Humanity is like a huge orchestra playing in concert, only the violins are following one conductor, the cellos are following another. The tubas and flutes are engaging in a personal feud with a long history, and the bassoons are casualties. The clarinets are pretty sure the real conductor is hiding behind the stage curtain, and are taking their cues from the wind. The violas are experimenting with compound rhythms, and the piccolo is only playing every third written note. The trumpets have taken a stand on tuning to 400Hz. The trombones have misplaced their scores and are attempting to improvise. The oboes are wearing earplugs, in a misguided attempt to hear themselves better. The saxophones and french horns are attempting a duet, while the piano is co-opting it into a round. The result is cacophony.
If only we would comprehend our own natures, understand our place within the whole, and accept the reality of others. If only we would listen to ourselves, we could make beautiful music. No conductor needed.
(Not trying to be cheesy or fanciful or trite, here. Was just lying back, awash in emotions over news and the world and the Hate Machine, feeling powerless and empty, and wishing it could be so easy.)
Underestimate. Under. Esteem. (your Mate.)
Do I do this? I hope to everything that is sacred that I don’t, but I know that, in a way, I do. Lately I’ve been under a depressive cloud (a mildish one, but still), and I’ve noticed that I walk around thinking and acting as if I’m alone, when in fact there is another human being right there. I’ve had to consciously remind myself of this, looking at my husband and saying in my mind, “Hello, other human.” I reach out and touch his skin and for a moment I’m brought back into time.
Do I actually esteem him any less because of my mood? No; he remains the best example of humanity I have ever met. But it would be nice if I could remember to treat him that way.
I am so good at looking at fragments and seeing a pattern, crafting a clear vision out of nothing. Except when it comes to looking at my own life. My own disconnected threads will not be bound together; I cannot see myself complete; I cannot refrain from the attempt, or the constant defeat.
(is it a faux pas to have pinged the daily prompt twice in one day? it wasn’t my intention to do so; this post just seemed appropriately themed as an afterthought)
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