Thursday, August 25, 2005

January 14, 2003--Moldy Celery

(Note: Due to my inability to muster the energy to put up pictures of my trip to Utah, this will have to feed you ravenous souls until I can obtain said energy. I hope it sufficeth.)

I don't pretend to be a great writer. However, I do sometimes write stupid things that entertain me. I like to write "non-essays," you might call them. Sort of a mystical combination of a stream of consciousness and mundane speculations I make from time to time. Take them for what you will.

Excerpt from journal:

I picked up some celery today and ate it. I called it moldy celery. I can see the irony in this, in that celery is typically an extremely watery vegetable and I called it moldy because this particular stalk was almost completely devoid of water, which is necessary for mold to form. You could say that water is the essence of celery. And it was gone. And the celery became rotten.

From this could stem many parallels, many of which might make sense, and many that might not. To liken it to my life, I think about all the things that are the "water." And then I ask myself, "Do I have enough water? Do I allow outside factors contribute to any needed condensation? Do I ‘irrigate’ regularly?" And then I laugh because the irrigate analogy is stupid, but funny. The volume of water in different aspects of my life varies. Some things are almost dried up while others are drenched. Some things enriched with wells of water are surrounding me but I don't take the time to drop the bucket. Or maybe I can't identify the water in them. Perhaps to me, it's too far down and too dark to see, and I only depend on my senses to tell me if there's water. Another irony. A lack of faith is a drought from the most profitable pool.

It's funny how kids seem to see water in things adults don't. They're quicker to laugh, more eager to play. Where adults carry around umbrellas to block the rain, children play in the puddles. I didn't know how to dive until a couple of summers ago. I decided it was just plain silly that I couldn't dive so I made myself learn. Every day at the pool. At first it was hard, to go head first into it. To go head first into anything might be hard. And also, I couldn't figure out how to keep my legs straight so I'd hit the water with bent legs. It's like they suddenly became detached from my body and I couldn't feel their existence at all. But then came that fateful day, when I took a running start, jumped, pointed my arms and kicked back my legs. And I dove ever since then. I didn't know why I didn't teach myself earlier. And this is one more irony which may or may not be symbolic: I have always loved the water but never knew how to dive.

One could sit back and reflect upon things of the world and discover hidden water in almost everything. What may appear to be one thing may actually be a vessel of moisture. Like a coconut. It's unappealingly brown and hairy on the outside but on the inside it has sweet fruit. Well, the milk isn't so sweet, or so I've heard, but... ok, that's a lame comparison. Anyway, some things need our cultivation to produce water. Whereas we're usually familiar with "just add water" to get to desired result, contrarily, water is the desired result and we have to "just add effort" or "just add ourselves." Maybe all we have to do is bring down the dam. Maybe some waters are a tool to finding the beautiful things of life. One might say "I found love because I saw the water, or goodness, in something or someone" or "I became a selfless man because I allowed water of something to wash away the gutter garbage in my life." Maybe all we have to do to find and experience the beautiful picture is simply to remember to paint by water.

Some waters are more important than others. At this current moment, I have misplaced my chapstick, one of my own personal simple moistures of survival. Or so I say. But is it? My perspective might be narrow when it comes to this. Or maybe not. If I compare writing this essay to my chapstick, which do I value more? Which can I live without for a few minutes? My chapstick is in the kitchen. If I leave to retrieve it, the computer will always be here. Will I be happier with my chapstick? Will I feel I've drenched myself in a water of life? If I do, maybe I've found easy-access water. Or lower quality water. Maybe there's some dirt in it or bugs. But what if I find richer water elsewhere? Can I have my buggy water too? I realize the importance in climbing the mountain to find pure water but what if I'm parched and need some water on the way and all I have is buggy water? One day maybe I will learn that the tiniest contamination is still contamination. I hope by the end, I'll have learned to filter out all the bugs and dirt. In my efforts, I struggle as an imperfect person and my vision might be a little near-sighted. I know this, and I hope to progress, to refuse buggy water for pure water I hope is there. But for now, I keep a tiny bit in my canteen.

So you might want to ask yourself, what kind of water do you carry or strive for? Is it pure water or crappy mineral water? Do you take caution to filter your water? We are surrounded by taps to water but do we really value all the taps? If they stopped working, would we survive? Or do you have a storage well. All these comparisons are becoming pretty ridiculous and even laughable. This whole thing might seem farcical to you, (or you might cringe upon typing that word, which bugs me for reasons unknown), but if it is all funny to you, and you value laughing, then could we not say that I humbly serve as a faucet? So many things are. Where you are devoid of vital water, another may fill. Don't be the stalk of celery whose essence has evaporated. Don't rot in lack of precipitation. Be the fresh celery, the harbor of water, for someone else. Break the dams. Close the umbrella and splash in each puddle. Learn to dive.

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