Sciences of Soap

As pandemonium impulses electrically though the nerves located in the heels of my feet that, once un-socked could be mistaken for potato mush, I know in my heart that neuroscience will always stop short of explaining the flipside to every step taken; the fulfilling of a long-term mental to-do list that frequently looms in the unreachable recesses of the mind, where the pervading pain biting my shoulders can act as a prelude to the tenable support I might have to provide to myself during more challenging seasons of fate.

Can I please, sit down for a minute?

Looking for support on my as yet unfounded, faith-headed principle, I see physics revolving around my existence as I dangle onto the edge of tolerance, offering countless rationalities to accompany every motion I chance at. But mon ami, these are just ‘hows’, not ‘whys’ or ‘for whats’ or ‘for whens’: these are merely fanciful engagements for the falsely inquisitive mind that nonetheless knows no tomorrow, feels nought but the jouissance of the present moment and consequently will fare poorly when I’ve crossed out an objective on that long-term mental to-do list, and am about to start another for which I should have already been prepared – hopefully also with extra insoles for another long walk.

You tend to underestimate the fear that arrives with a pang when your reasoning has been compromised, when you’re not even sure if you should be patient, when you’ve finally learnt how to properly slice that life-provided lemon only to grasp the fact its’ a coconut and you’ve opened a lemonade stall complete with banners describing it as lemonade so decadent the only other thing that comes close to it is lemon-scented dish-washing soap. At this point fear grapples you and underestimating your fear is the only step you can take to protect yourself, so you can forget it and somehow, get through the day, knowing its’ just that – just a day –, not telling yourself you don’t know how to cut coconut tomorrow, either.

But it’ll just get through.

Or will it?

Yes, it will. I know it will.

At this point although the knowledge that I won’t be betrayed or left behind can only export so much fear away from me, because I think, I share – maybe along with the rest of the human race - the collective tendency to blame what I cannot fault, fault what I cannot perfect, deem perfect what I am too finite to criticize, criticize what I cannot accept, accept what I am too inexperienced to denounce, denounce what I cannot foretell, foretell hastily in a bid to censure, censure what I cannot tolerate, tolerate what I have no reason to reproach and reproach whatever wasn’t done by me, I’m willing to stack it in the back-shelf in an attempt to redeem that sense of security that only stamps itself on the faithful.

If I haven't been forgotten till now, why would I be forgotten after now?

So it willl get through then. I guess I’ll just have to wait, distracting myself with the sciences that be, knowing how but not why or when or why. Until I do.

And then it snaps (electrically), and I realize, ‘thank God, this is just coconut.
Those guys actually got the lemon-scented dish-washing soap.’

hsn