Sometimes I lose myself in the smell. It's a warm rich scent that curls and hangs lazily on the nostrils while filling the lungs. It's made of hot fresh ground coffee, cigar smoke, the moldly smell of binding glue on a worn book, and a dash of strong old spice cologne. Nostalgia at its finest. This smell is one I've never experienced in the world but it tangles the crevices of my mind like a warm syrup, sticky and thick. This smell is the metaphor of intellectual adventerousness. It explores the limits of the mind, existence, the metaphysical, and the not so metaphysical. It is where nations rise, where heroes are born, and where martyrs die. It is unbiased and uncaring in it's existence which only allows for greater triumphs or disapointments.
Often times in the late night hours I can see myself in a musty old velvet chair, surrounded by a bookcases stacked full of wonderous literature. There is a comfortable fire in a cozy little fireplace going. A soft rug at the foot of the chair and a small table to the side with worn rings where numerous glasses of warm brandy and wine have rested. I see an aged verision of myself, wrinkled and tired from the passing of time. Wisdom is etched into every sagging curve and grey hair. This is my happy place. The world and all its freedom are layed open before my fingertips. No world, no idea, no sorrow, no joy, and no experience escapes me. I will have my library. I will have my peace. I will.
For now though, perhaps not as zealous as I should; I embark in the struggle. There is beauty in struggle. Something completely fascinating and satisfying of dealing with a difficult task and enduring it. All to often I lose sight of this within the moment of tension. When things feel too hard, too difficult, too frustrating, I often falter. Never long enough to fail completely, but enough to make it more difficult than it ever needed to be. I spent many hours in a cold living room in Iowa circling, pacing, avoiding, and even hiding from the struggle. To the point where it found and crushed me. Perhaps......perhaps if I, like I so often have done, threw myself head first, carelessly, indifferent to the pain, into the struggle.....the work; I could have succeeded. Rather, I failed, maybe not completely, or to anyone else, but to myself it will always be.
I now try to embrace that struggle, so at the end of the day, I can wipe away the sweat, the blood, the tears, and the memories; and look at what I have done with my own two hands with satisfaction. This is my joy. That despite the suffering, despite the hardships, that I like God, can create and destroy. It may not be worlds or universes, but with a pen or a hammer and armed with an idea, I too am God. I too, become a force to be reckoned with.
If this makes me an intellectual snob, an elitest, or an idealist than so be it. If I am the jackass on the rowboat of life that must rock back and forth to draw a smile across my cracked lips.....well than so be it. I will be that jackass. Don't pity me though, condemn me, damn me, praise me, love me, hate me, fear me, torment me, ignore me, but please don't pity. For I am who I am. No more, no less, and all that other stuff that you say is shit. I find my joy, I fight my sorrows, and I put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. God knows the intentions of my heart (for I do believe in a Creator and that he is my literal Father in Heaven) and I will only answer to him.
So for now, today, tomorrow, next month, and 10 years from now; I will pull myself by my bootstraps. I will walk out into the world and say to hell with it. I will flip off the sun and curse the night. I will pursue knowledge and chase the unknowable. I will be burned by the light of reason and be healed by the aloe of faith. I will trip on the clumsy nature of man and soar with the dreams of Icarus. I will argue with fate and fight anarchy. I will be damned and I will be saved. Most of all I will be Jason and I will live for my quiet library.
As I put out my cigar and throw away the ashes. As I gulp the last of my luke warm brandy and dose the dying embers of the fire. As I close the cover on this book and reverently shut the door to my green pastures....I urge you to find your own. bid you goodluck, and bid you adieu with a friendly wave.
Jason Clark
Often times in the late night hours I can see myself in a musty old velvet chair, surrounded by a bookcases stacked full of wonderous literature. There is a comfortable fire in a cozy little fireplace going. A soft rug at the foot of the chair and a small table to the side with worn rings where numerous glasses of warm brandy and wine have rested. I see an aged verision of myself, wrinkled and tired from the passing of time. Wisdom is etched into every sagging curve and grey hair. This is my happy place. The world and all its freedom are layed open before my fingertips. No world, no idea, no sorrow, no joy, and no experience escapes me. I will have my library. I will have my peace. I will.
For now though, perhaps not as zealous as I should; I embark in the struggle. There is beauty in struggle. Something completely fascinating and satisfying of dealing with a difficult task and enduring it. All to often I lose sight of this within the moment of tension. When things feel too hard, too difficult, too frustrating, I often falter. Never long enough to fail completely, but enough to make it more difficult than it ever needed to be. I spent many hours in a cold living room in Iowa circling, pacing, avoiding, and even hiding from the struggle. To the point where it found and crushed me. Perhaps......perhaps if I, like I so often have done, threw myself head first, carelessly, indifferent to the pain, into the struggle.....the work; I could have succeeded. Rather, I failed, maybe not completely, or to anyone else, but to myself it will always be.
I now try to embrace that struggle, so at the end of the day, I can wipe away the sweat, the blood, the tears, and the memories; and look at what I have done with my own two hands with satisfaction. This is my joy. That despite the suffering, despite the hardships, that I like God, can create and destroy. It may not be worlds or universes, but with a pen or a hammer and armed with an idea, I too am God. I too, become a force to be reckoned with.
If this makes me an intellectual snob, an elitest, or an idealist than so be it. If I am the jackass on the rowboat of life that must rock back and forth to draw a smile across my cracked lips.....well than so be it. I will be that jackass. Don't pity me though, condemn me, damn me, praise me, love me, hate me, fear me, torment me, ignore me, but please don't pity. For I am who I am. No more, no less, and all that other stuff that you say is shit. I find my joy, I fight my sorrows, and I put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. God knows the intentions of my heart (for I do believe in a Creator and that he is my literal Father in Heaven) and I will only answer to him.
So for now, today, tomorrow, next month, and 10 years from now; I will pull myself by my bootstraps. I will walk out into the world and say to hell with it. I will flip off the sun and curse the night. I will pursue knowledge and chase the unknowable. I will be burned by the light of reason and be healed by the aloe of faith. I will trip on the clumsy nature of man and soar with the dreams of Icarus. I will argue with fate and fight anarchy. I will be damned and I will be saved. Most of all I will be Jason and I will live for my quiet library.
As I put out my cigar and throw away the ashes. As I gulp the last of my luke warm brandy and dose the dying embers of the fire. As I close the cover on this book and reverently shut the door to my green pastures....I urge you to find your own. bid you goodluck, and bid you adieu with a friendly wave.
Jason Clark
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