As I walk through the ancestral homeland of my family in this lifetime, I wonder what they would have thought of this place, here and now, in this moment? The marvel of American culture, our biggest export to date- the suburbs-seem to be all that is left of this land. In this lifetime, I was part of the never-ending spread of the cancer known as civilization, burning into the unknowing and the un-expecting wild. I was part of the problem. I was/am/will be the cancer.
What would they have thought, those that have passed before me, those who have decided not to return? I always seem to be somber, when I come back to this land.
My life here was one of indecision and sheepish behaviors, which I masked in a cloak of bravery and drugs, but I was really just full of hot air and bravado, all the while trying to seem better than I was. My fore bearers were the real trail-blazers of this land, the real heroes of everyday life. They took the time to cross the great barrier to get here. They uprooted their lives to lay the groundwork for others to live here, yet, I find my own emotion in this place replete with disdain.
Would they feel the same way? Would they look at the world they had forged and been happy?
I realize that I am a weak individual, who is prone towards bouts of insanity, depression and very questionable decision making, but who were they, really?
Did they truly commit the feats that have been told and retold in the family history. Were they as wise and sage, as I am stupid? Tough call to know for sure.
You see, I know, that in my heart I am a selfish man. I know in my heart, I will never live up to the truth of their fables and I know, that in my heart, I will not be destined to match their greatness.
I remain in competition with a shadowy form of truth of called testimony. But who were they in competition with?
It is in this place, in this corn filled, fast food, suburban heaven, that time remains frozen for me. It seems to have changed, but in it’s heart, it is much like the snow globes we all enjoy. Shaken, but never changed.
And I am always changed, but never shaken. I can’t tell which is better. They both seem perverse in some way.
There is a term we used to use when I was much younger, in a different land with a different tribe. All of whom have perished from that land. Some died from disease, some from violence, some from their own hand. But I, for some odd reason have survived that moment of insanity. The term was in a pseudo Japanese form. I say pseudo because I really have no idea where it came from or even if it really was Japanese, yet we all gave it the deference of being real. (I guess that is the definition of reality anyway).
We thought it meant being unattached. Being able to walk above the clouds without any earthly considerations. The walk we thought every artist should do.
Needless to say, I was very young and arrogant in those days and believed art was drawn directly from the heavens and not synthesized from the heavens via our own life, our own experiences-then brought into existence with all of the pain and joy of childbirth
But I digress.
Here in this land, I am Tsuketanai, I am unattached. I walk above the pyramids, I walk above the industry, the farms, the bars, the houses and the sphinxes. I walk above the beauty and the horror that is called the past and wonder.
How did I survive?