Gaming 101

Wise men say that change is as good as a holiday. I disagree. Holidays are as good as a change, but in order to change one cannot regress to the ordinary. One cannot return to the past.

Maybe I’m just nostalgic? Maybe I’m just not ready for change?

In these days of unquestionable answers and questions far from answered, I find myself at an unusual loss for words. It's as though something has sucked the ink from my veins, replaced it with vinegar to dissolve the pages on which I write my story. All that remains in the void of my mind is a single vision of life, and the game it demands we play.

It takes on the shape of a puzzle box. A cube; as wide as it is high, marked by a thousand sanded blocks, coloured, of course. All things are coloured where I’m concerned. The pieces are shaped by the vague, cut down and blasted to perfection, each side smooth, every edge sharp. No two pieces the same.

The rules of the game are simple: build a perfect cube.

So the question I find myself most willing to ask is this: Why, in the thick of the game when the base is built and the lower half of the box assumes a state of perfection, is it always necessary to have to undo what already works to make room for something else, for the greater good of the game? Why do I have to take my heart apart to make room for the everyday? Why do you have to take the everyday apart to make room for your heart?

The rules of the game are simple: build a perfect cube.

A Muse

The old cliché is that time waits for no one, that the world only stops when the last breath drops us like photographs to the scrapbook of history. Time, in its purest form, in all its constructions and solid walls built to contain the things we feel, waits for no one.

But even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

On Life, Love and Everything...

What it all comes down to in the end is realising that life, although nicely presented on a silver platter, doesn't always come with serving spoons. Sometimes you need to just get in there and dig around in the soggy entree before your fingers are sticky enough to hold a firm grip on what you are really after - those cream covered peaches in the centre of the tray. Slippery, messy and dripping with juice so sweet that for the briefest of moments as they brush passed your parched lips the world itself makes sense, they can stop a man's bleeding heart.

It restarts of course, beat by beat... enriched by the sweet pap of love, and the incomparable milk of wonder.

Happiness

Maybe I'm just facetious, but being happy is a question of allowing yourself to not fear the guilt of genuine happiness.

It all started with my purchase of 3 small "Rough Guides to the Wonders of the World" books, and a comment that I will always travel, one way or another. What took me by surprise was the blatant cynicism with which this was met by my collegue, and the honest response of "Well, if that if that's what you think you will do than good for you, but reality and dreams are two different worlds. Good things don't really happen to people. People are bad. Paradise is solitude." Interesting.

What followed was a psychological trip to bitterness and loneliness, all because you are too afraid to let yourself enjoy the good in the world. I have seen this before. This continuous need to find things that make life seem harder than it is, or more complicated, or less inclined to accommodate a mere you in the depths of other peoples success. The impact of difference in perceived experience has seldom been clearer to me as it was during our virtual travels through the books of the world.

You love the look of Kenya, but could never go there, what if you caught Malaria, even with the little white pills? Europe looks like fun, but there are too many things to see, where would you start? The Australians are rude, New Zealand is bland, South America may just give you a tropical disease. The Middle East - fascinating, except for the risk of sunburn and dehydration in the scorching heat. You won't travel the world until you have seen your own country first. Fair Enough. You want to visit the Freestate, but won't go; Bloemfontein is for farmers and you are above the ranks of the flatness with which a Bloemfontein farmer goes about the business of living his life. No, farming won't do either, best stay in PE where you are protected from the possibility of being touched by this little thing called happiness.

I think what I'm trying to say, is that not wanting people to get close to you is not a fear of hurt, but a fear of being loved. A fear of getting Malaria is not the fear of sickness, but not catching it the fear of having to realise that you are blessed with good health. Regrets are not there to remind us that we have made mistakes in life, and that we are bad. Regrets are there to show us that there is more to the way of the world, and that there are multiple answers to the questions we force ourselves to ask for fear of having all the answers.

It turned out to be an interesting evening in the end. As I watched you drive away a usual smile broke over my face, making me fully aware of the enormity of the difference between us. You in your car, afraid to breathe in case you enjoy it. Me in my car, singing opera, watching the world unfold.