Njord

'Life is about perspective. Perspective is the result of experiences. And when has there ever before in history existed so bountiful an amount of opportunities to experience just about anything and everything under the sun? Anyway...'

In a dark room a young man leaned forward and examined his darkened reflection. What a weird thing, eyes. They say that eyes are the windows through which one can peer into the soul. What sort of soul lies behind these glimmering orbs, and what even are eyes? Such a bizarre and magical concept. The colors of the irises, the adjustable pupils, constantly dilating and adapting to the stimuli of the visible spectrum. Of course in the end they are just another part of this meat vehicle powered by a chemical slurry whose sole purpose is to experience existence and endlessly pursue answers to the most important question: why? When a consciousness forms it immediately begins absorbing the entirety of everything the senses available to it are able to provide. With each new experience the perspective of that consciousness shifts and expands, until eventual it reaches a plateau, an overload of information, whereupon the self preservation instincts kick in and triage that information in order of importance. That final list of primary priorities is what sums up the overall being of a person, the “who” of that consciousness, and the continuing experiences it goes through answers the why to the who. Except does it really? Does it answer the why behind the why?

Oh. The calibration is finished. The young man's reflection vanishes in an instant as the screen lights up with a seemingly infinite number of colorful lights and just like that, purpose, the who, what, when, where, and why, all easily slot into place, clearly and precisely labeled in neat little indexes.

At least, temporarily.

My name is Njord Hagennessen and I am currently enjoying my Friday night in my trailer. I work in construction; long hours, backbreaking labor, but decent pay as well as plenty of opportunities for a change of scenery. The company I am currently with is constructing some gigantic mega-complex in the beautiful state of Washington, USA. The work has been progressing steadily despite a freak heat wave that recently hit the area and what seems like the entire western coast, but today had been particularly brutal to the point the foreman unhappily let most of the guys leave early for the weekend. I managed to snag a spot to park my trailer in a nearby lot when I first arrived in the area, and the old property owner who I had convinced to let me camp out there had even let me lead a power line up to the trailer. Thank fuck for that because otherwise I would have either lost my sanity or died of heat stroke by now.

Consequently here I was, sitting in the back half of the trailer, AC on full blast, playing video games on my little setup and, apparently, contemplating the deeper meaning of life and existence. Happens quite a lot when you let the brain wander a bit down a path of its own making. Bad habit, that.

I'm not an unhappy guy by any means; well, maybe just a little bit jaded. Just a little bit tired. The best solution to that little problem is a nice distraction, and ironically enough nothing distracts quite like hard labor. My life is a pleasant blur, and that's just how I like it. I like me my highs, the half empty bottle of whiskey and a little bit of “this” and a little bit of “that” stashed in the back of my trailer can attest to that, but I'm not critical of life's lows either. Although the loss of my family was a bit of a shame. But you can't appreciate the good things in life without a bit of bad! There has to be a balance, and its not a static one. In the end, all you can do is life through each experience to the fullest, and appreciate it for what it is.

I often find myself thinking about what and who I am. It's such a peculiar feeling to have to look at yourself through the lens of a bystander. A trillion choices before you, infinite possibilities, and yet we are creatures of habit, seeking out our own little corner of order in the vast chaos of the universe. We can really only absorb this incomprehensible vastness one teaspoon at a time. Speaking of teaspoons, I'm in the middle of foraging for food in the game I'm playing: a wild west survival game. I go through the steps the game helpfully has listed in my to-do list and soon have a camp set up, with some fresh meat sizzling over the fire, a bottle of liquor to wash it down, and a beautiful virtual sunset. The food visuals are truly quite captivating and enticing and my stomach lets out a loud grumble as it reminds me that I have been playing for over two hours now, and could really use a bite to eat. I save my progress and shut down the console. I consider shutting down the AC unit as well, the remnants of a childhood of poverty demanding I save every penny I can, however despite the temperature dropping significantly now that the sun is on its way down, it is still extremely dry and searingly hot, a fact I experience vividly as I step out onto the yellowed and dried out grass and cracked dirt that constitutes my camp site. I can afford a somewhat higher electricity bill, and the visible heat waves are very convincing towards swaying my miserly brain in the opposite direction.

