Nowhere Fast - May 7 2024

 

Nowhere Fast

May 7 2024

I swim

between the buoy lines

counting laps.

Have settled in

to the rhythmic stroke

regular turns

back and forth.

Muscle memory

and the body as machine,

while my mind is free to wander

and life's adversity

is put on hold.

Which might seem pointless to you,

ending up where I began,

going nowhere fast.

But out in the lake

in open water

there is no keeping track

single lane

reversing course.

No straight lines

or tiled walls.

I am an automaton,

swimming as far as I want

if not as far as I can.

And one day

when the weight of the world becomes unbearable

I will jump in

on a whim

without a plan.

Will head out

just as the sun’s about to rise,

and the lake, a polished mirror

merges with the sky.

Will swim

as far as I can,

leaving in my wake

a trail of broken glass.

At least for the seconds it lasts,

before the surface smooths over

invisibly mending itself.

So in a heartbeat

there will be nothing left to show

I ever passed this way.

Pointless, you might say

to go nowhere fast

and do it blind.

To swim for your life

and leave nothing behind.

Choose your own metaphor.

For a nihilist like me, this poem has something to say about the ultimate meaninglessness of life. I don’t mean nihilism in the sense of anarchy, license, despair. I think it’s more about humility: a useful corrective to the solipsism and self-importance of our age. After all, we may have refuted the geocentric model of the cosmos, putting the sun at the centre of the solar system; but we still put ourselves at the centre of the universe. And even though there is no ultimate meaning — no higher power, no reason we’re here except for the random collision of molecules and an improbable chain of contingency, and only oblivion after we die — we are still free to construct meaning: that is, live like happy idiots because conscious self-aware life is a rare and precious gift, so why not dig in?

The poem celebrates the kinaesthetic pleasure of movement, the thing for its own sake. Although also for the sake of escaping from the pressures of one’s personal life, as well as from a world that seems more and more frightening. Nevertheless, an activity that in an existential sense seems pointless. Should that make a difference? No. At least according to my philosophy, as well as the poem, it shouldn’t.