taunts you with irony like that, and you will amble over to the bedside of your fourteenth dying friend and comfort them as if you really knew what you were doing when, who are you kidding, they’re much closer to death than you’ve ever been, so how are you supposed to tell them they’re going to a better place when you’ve come from a life that actually wasn’t that bad, despite the arthritis and the natural disasters that didn’t actually affect you and the moments of loneliness when you realized that companionship wasn’t going to happen for your pitiful little self? You will argue with yourself that your life was worth living, fulfilling, and a blessing to others, but really you’re afraid that it was none of those things, and you’ll never know the difference because you can only live once, unless you come back reincarnated as a giraffe or a street urchin or member of nobility in a life that is tainted by the same regrets and fears that you have now, only you don’t remember that you’ve had them before because reincarnation has wiped your memory.  You start wondering about the molecules that make up your body and what they made up before being assigned to you by some unknown powers.  Perhaps you are a combination of bits of long-gone creatures, plants, and people who never knew that they would soon become you, people with hopes and dreams and regrets and fears just like you’ve had in this life and every other that you never knew.  Imagining what sorts of people make up your physical body can go down many paths, either depressing you like crazy at the realization that everyone is really the same, no matter how much focus you place on individuality because everyone turns to dust and is reincarnated physically if not spiritually, or maybe encouraging you to know that you are made up of individuals who were each geniuses in their own way, since God makes each person absolutely unique even though you forget that when you’re inexplicably angry at the girl in your group project who  gets credit for the work you did while she partied the night away at some anonymous frat house with anonymous drunk frat boys whose names she forgot in the morning.

The smell of turkey wakes you up from your reverie, if you can call it a reverie since that implies pleasant thoughts about your future when all you have in your future is dead animals smothered in gravy.  Sitting at the table, you think about how odd a habit eating is. Who decided it would be a good idea to shove objects into the orifice in the middle of your head in order to somehow achieve some amount of nutrition, whatever that means, since cavemen most likely did not know what in the world nutrition was, so why didn’t they just die out like the flies you tortured in middle school by trapping them in tape until they suffocated and then framed in plastic cages and stuck around the classroom because you were too bored to do anything else but limit the existence of other creatures?  You try mentioning your thoughts to your family, but they look at you like you are absolutely out of your mind, which maybe you are, but maybe being out of your mind isn’t so bad and being inside your mind (which presumably is the opposite) is actually limiting you to a life full only of whatever worlds you can imagine and create from what you know, whereas being out of your mind will push you to your limits and take you places you never knew existed because they don’t exist in your mind, only outside of them.  After eating the turkey, you feel sick to your stomach and want to throw up, but you stop yourself by reminding yourself that bodily functions are silly, and all that really exists is your perception of an experience rather than the experience.  Then you kick yourself for getting all philosophical again and run to the bathroom to be sick.  As the remnants pour out of that poor turkey that gave its life so that you could give it back up to the toilet, you wonder whether someday you will be vomited up in the same way, perhaps by a cemetery torn apart by an earthquake, or by the worms that wriggle their way through your decomposing organs until the place where your family and friends visit you to pay their respects is not actually where you lie, but rather the center of a circle throughout which nature spreads your body until you have become part of countless organisms that don’t even know or care who you were.  You think about the dead organisms that now make up your body and what sorts of lives they must have led, and you realize that your train of thoughts has come full circle, just like the molecules in your body, and you wonder if you have ever existed in a life exactly like this one as the person you are right now, with no changes in personality or appearance, but you realize that personality isn’t determined by molecules, so you’re stuck again in a rut of your own thinking, but at least thinking is something productive in that it leads to something outside your physical body.  Then you kick yourself for getting all philosophical again and lie down on the bed and cry because every time you try to think of something new, it ends up reincarnating itself and coming full circle like the way you used to spin around faster and faster as a little child every time your parents put on music until you came crashing down and the world descended upon you in a dizzying frenzy of colors.


May 7, 2011 - Posted by | ramblings, stories, writings | , , ,

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