I uncover my bike, my most precious possession, kick it into gear and roll out onto the pebbled road that leads out towards the outskirts of the nearby township and the nearest source of food. When I turn onto a paved road I am finally able to put on a little more speed and I revel in the feeling of the wind whipping by me, the now more plentiful foliage coverage a welcome interruption to the ever-present rays of the sun. Since I was a child I always had a strange sort of fascination with technology and machines, and when I first bought my first little crotch rocket I immediately fell in love with it. There is something so powerful and freeing about the sensation of sitting on a marvel of a machine, engineered to perfection, capable of immense power and speed and here it is, all of that potential and capability directly under your control. A flick of your wrist and space and time itself seem to blur around you as instantly shoot forwards even faster, at speeds that a even the fastest land dwelling animal could never match. Has there ever been a more perfect time to be alive? In the grand scheme of things I am but a humble peasant in the shadows of the vast powers and corporations that dictate the direction in which the immense gears of progress turn, and yet I live a life of relative luxury. Many a king or emperor of old would gladly trade his life for the incomparable comforts and convenience of modern life.

Speaking of, I soon reach my destination, a small diner and bar that lies at the top of a small hill, surrounded by a small copse of woods and a fenced in field. I head inside and spend a few minutes taking in the experience. The place isn't particularly big but has a nice high ceiling-ed wooden interior. The smell of cooked and smoked meat permeates the place, and although there is definitely quite a few more customers already inside than I would prefer in an ideal scenario, I am not here to stay, and can therefore overlook that small deficiency. I greet the guy who owns the place with a nod and a “Howdy” and am greeted with the same response as always: “What can I get you Hagens?” The owner is a big bearded fella by the name of Joe Smoke, legally or as a moniker that just stuck, I don't know. He isn't as old as he looks, surprisingly, but then again hardship ages a man. I didn't talk much or often with the man, with the exception of one night when we stayed up well into the wee hours of the morning sharing a bottle or three of some top shelf stuff. It had been my birthday and as soon as Joe heard that he'd insisted I stay and let him treat me to all I could eat and drink. I hadn't refused and we learned a lot more about each other than I had shared with another human being in the longest time. It's strange: the saying “quality over quantity” applies to everything, and here I experienced it profoundly and it made me truly appreciative of the rare truly exceptional experience. What amounted to a few short hours of conversation had turned the man from nothing more than a casual acquaintance who I would not remember any more than any of the other dozens of strangers I might interact with in a day, to a man I would now consider the one human being I am closest to in the world. To be fair, that is not a high bar for an utter loner like me, and yet that does not diminish the very real and deep kinship I felt. Since then we would occasionally spend an evening drinking and a few times fishing or hunting, but we never again uttered even a fraction of the amount of words since. Not that we had to, what could have been said already had been, and neither one of us was a man of many words.

This evening I just picked up what food looked good, said farewell and left. I placed the package of food in my knapsack and drove off, a destination not yet picked, but no need for one present in my mind. I drove through the more familiar roads of the surrounding countryside and woodland until I reached one of the many small lakes probably formed at some point as an offshoot of the Columbia River. The sun was well into setting by now and the sky was filled with the orange and purples of the sunset. I walked out onto a decrepit pier that jutted out into the lake and sat down with my back against one of the wooden pillars. The smell of the lake, and fish, and reeds was replaced with the aroma of perfectly barbecued beef ribs as soon as I opened the box of food and then I was enjoying the flavors of the beautifully cooked meal. I finished the meat, potatoes and coleslaw in a few short minutes, devouring damn near the cardboard box itself in blur of savage feasting and then finally took a moment to drink some water and possibly breathe. I marveled at the shifting colors of the sky, the darkness of night behind me and the dying embers of daylight reflected in the stillness of the lake before me. It is moments like these that give me peace. This blazing glory that my unworthy eyes behold are worth a thousand thousand moments of pain and ugliness. I spent what felt like a short eternity with my eyes locked to the burning vestiges of the fading light and when I finally shook out of my stupor with a shiver and the feeling of numbness in my buttocks and legs. The night air was still warm but by comparison felt almost chilly, so I reached into my pack and pulled out a blunt I had rolled a day or two ago.

