The Lake of One's Being

13 January 2007

It's like that Ming dynasty porcelain vase you can't take your eyes off in the museum. Crimson peonies in luscious bloom, the petals soft, bending lightly against each other, fanning elaborately across the clear smooth surface of the porcelain, which glints, pure, in the soft glow of the numerous spotlights trained solely on it.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stand entranced, captivated.
You couldn't walk away even if you had wanted to. And you don't.

A sudden thought. "How cool would it be if I have this sitting somewhere at home?"

But then, you're suddenly glad for the velvet-lined ropes holding you back. For the security cameras trained on you. Heck, even for that craggy security man sneaking glances at you.

Because you do realise it won't be the same.

In your arms, hairline cracks you never imagined possible now taunt you.
Without the unwavering warm glow previously provided by the spotlights, that luminance which once held you captive has diminished.

You can no longer give it the same undivided attention as when you stood sneaker-deep in the carpet on the 3rd floor of the museum, still except for the chilly air-conditioned air ruffling your hair. Nothing can have a commanding presence in the face of a squawking mother. Not even a Ming dynasty vessel.

Then there begs the question of practicality. It's all well and good when you're paying 6.50 to stroll through the museum and gawk at the exhibits. The vessel (and everything else) could just be there. That is the point. Their sheer existance is reason enough. That you could lay eyes on them, in their real, unimagined and undepicted, form.

But back at home? It starts to get in the way. Do you place it on the mantel? The dining table? Do you fill it with water, throw in a few lilies, and use it for its original intended purpose?

Perhaps one day, you begin to wonder why you had even bothered at all.
And that is why we don't. And why we are glad we can't.

To The Very Good friend, you said my analogy about being stranded at the jetty was crap. I hope this suits you better. You could call it "An Analogy on Fatal Attraction" if you will. Though I think I kind of got carried away with this one, so please excuse the length.
I'm truly feeling ok now if you were wondering. I can sympathize, really.

1:12 AM;

Comments: Post a Comment