Writers and Discoverers

January 12, 2009

We are all, fiction writers. Daily, we put our lives

to words. Most of us don't write them, but every

time we integrate an incident with our past, we're

creating our lives. It might be something as simple

as to remember how hard we worked for that

increase in salary, or how unjust it was that we didn't

get promoted, just because we're too frank with

our opinions and don't kiss ass. Yes, we are always

imagining how it feels to be ourselves, and how others

see us.

I don't like to do that anymore, and am very watchful in

order to catch myself. I caught myself doing it this

morning. So instead of revisiting my petty victory over

my malevolent PC, I decided to imagine how it felt

being Columbus on that day of 10,12, 1492.

I chose Columbus because we too have been explorers

in search of a mythical land not called Zipango or Cathay,

but enlightenment. No doubt Columbus felt great joy that

morning as his men rowed him to that sparkling beach. His

big gamble had payed off. He had been right all along, here

in front of him was Zipango, or maybe Cathay. No doubt, he

was a little disappointed and confused at being greeted by

naked savages. But he made excuses, he never lost faith as

months passed and he discovered only islands populated by the

same naked natives living in the same miserable huts. He had

just arrived at a remote part of Cathay, farther southeast most

lie the golden cities of the great Khan, that was it.

Are not we, him? These insights, these experiences, this wisdom,

this lack of self we discovered is not the Mythical Shangri-La we

sought. And yet, it could not have been otherwise. I have

discovered nothing and most sail the bareness of an endless ocean

till I die. Ubes mea Cathay? Nusquam. Nihil, nihil!

Pete

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