Roulette

I never truly met you, although I would come to tell others I had.

Lonely, with a wandering mind left ajar, we found warmth; luck.

Learning the geometry of curls left unfurled and evidence of libation,

Neither my mind nor my heart knew just how to talk to one another.

Ethereal, your presence; pixels enameled in what was once eternal.

Solemnly I feigned impassioned suavity, a hand extended in serenity;

Saccharine, this love; for what we seek is forever intangible. So be it.

Prime Roast Pictures

When I purchased my current pair of ear-buds from the coercive labyrinth of online shopping (Amazon), I was sold on the notion of canceling sound. Out of indifference I've kept them for over a year, but it's no surprise that $29.99 does little to shut out the world. Without music blasting through these bits of wire mesh and rubber, the cacophony of a coffee shop at lunch-hour is ablaze in my ears. For all intents and purposes I'll keep my ears plugged up; it is loud out there, and it's just as loud in my head.


Repossessed Dave & Buster's mug within reach, second dose of freshly extracted caffeine bouncing through my nervous system; I'm in the immutable middle ground of busyness and emptiness. I'm task-less and relaxed; pondering and people-watching. The walls and surfaces display a menagerie of colors, textures, stains and marks which only add to the quixotic ambiance of my surroundings. Pencil shavings, cherry grain, coffee rings, the smell of leather and toasted walnuts, and what looks like the sticky fingerprint of an abandoned morning-glory muffin-bottom fill my perspective. The crowd is building and the man sitting next to me is talking to himself in gibberish with a pinch of unprovoked laughter. This is one of my favorite places in town, but with the growing dissonance in my ears I can think of a few other places I'd rather be. It's surprisingly cold outside and I'm without a jacket. Provided I maintain the presence of an aimless, jacketless man, I have no place to be but warm and buzzed in my finely upholstered highchair, checking out the barista and contemplating my life.


I didn't come here to write, I came here to sip coffee and read the Avadhuta Gita – the enlightened song of Dattatreya (look him up). Somewhere along my path of accepting the transcendental non-duality of existence, my pocket vibrated; freaked me out a bit. Up to that point I had been engrossed in that book. Realizing it was not my consciousness extinguishing attachment to the tangible self, I picked up my phone and replied "why not?" to a request for this column. This leaves us both in the same place – 362 words into the smattering of my internal dialogue, wondering the exact same thing – "where's he going with this?"


Maybe it's my resurgence of interest in Eastern philosophy, maybe it's the fact that my college-bound self has yet to acclimate to my academic surroundings, but more and more of me is caring less and less. It's not a state of catharsis, but a quiet acceptance of chaos. At least that's how it feels this afternoon.


I've made some serious decisions in my life in the past week, decisions that will undoubtedly shape the remainder of my time at Keene. Things have been dreadfully slow at times and uncannily busy at others, but most evident has been the rediscovery of the creative undercurrent in my brain. I feel like a new person, and I'm terribly unfamiliar with this new me. I've had more outbursts of thought and reckless anxiety than I can recall in my adult life.


This seems to happen every fall semester. Keene erupts with new life, the nights become longer, and traffic builds on an exponential scale. New and old faces fill once-empty corridors and classrooms while the city and my psyche undergo fantastic transformation. These emotions resonate with seniors everywhere; after three years, the thrill of a beloved college town can fade with potentially trying times glittering on the horizon. It has for me, but I'm OK with it.


Serendipity, in all of her wisdom (and hotness, if you're thinking of Selma Hayek's character from "Dogma") has bestowed me with some curve-balls during my college years. The burden of transcribing a life into memories becomes harder with age, but it's also an incredible gift. With an increase of chances taken in my life, I've only found an equivalent trend in understanding.


READER'S NOTE: I acknowledge that by taking the column in this direction, I come off as a self-absorbed, semi-delusional, navel-gazing hipster to about 90 percent of the readership, and there's little we can do about it; you wanted a column, you get one.


You can laugh, but life is chaos. We all have limited control in our realities, and most of it is an illusion. Not an illusion in the sense that it's not there, but in that we only barely comprehend the complex system of control we're engaged in. Our understanding of everyday life is a sliver of the whole picture, limited by our culture, our age, our upbringings, our location; our path in life. The progression of existence is eternal and self-sustained but our choices in life factor into its progression with each passing day. We each have expectations and preconceived notions of the world, and these facets of understanding govern much of our lives. Of course, there are six billion hopes and dreams to compete with, and along the way many of them cancel each other out. Everything we do is accepting a part of our role in chance, and for every gain there is a loss, for every loss, a gain.


I still lose sleep over "what's next," but the less I let it bother me, the more I can sit back and watch the present moment unfold on its own. After all, the only person who sees my reality, hears my thoughts, and feels my energy is me. The only provider of sustaining judgment is I. Everyone sees the world differently. Beneath our perceptions though, there is something more – it moves, it breathes, and transcends our existence. But I digress.


Let chance happen. Let ambiguity take hold of you. Change your plans, walk new roads, think new thoughts, break free of your cycle, and make a new one. Find yourself; find meaning in the process. Ask questions and listen to the world. Be in the world. Remove your attachment to it and let it fill the space for you, be confident in solitude and embrace the possibility of chance. You might just start to see the world in a whole new light… or, you might be stuck fiddling with your ear-buds, wishing you had a jacket, and spacing out at a muffin stain on the table while trying to write a column that no one will read.