I love “The Lion King”. And I mean this not as the average, casual use of the word love. I mean it in a deep down, somewhere inside of me is pulled by it kind of love. Toward my core, that is why my love for “The Lion King” resides. And it draws me.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be part of that circle of life, as presented in “The Lion King”. Certainly, I want to be a living part of it, but I want to be over there, actually in it, as opposed to over here, living in the regular world full of buildings and suits and such. I want to live with the lions in Africa. I want to be one of them, an honorary member, so to speak. Sure, our diets don’t exactly line up with one another, but that would be part of the beautiful balance of it all. I would love them, they would love me, and no one would be stealing anyone else’s food. Perfect.
Anyway, I realize how silly or odd this might sound. I get it. That in no way changes the desire I have to be part of whatever that magical world is that is presented in “The Lion King”, both the film and the stage musical. Perhaps it is that beautiful balance of power and majesty, combined with belonging, love, purpose, and community. Whatever the case, I have daydreamt of being with the lions for decades, and am still working on how to make something like that happen.
Have you ever lived without a purpose? I’m doing it right now. I almost feel even more like a crazy person than I ever have. I find myself wondering the point of everything I’ve done in my life, seeing it all as useless, as though I am somehow at the end of my productive and useful phase in life…, as though there is nothing good left to come.
I don’t actually believe this, but it is my experience right now. It is the result of having no purpose, I think. And yet, I am almost terrified of finding what I could call a low-level purpose, for fear of being stuck in it. I worked at Starbucks for a while a few years back. I was quite good at it, and I occasionally miss parts of it (like interacting with all the nice people, and making people’s days and such). However, I want to do so much more, that a job like that makes me sad for all the unused potential within myself. And yet, every day feels a little bit worse on the confidence front (not for confidence in myself, but for confidence in my future). These goals and desires I have for my future seem so unlikely to align, I am beginning to feel desperate and hopeless. Why bother?
I suppose it might be time to talk to Jude a bit, and to try out something new.
What to write…? What to write…?
Of legends? Of thoughts? Or of tonight?
Do I analyze something maturely,
Or speak from the heart purely?
Shall I cry or weep with relief,
Or in a blow of deleaf… defeat?
What is the point (Shall I write about that?)?
My efforts feel pointless, and quite often, in fact.
But what does that matter, when the measure is of others, not myself?
For this is not just another trophy for my nonexistent shelf.
It is whole and complete, and perfect, you see,
for it is meant as a place to express for I, myself, and me.