It has been too long. But, today, as I logged into my blog account, I had one of those sentimental sensations. You know, in the movies, when two people haven’t seen each other in a very long time. The long hug, the longing look. The works.
This reunion was not one of those that I had planned for weeks to come. It was more like a spur of the moment, irrationally impulsive decision. And, as I have always said: I will only write when I have something to say.
I recently read a quote by Bob Dylan that really fascinated me. No doubt the man was a genius. He certainly was a poet and he obviously had some profound knowledge of the world around him.
The quote read:
“Don't matter how much money you got, there's only two kinds of people: there's saved people and there's lost people.”
And at first, I didn’t think about the quote, then later as it started to mill around in my head, and as I was contemplating the depth and the complexity of that particular statement, as I riding around Cape Town on my trusty scooter, as one does, I started to really understand it. And, perhaps quite inevitably, I started to ask myself which category I fit into. And it started to become very apparent to me that I don’t fit either category. I’m not lost, well, not that lost, but at the same time, I am nowhere near ‘saved’.
(I don’t mean this in a religious manner at all, so those of you starting to worry about my soul: stop)
The idea of being ‘lost’ to me, always has a strong connection with being lost at sea.
For some reason when I find myself metaphysically ‘lost’, I garner up strong images of a floating raft somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.
But first, perhaps it's important to talk about being 'lost' first.
At the moment I am participating in the Waterfront Theatre School’s version of ‘Hairspray’ the musical, where I am playing the role of Edna Turnblad. Playing this role has, for me, opened up a lot of fears about myself that I didn’t really know previously existed. Or maybe, I was just hiding them that well. But regardless, I found such a resonance with the character that I am now facing every method-actor’s predicament: that thin line between illusion and reality has become a lot thinner. And I find myself repeating this one line that she says in the musical over and over.
“I am like a half-filled book of green stamps, beyond redemption.”
And so I decided to look at the meaning of “beyond redemption”, because it is quite a profound thing to say.
Essentially, it boils down to: I cannot be saved or redeemed anymore.
I thought, wow, how far must one go into the abyss to get to a point where salvation has become a fairytale?
And it’s exactly this that brought me to my next argument, which, in a sense, if I understand Bob Dylan correctly, will contradict him ever so slightly.
I am neither lost nor saved.
I am neither on board the Titanic, hearing the soft humming of “Nearer my God to Thee”, and I am not drifting at the bottom of the ocean, yet. nor am I home, tucked into my warm soft bed.
So where do I fit in? As usual, with me, this question will have a very complex answer.
(Another Bob Dylan quote: All I can do is be me, whoever that is.)
But, I suspect I might not be the only one whose answer might be a little more complex than the usual
So I thought about the movie “Titanic” and I remember the scene where Jack and Rose are floating on a door in the middle of the ocean. And then I remembered the scene in 'Poseidon' where the entire group was sitting in the red life raft.
And I realized: that is where I am now.
I am in the life raft of my life. I am not lost at all, I am nowhere near the darkness, but I certainly have not been rescued.
I am safe, but I am not saved.
And I am not too sure how I feel about that. Is it nice to know that you are far from danger, but at the same time, still not that far from it?
If you find yourself in the same boat as I do (sic), the only advice I can give is to clutch onto hope. To live in the moment and to, I don’t know, enjoy the scenery.
And that sucks.
But, as always, there are worse things.
I would rather be safe.
Because as much as being ‘safe’ sucks because you have been rescued, being lost sucks infinitely more.
(The most times I have used the word ‘sucks’ in any piece of writing.)
I shall now hop onto my scooter and continue to contemplate the meaning of life.
How bohemian is that? Ha!
Till then.
P.S Be sure to check out my new blog: filled with my favourites in Afrikaans poetry. It's named "Gegrif" as in the Afrikaans word for 'engraved'. (loosely translated)