I had a particular love for the “magical” plants that our wonderfully diverse planet had in its repertoire. I had partaken of much of what mother nature had to offer in terms of mind altering substances, from mushrooms, to Ayahuasca, to of course marijuana which remained my personal favorite. Technically it is illegal for me to imbibe anything other than alcohol or tobacco not only by state and federal law, but also by the regulations of the company I work for, however the unspoken rule is “if you don't give us a reason to drug test you, we won't”. I am unwilling to give up these “vices”, and am fortunate to be comfortably employed in a circumstance that allows me to live in my own particular state of balance. As far as I'm concerned, one of my cornerstones of life as a whole is experiencing all life has to offer. Mind altering substances are such a fundamental experience, and one so unique and to me, beneficial or perhaps, more honestly, enjoyable, that I would be unwilling to easily part from them.

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As the familiar and delicious smoke entered my lungs I luxuriated in the warmth that spread through my body and the anticipation of my brain receiving additional stimuli. Just the first breath put a smile on my face and I did a quick little set of squats to get the blood flowing through my body before lying down on the weathered planks that constituted my temporary resting location. The pleasant mood gave me the urge to further add another personal love of mine into the mix: Music. I pulled out my phone, looked through my music list and clicked on the first thing that attracted my attention. As the first notes sounded quietly in the night, I turned the screen off and placed the phone on my chest, folded my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. My taste in music is as broad as any audiophiles, I believe. Through the years I have never run out of new music to fall in love with, though new does not necessarily mean “new”. My smile broadened as the song entered a stanza I particularly loved and I tapped my feet to the beat. Eventually the final notes of the song played out into the night and all that remained was the sound of water lapping the offending structure in its midst and the croaking of frogs. My eyelids and then eyelashes parted and then my pupils contracted before the sudden introduction of far-away lights, and I was gazing into the endless cosmos. Hundreds of stars twinkled in the night sky and the knowledge that out of sight, far beyond the pathetic capabilities of even man's strongest and most impressive technology lies an uncountable number of stars and galaxies and beauty, had me blinking away tears as I fully embraced the feelings of insignificance but also wonder that engulfed me. Accompanying my awe and happiness, however, was also a deep sadness that I would never, could never see even a fraction of what this universe had to offer. The light of faraway stars looked ever colder and more far away. The wave of loneliness I suddenly experienced was crushing, but also bittersweet. For are not the infinite stars of the cosmos also lonely? My life is but the blink of an eye to the uncaring existence of a star. Any one of these faraway pinpricks of light probably existed long before this rock I live on first exhibited signs of life and it will likely exist long past the death of our own sun, and presumably all life on earth. Yes, on the one hand perhaps that makes life, and my life in particular, meaningless and insignificant, but on the flip side it also certainly eliminates quite a bit of the pressure of existence, doesn't it? An ant does not worry about naught but its current task, it does not know of its insignificance, about to be crushed under the boot of a hapless and unwitting human. One could say its existence is unnecessary and unimportant. And yet, if you were to eliminate each and every ant as a whole, would their loss not be felt? Would it not be a shame? If a single star dies, perhaps it's loss is not so great. But the sky would be just a little darker, the cosmos just a little bit emptier. And although you as an individual are perhaps insignificant, your existence does contribute to the beauty that is all of Creation, and the universe would be just a little bit less as a result.

