Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Kudoclasm: Lifelong Dreams Brought Down to Earth



ETYMOLOGY
Greek kudos, "glory, praise" + clasm, "breaking down."

THE DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE SORROWS
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is a compendium of invented words written by John Koenig.
Each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language—to give a name to emotions we all
might experience but don't yet have a word for.

WHAT IS THAT MUSIC?
"A Pure Spirit" by Simon Arthur Rhodes
"Strangeness and Charm" by Nick Bardoni & Stephen Dominic Warr
"Humming Birds" by Simon Arthur Rhodes

TRANSCRIPT
You were born with your head in the clouds,
your future wide open,
feeling almost weightless. Almost.

Kudoclasm.

You had dreams even before you had memories:
a cloud of fantasies and ambitions
of secret plans and hidden potential,
visions of who you are,
and what your life will be.

They keep your spirits high,
floating somewhere above your life,
where the world looks faintly hypothetical,
almost translucent.

But every time you reach for the sky
and come away with nothing,
you start to wonder what’s holding them up.
“Surely it would have happened by now?!”

You feel time starting to slip,
pulling you back down to earth.
even as you tell yourself,
don’t look down.

You don’t have the luxury of floating through life,
because you may not have the time.
The future is already rushing toward you,
and it’s not as far away as you think.

It feels like your life is flashing before your eyes,
but it’s actually just the opposite:
you’re thinking forward, to everything you still haven’t done,
the places you had intended to visit,
the life goals you’d eventually get around to,
some day in the future.

You start dropping your delusions one by one,
like tossing ballast overboard.
And soon the fog lifts,
and everything becomes clear—
right until the moment your feet touch the ground.

And there it is, “the real world.”
As if you’ve finally grown up, steeped in reality,
your eyes adjusting to the darkness,
seeing the world for what it is.
But in truth, you don’t belong there.
We dream to survive—
no more optional than breathing.
Maybe “the real world” is just another fantasy,
something heavy to push back against,
and launch ourselves still higher.

We’re all afraid to let go,
of falling into a bottomless future.
But maybe we belong in the air,
tumbling in the wind.
Maybe it’s only when you dive in
that you pick up enough speed
to shape the flow of reality,
and choose your own course,
flying not too high, and not too low,
but gliding from one to the other
in long playful loops.

To dream big,
and bounce ideas against the world
and rise again.

Moving so fast,
you can’t tell where the dream ends
and where the world begins.

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