We,the seekers

As the wheel of life turns,it becomes obvious to me that what oils the wheel is my reaction to it; they permit its future revolutions. If I were to stop acknowledging its twists and turns,I would stunt my own potential for growth,and an invitation to seek and know and be filled.

My recent trip to South East Asia is a case in point. I went there looking for something,materialistic pleasures and trappings nonetheless. I never really did find them. At the beginning it was infuriating. My disdain for the zinglessness of Singapore aggravated my frustrations and the dark hollowness of Jakarta was the suffocating stale bun on my uncooked burger. Straight to the trash can of memories. But when I noticed myself still moping on day three,ruing my decision to be there in the first place,I realised I felt heavier and tired,and completely unsexy. Failure had gotten to me,and it was making me a sad bag. I looked in the mirror and saw someone so undesirable that if I were marooned on an island with myself,I would ignore me and hump the tree.

You could blame it on Bali,but I beg to differ. You could argue that my mood changed,that the gloom uplifted because it was the jade therapy massage at the mouth of the ocean at The Legian,or the surfers from Australia that sliced the waves with a butcher’s precision,or the fabulous lady boy’s of Jalan Dianaputra that had my mouth circled in a permanent wow every time they did a rendition of ‘Mooriah Carey’,or the mother-of-Pearl statue of Lord Shiva dancing on the bellies of demons that made me flush my woes away. But I attribute the discovery of happiness,the excavation of burden,the lightness of being to Meryl Streep.

To witness good acting is fun,even exhilarating,but to witness great acting is to ask,to question,to decipher,to dismantle the fretwork of such finely calibrated emotions that what lies before you is that rare bird that migrates to new horizons every season,from frosty winters to cruel summers,never sticking to a plan,and forever seeking the idea of what else is there,what else can I do. As the masterful Sister Aloysius in the superb Doubt,Meryl Streep’s performance ignited in me a burning reminder to question my dismay. If,as any actor,she can continue to break new ground with every role,then it is obvious that she is still searching,and that her journey is far from over,and therefore she has become a beacon of art in all its purity. If I then consider myself an artist or a creator of any merit,how dare I allow any dejection and disappointment to arrest me? If I were smart enough I would let them wash all over me,because feel I must,and then watch them flow into the drains of history.

Because when there is a next time,and there will be one,I’ll be armoured with the nonchalance of someone who sits across the table from disappointment and politely lets it know,that I know its game,its ebb and its flow,and so I consider it totally passé.

It is art that has made me a hunter. It is art that makes me happy. I continue to seek. Thank God for the movies.

(mozezsingh@gmail.com)