I believe, that is to say, I have more confidence in the intangible. Dreams, thoughts, ideas are untouchable, protected, while facts and things stand on shifting lines.
People have developed a tendency to solidify the elusive, to bring their labors to the realization of the public as evidence of their success. These achievements are worn down overtime and the notions their owners championed are taken for granted, stagnant. A universal experience could never come about in this manner lest it becomes a fact, and in the age of science we can hardly argue that a fact will never be replaced. The facts of life, neither unyielding nor immovable, are more akin to expectations. A joke is never funny if the punch line is predictable, and likewise, life cannot be fulfilling if we limit ourselves to the course that has been outlined, the course that is most common, the course that is shared universally.
You see, the things that are the most meaningful are not the things we can rigidly identify, but rather they are the things we can immerse ourselves in. The masses shouldn’t bother trying to wrap their collective mind around delicate matters, leaving what was sought lost in translation. It is an intimate setting that meaning can be extracted, where a small handful of minds stand in awe of the unknown’s brilliance. The infinite is not stretched out across the edges of the universe, but burrowed deep in the sinews of the personal.
Undoubtedly, many people’s experiences may echo others’, but the significance of these events is not found in their similarity. The individuals who witness the vast beauty underlying our universe each hold their own account. When a person is in solitude, they are free to be as romantic, heroic, as divine as they wish; they are free to wallow in the ineffable state of dream, but when they are under the eye of an observer it is the experiential account that rings out. The people themselves are the intangible; they hold what is constantly renewing, what is hard to put a finger on and what is rapturous. If all the sublime lovers, movers, shakers, seekers, and dreamers were observed simultaneously, while remaining scattered, they would provide an account that could stand whole.
And who could make this observation?
I say again, we will meet in the dark places, on the street corners and in the back alleys, in narrow halls and in locked apartments, in the mysterious wood, where the air is thin, where the light seeps through translucent fabric.