It has been days since I’ve posted here. The number of possible reasons for the dry spell could exceed the largest known numeral, cubed. But probably not. I attribute the emptiness to emptiness. All the good ideas have fled my head, leaving a balloon appearing larger and more imposing and more interesting than it is. A balloon, after all, is simply a membrane that imprisons air. And that’s what my head has been of late. If ideas reside there, they are too soft and dull to pierce the thin film that separate the imprisoned molecules from the air flowing freely around the empty sphere.
What causes emptiness, by the way? Can ideas have emotions of their own so that, for instance, they might be afraid to expose themselves for fear of ridicule or rejection? Or, perhaps, ideas might grow angry with their host and demonstrate that animosity by refusing to reveal themselves. The most frightening explanation for emptiness is one that suggests permanence; that the ideas have simply left and won’t be back. But, you might have noticed, the preceding sentence suggests ideas may have been replaced by fear. The obvious next question is: fear of what? Fear of emptiness? Fear of an endless dullness, a drab existence from which creativity has escaped? The answers to these questions do not reside in balloons engorged with air. The answers live amongst brain cells that collectively assess and analyze a massive volume of data. But those brain cells seem unwilling to engage in the collection, assessment, and analysis of data for the moment. Perhaps they share with their brethren, ideas, emotions that prevent them from performing their usual duties. Fear, anger, disgust.
You can see evidence of the emptiness when you look in a mirror and see no reflection. No smile, no sneer, no eyes peering back at you, only the wall behind the place you’re standing. And that makes you wonder if others see only emptiness when they look in your direction, a vacant space that doesn’t merit even a pause as their eyes scan the space around you. Invisibility has its advantages, I suppose, but I don’t know what they are. Contemplative thought would be required if one were to understand the advantages of invisibility and, unfortunately, that practice seems to have eluded me for the past several days. That’s what fills the pages or screens or whatever one considers the holder of the words on this blog to be. Contemplative thought, spilled into the universe from the confines of my brain. Thoughts, molded into words that convey ideas and emotions. But, of late, they just haven’t come. Maybe all of them escaped. The 2,603 posts that preceded this one may represent all the ideas available for me to express here. Perhaps there’s nothing else left. Perhaps it’s not that my ideas have gotten angry or afraid to reveal themselves. They’ve all just left the building. Poof. Empty.
I didn’t see nor hear fireworks last night, the Fourth of July. Even the world around me is empty.