My Singularity

I haven't just written, pointlessly and aimlessly in a long time. My humble poetry is tailored towards very specific emotions that I feel, but there is so much more, so many more thoughts, and feelings and images that are just churning through the universe that I have in my mind.

But I realize as I sit here and think, that it is all in vain, I am not a deep person, because my depth, my waking moments are defined by a singularity. This singularity; my femme fatale if you will, defines my every action, emotion, my faith, my gait, and even these words. Every last detail of my life, is an extension of her. My thoughts cannot drift too far, before they return to this ever expanding beginning, my Big Bang, the inspiration to the consciousness that exists inside of me.

This singularity, my point of complexity, is effeminate. Why? Because, as a man, the greatest paradox in my world, is a woman. And hence, what better way to define, this strangely paradoxical, ever evolving, mother of the labyrinth of my illumination. Her face has changed throughout time, but her essence, has not.

I have gone a full circle, as it is my way. I set out to write aimlessly, and instead, wrote specifically. My heart, and this page, will always know the name of this Singularity. Scribbled into the sinew of my soul in the matter of moments that I first embraced her presence. I am grateful for this muse who defines me, because I have spent my lifetime, writing, and searching, to put a name and a face to her. And now, that I accept her timelessness, I struggle, waiting for this universe to once again contract and rush back into her, that she, My Afflatus, who has driven me through so much of my life, learns through my search, Her self.

This duality within me, is the principle of my beliefs. I believe that we, who are born and die alone, we spend our entire lives, building relationships and importance in trivialities, to try to cheat this foreboding inevitability of loneliness. It is a need to exist, and have continuity beyond the frailty of our lives that is the cause for this inspiration.

I believe, that our consciousness is born in two halves that are mismatched for this very reason. A conflict that is necessary so that we question ourselves, and our surroundings. For if we were born whole, love would have been unnecessary, and all the works of inspiration that defines mankind, born from stone, ink or music, from the Taj Mahal, to the Mona Lisa, from Shakespeare's 116th sonnet to Beethoven's 9th symphony, would never have been possible.

It is when we conclude this search, to love inspiration, and inspire in someone the same fervency, that we live our lives meaningfully. It is said that we must love ourselves before we love others, that is to me utter narcissistic hogwash. We can never understand the reason of our own existence. It is impossible. Our mind cannot wrap itself around itself, but it can wholly embrace, and be consumed by another. It is there that it is complete, in that embrace, shared between two consciousnesses, that understanding is realized.

The answer to my existence is not in some higher power. It is within me, it is in her. It is in the knowledge that I am here to love, and inspire and be inspired. It is in these words, it is in the copulation of the emptiness of my singularity with the substance of her universe, in her illumination, I will realize my life.