Ah, there I go again thinking things that have no real purpose, an infinite question with no real answer, but I do enjoy it! I took a deep breath, slightly melancholic, and realized that I had let my blunt die out at some point. Ah well, probably for the best. I packed up my trash, cracked my back and neck and got back on my motorcycle. I didn't feel particularly tired and thought I might spend some more time under the stars tonight, but first I needed to stop by my trailer. I dropped off my trash, grabbed my guitar, then packed a few more items into my pack and after dumping all of the above into my truck, roared off into the night. I had a particular spot in mind this time, a rocky outcropping less than a half hour ride away. The roads out here were not nearly dependable not familiar enough for me to want the experience of taking my two wheeled beauty out at night so the Ford F450 would be my companion tonight. I'd bought it used and it was a bit beat up, but it pulled my trailer just fine. Tonight though it was free of any load but myself and I whipped through the dark country roads without a problem.

I eventually spotted my exit and turned onto a dirt road that ended at an empty dirt parking lot but I continued down a side maintenance trail that eventually turned into an entirely off road venture. I finally stopped nearly at the top of one of the high spots in the area, a mountain of sorts that had a marvelous sheltered outcropping that existed right on the edge of a cliff. I parked my truck a little whiles away and hauled my pack, guitar, and a few loads of lumber a short distance to my little campsite. I saw that it had been undisturbed since the last time I had been here and gave a satisfied grunt. This place was my little spot and I would be at least a little bit upset it I had to share it with others. It was an inevitability I suppose, but for now all was well. I quickly built a fire and dragged the stump I had dragged there during one of my first forays in the area closer to the fire. As the fire slowly grew, devouring more and more of the hapless dead tree parts, the sparks leapt up into the starry night in a merry and mad dance. A short but beautiful life for each individual piece of bright glowing fire, that died in a heartbeat, but what a glorious moment it must live!

I kicked an unruly log a bit farther into the fire and pulled out my guitar, simultaneously slipping the remains of my rolled up magic leaves into the corner of my mouth and using a burning twig from the fire to light it. I took a hit and leaned back to expel the smoke out of my lungs, to join its brethren from the fire burning right beside me. I tossed the stick back into the fire and my fingers gently strummed the strings of the guitar as I turned the pegs just a little bit until it was tuned just right. Melodies spun through my head and my fingers quickly leaped to follow, strumming out forgotten or perhaps never fully realized bars and notes. My eyes gazed into the flickering flames with a hypnotized stare and I played out my thoughts, feelings, and memories, bringing them to life with each pluck and strum of the strings. My thoughts unwillingly flew back to a time long forgotten, glimpses of a life that was, and what could have been. “Only memories remain...”. A painful lump grew in my throat, and my eyes watered at the corners, whether from the overwhelming feelings or the smoke, or maybe I just hadn't blinked in a minute. I cut off the thoughts of a home forever gone, memories of faces and smiles and laughter, half made up, half forgotten. I finally blinked and thought I felt something wet on my cheek but I roughly brushed my shoulder against my face and focused myself wholly to the flow of the music I was pouring my soul into. The song turned from slow and sad to a faster and faster tempo, a beat that was in sync with my pounding heart, my mind and thoughts flew at breakneck speeds, my chest burning not quite with rage, not quite madness. My hands, my fingers, burned as they literally flew across the strings, and I was filled with rage at my inadequacy to fully express myself, not fast enough, not flawless enough, not ENOUGH. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and with a renewed desperation and zeal opened my eyes and peered deep into the fire. So beautiful and yet so deadly. Chaos incarnate. So intricate, so... A feeling unlike before took hold of me, and my hands began to move, my fingers plucked at strings with a determination and focus that was almost inhuman. The flames leapt and danced, casting shadows that flickered and weaved impossibly along the cave wall and my song danced with them. My fingers burned and could not keep up, should not have been able to keep up and yet they did. The strings bent and reverberated in ways that they should not, could not. I was incoherent, in a trance, semi awake, but caught in a trance that I could not leave, did not want to leave. I felt my eyes burn as the flames raged in cacophony with my mad song-making and I realized I was laughing, laughing madly as my eyes burned in the flames, but what burned hotter was my mind, my heart. I saw my burning father in the flames, my mother, my sister. I saw a life burn in those flames; my own. I could not breathe, the flames were so hot, so large. They should not have been so large. The flames roared but my scream was louder, my rage was louder, my laugh was louder. Sparks and flames danced and ignited my guitar, yet I did not stop playing. The strings burned red hot, tearing and burning at my fingers, my hands, but I did not stop. I hated this fire, I hated it. It hollowed my life, it stole my heart, it burned my world, but what would it care for my hatred? It does not know, it does not care. A star burns a trillion times hotter, and it mocks me. It mocks me but no, it just laughs. The fire does not hate, has no malice, it has no “why”. It just is. A manifestation of chaos, of death and rebirth, ashes to ashes, but for a brief moment of splendor, burn bright and that is all that matters. And I did burn, I burned and the flames burned with me, a living flame. I never stopped playing, I never stopped laughing, I never stopped crying.

