Epilogue: Ursus Shroud: Existing Overwhelmed
08/2020
There’s a profound, noiseless, ever-increasing tone without pitch, rhythm, or relent. A static being heard with my eyes and seen deep in my ears. It changes in volume only to remain unfamiliar. It’s a pressure that builds, constricts, and oppresses but cannot be placed. It presses against every aspect of my being but is specifically nowhere at any point of examination. It scratches from behind my eyes, making every light too bright, every color too garish, every form seems off and anything that I can see seems obscene. Everything smells too much, like it’s gone slightly rotten. It makes my whole body feel like pins and needles; like the whole thing fell asleep and is trying to circulate blood again. Every nerve ending constantly prepares for danger and my stomach goes sour from the stress. All of this internally, infinitely, and in every moment, alongside a world that I cannot expect to wait for me to adjust to.
Everybody becomes these data bombs; minefields of humanity and intentions I must process, accommodate, and satisfy without interpretable disappointment. Absolutely every word, shift of weight, tick or tell like a peppering of small arms fire. Each ricochet careening in its own direction, developing its own narrative, and requiring focus. Some of these imaginary bullets don’t bounce but hit, bleeding me of my trust and hope as I simply watch the shared light go dark. Some of these wounds fester and rot, leaving me to cut away entire sections of myself and those I’d thrive with to try to stop this infection that I’m so deeply embarrassed by and ashamed of. So I hide, and wait for the next day, and try to make the smallest ripple, the quietest breaths. I try to disarm the mines I’ve been placing all around me only to re-bury them as this cycle resets. With my work this maelstrom goes quiet, becomes beautiful. With my art, this all becomes something more human and inspiring. With focus , this all becomes so much magnificence to pull from that I could never run out of things to create, share, and connect with. With all of that in mind, I’m not mad at this...process, anymore, for the moment. I’m fortunate to have such a potent perspective and will work to temper these tempests and create, branching out into the sun and heavens again.