Well that’s just maddeningly unhelpful. Why are these things never clear?
On this journey of making sense of the world, ourselves and others, I’m recurringly struck by moments where I cannot make hide nor tail of things going on and why things are the way they are. I don’t mean this in any light and fluffy sense, but in a deeply profound manner…and I know I’m not alone. However, how much should we concern ourselves with the nature of things? Isn’t trying to live difficult enough?
I don’t think people appreciate just how close we could get to the end of the world, very quickly. What is up is down at World’s End…and it’s not so much getting there that’s the problem…it’s getting back! But if you go and brave the weird and haunted shores at World's End, then you will need a captain who knows those waters. And charts. (I hope we haven’t gotten “good and lost now” in the analogy that we miss the message).
Much in the way Captain Jack Sparrow can’t initially tell the difference between the land of the living and the land of the dead, I look out at the populace and see a benumbed existence…what looks alive, but has already died. May be as someone cast out of the realms of normal living I can see this with more clarity than most or maybe this is “Melancholic Marty” talking.
When sailing in uncharted waters we need a guide, a mentor, someone who has been there before and done that or who is wiser than ourselves. Perhaps this person has charted the course you have, but many moons ago. Perhaps not. Sometimes we’re in a place where our compass doesn’t point in the direction that we need it to. It’s impossible to get your bearings when the world is upside down.
Not everything that works makes sense, but as alluded to in another recent article, maybe making sense isn’t everything?
Most people don’t want to “rock the boat”, as disturbing a stable situation is usually frowned upon. Conversely, sometimes rocking the ship is exactly what’s needed to avoid becoming trapped in a world that is no longer living souls.
I haven’t lost hope for humanity, after all, it was on the gates of hell that Dante felt was inscribed, “abandon hope all ye who enter here”, and that isn’t me, not while I’m still struggling towards Paradiso. Some describe hope as the quintessential human delusion that is simultaneously the source of our greatest strength and our greatest weakness, but I feel these people are the architects of their own demise.
No doubt, hope can be a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. Ideally, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
I guess when up is down all you have is hope (and love).
Otherwise we’ll all be lost to Davy Jones’ locker.