The sheriff truck barreled up the rocky mountain road and skidded to a stop well out of range of the smoldering blackened ruin that occupied a sizable portion of the mountain face. Molten rock still pooled in the center of a glowing hot indentation in the landscape. The grizzled old man shielded his face from the still impressive heat the area was giving off and let out a “What the hell...”. Off to the side were the remains of a severely damaged shell of a vehicle, partially melted into slag, but still somewhat identifiable as a truck. The station had received a call from a curious and somewhat apprehensive passerby who had seen the blaze all the way from the main road nearest here. A forest fire is no laughing matter so he had received the tip off firsthand and rushed over here well ahead of any other first-responders, but now that he was here it seemed that whatever fire had been burning here had burned out, though he could not imagine what could have caused a fire of this magnitude and heat. There was absolutely no feasible explanation for a flame that was capable of melting stone to have somehow manifested out here in the middle of nowhere, then died out without a trace. He couldn't even imagine how creating so much heat out here like this would be possible. And apparently some fucker had caused it, if the vehicle was anything to go by. There was no license plate, at least, not intact. But even if someone was capable of doing something like this, why? What possible reasoning could explain this bizarre firestorm out in the middle of nowhere? And if it was an accident, how the fuck and what the fuck were you doing and what did you have? The sheriff stayed motionless at the outskirts of the slowly cooling site until the first firetrucks pulled up. The firemen ultimately determined that no further action was needed and pouring water on the site would ultimately be too dangerous and honestly, unnecessary. There were men who remained on the site overnight long past the site losing most of its heat, though the epicenter was still dangerously hot, and the sheriff was one of them. Something about the freak occurrence unsettled him, in a manner that was more than perhaps strictly explainable. Finally, as the first rays of the sun rose to touch the mountain top, the sheriff gave the burned out rock a final glance and after a brief respite in the rising sun's already borderline uncomfortably hot rays, headed home for some well deserved rest. The area would receive some amount of scrutiny from exterior agencies and investigators, but the sheriff never seemed to find a reason to come by that particular area again.

Did you know that before the universe existed, before all the galaxies and stars exploded into being there was a great nothing? An unfathomable amount of silence, of nothingness, of darkness. And then there was light. And there still is light. And there will be light, but after the light, after this brief spark of existence burns out, there will be a trillion trillion more years of darkness. We are that spark, we are the spark within a spark within a spark. So burn bright, because the universe is cold, and uncaring, and you will burn out, and that is okay. Because so will everything else. Burn bright because that's all that matters. That's all there is. And if sometimes it seems a little absurd, a little ridiculous, a little silly, a little crazy, then laugh. But only a little bit. And if the darkness frightens you, if you fear the unavoidable great dark, the end of you and the end of all, then weep, but only a little bit. Because it is only temporary, as all things are, there will be light again, perhaps another you, another soul born into existence, perhaps born the very second you close your eyes for the final time. Or perhaps the first light of an explosion of light that is a new universe being born, so far in the future that time loses all meaning. Just remember, it is the moment that matters, and for the moment we live in the light. And it is good. :')