He seeped into himself
Placing universe after universe
Between the fragile fractures of
What he’d been
And the logical assault
Of Good Intention against Sin.”
When in isolation, either in a room so designated or simply an extended moment in time, there is nowhere to go but inward. But that experience is more complex than expected.
There is the brain, full of sections dedicated to different functions: automatic systems, thought processes, memories, plans. Then there is the simple habit of how we learned to think; to think about ideas, to think about what isn’t us, and then, to think about ourselves. How does it all fit together?
And is there a meaningful design, and if so, is it a governing design, or merely decretive, an elaborate work of art, a three or more dimensional picture hanging on a wall?
That small physical universe of neurons is, as long as we live, as huge and mysterious as the one our earth finds itself in. And then there is the rest of us, the physicality of what we are, the fleshy manifestation of emotions and appetites. There are impulses, habits, and discoveries.
We share all of that with each other in what we make, and do, and say. But our language can be as confusing as it is clarifying. We have things, ideas, dreams, friends and a job.
But we don’t “have” them the same way, do we? So what does it mean to “have” something?
When you are in isolation as a way of life, those are the questions that can lead you into a terrifying jungle without a guide.
But even simply standing on the edge of it, looking back towards the life we’ve grown up in, and forward to an unpredictable future don’t we all need a guide?