One day I hope to be able to finally communicate – if only to one person – the darkness I have felt and seen: the “It”. There are few things that invoke It (solitude, sickness, certain music, dreams, remembrance of childhood experiences, substances, disobeying the spirits) and the fact that these invokers are usually experienced while I’m alone make it even less likely I’ll be able to accurately communicate and make someone else feel what It is.
I have tried to express It from memory by creating works of my own – poetry, stories, paintings, tattoos, books, musical compositions – but inevitably, my creations so greatly pale in comparison to the actual It: a description of a past experience of It from the perspective of relative peacefulness will never capture that subject that has since dispersed and taken leave.
I wonder if I simply lack the technical ability to describe It. Maybe the issue is my inability (usually) to compose while under the influence of the darkness which is It. Perhaps the few times I have been able to create within the terror, the technical ability has been compromised by the It Itself.
I feel that I’ll never be understood.
So, what is It?: colossal, immense, omnipotent, thunderous, threateningly omniscient, bellowing…yet gentle, caring, delicately gossamer, soft. The terrible thing is how they so thoroughly juxtapose, so quickly interchange – even precariously and unpredictably mingle like snakes slithering up and down a staff.
And then I realize my question: who is holding that staff? It’s either me or god. And I wonder if It – made up of the things that simultaneously terrorize and comfort – is truly external as I consciously believe It to be. I’ve been wrong before.
So what do I need to do? Write another book? Compose more music? Perhaps simply the creation of more tattoos would suffice for now. These things are temporarily comforting. It is hopeless, but I may need to try again. The wave is once again building. It’s been awhile…
I can sit back and wait for It to come
Or I can meet It half way