Meta moments

When I write essays for class, I usually do so in a frantic fury the day before it's due. Which means I spend like twenty percent of my brain processing power stressing over the fact that I didn't do it sooner. But, as I'm writing and a thought I like comes out, then I think about how if I'd done it even twenty minutes earlier, the thought conclusion I came to might be different. In fact, it most likely would have been. The sentence would be different. The paragraph would end differently. The words, chosen like books from a vast library in the mind, would be different. The paper written three days earlier under different circumstances, would be a vastly different paper.

It is as if you are a sculptor looking at a block of marble--you don't know what is in there waiting to come out yet but because you don't know, before you set chisel to stone, what is inside is infinite. It's Schroedinger's cat applied a little differently. Writing a paper is setting your mind to the blank space of thought as if it were the chisel. How does anything finite contain infinite things?

Wouldn't it be incredible if instead of seeing in the visible light spectrum, or infrared, or UV, you saw in possibilities? That would be the trippiest shit ever.

Given that, essay writing becomes comforting. Or at least the time frame in which you write, because then you are aware of the fragility of whatever you've just written. It could be something amazing and it had to have been that moment of time which gave rise to it, brought about by each of those thoughts and sentences which you deleted and changed. From the perspective of the final product, every single step along the way was significant. Therefore, writing it at 12:56 the day it's due isn't necessarily a bad thing. Of course, this depends on if you like what you came up with.

The general feeling that I get then is that things can come to be because they do. It's circular reasoning, I know. It also seems to be flavored by fate, but I don't mean that things happen and you're doomed to let them. Out of the infinity you chose to realize one. But how that one? If just a few moments of change would have realized a different one, doesn't it seem like that gives some weight of significance to the one that came to be, simply because it did?

okay i've thought myself into a wall. may i blame it on the congestion going on in what feels like the brain.

instead, since I can't seem to sleep, i will briefly speak about how life is like a river. it flows and flows. what then is the gravity that makes our lives go, like the force that makes the rivers flow? death? do we move towards, or just on? well that got really off the board. again, i'm just going for the odd sense of comfort that thought gives me. people flow into our lives, they flow out. what we have. events. everything that happens. they join and sometimes leave again, but the action continues; movement. things do not stagnate in life. (don't hold on too tightly, it may be here now, it may go, but it will be here again)

sometimes I lie in bed and think I can hear and feel it rushing.