Nothing is Everything: The Myth of Skyriziphus
Things are gettin’ clearer, yeah I feel free…
I don’t know exactly when the song began, or how many times I’ve heard it now, but I tend to trace it back to that day at the lake. Or was it the ocean? Maybe some kind of seaside resort? It’s hard to say. It was all so long ago. There was definitely a sizable body of water nearby, and a dock or a pier that people were jumping off of, but I can’t be more certain about the specifics than that. One thing I do remember though — remember like it was yesterday: a single-engine Cessna writing an infinity sign across the sky. I asked around — about the pilot, the message, who might have hired him, what it might mean — but no one knew a thing. Most of them hadn’t even seen it. They were too busy jumping in the ocean (or the lake).
To bear my skin, yeah that’s all me…
Looking back, I’m not even sure why I was there. A wedding maybe? Or a graduation? The song’s changed countless times since that day, but when it first started, it had a lot of steel drum. Or something that could pass for steel drum anyway. Maybe a Marimba as well. I can’t say for sure. All music runs together for me now. There was a band there too — a trio — navy men, from the looks of them. Could the song have been some kind of subliminal mind-control? A government experiment on an unsuspecting populace? At the time, I banished these thoughts as paranoid fantasy, but some days I still wonder. I saw those men playing with my own eyes — a banjo, a trumpeter, and an upright bassist — but I swear, they never made a sound. We danced the night away, but we were all dancing to the song. It’s only ever been the song.
Nothing and me go hand in hand…
It’s always been a woman singing, beckoning me to slough off the toil and drudgery of my workaday life, and march out into the cold embrace of the sea (or lake). An alluring alto in the beginning — with a buoyant, mid-tempo cadence suggesting both relaxation and adventure — over time she’s warped into a relentlessly upbeat soprano fit to drive a man insane. I’ve tried to escape hundreds of times, but the song, and the water, never seem to get any further away. This time I bike inland for what feels like hours. Days. Weeks. I really couldn’t say. But the song stays right behind me. And all around me. And everywhere I’ve been. And everywhere I’ve left to go. Time? Distance? They’ve lost all meaning. Is that one of the side effects? I honestly can’t remember. Is that one of the side effects? How would I even know?
Nothing on my skin, that’s my new plan…
In a moment of desperation, I look to the heavens for answers, and again glimpse the mad skywriter weaving his ominous, lemniscate jet trail. When I look back down, in the slow blink of an exhausted eye, I’m by the ocean once more (or at least some kind of cove or inlet. Maybe a quarry?). There are others there, doffing shirts and shoes and leaping in with abandon. They seem happy enough. Why not me? The water looks cool and refreshing. My throat is parched. My skin is chapped raw — both from cycling interminably into the chill, coastal wind, and from my moderate-to-severe plaque psoriasis. I consider jumping, just for a moment, and sensing my weakness the song grows louder, its chipper pop sensibility nudging me toward the edge. I know it’s a trick. A siren call to certain doom. But when every road leads to a cliff, each cliff looks a little more inviting than the last.
Nothing is everything…
More recently, the voice has come to resemble my own. The rough, blue-collar twang of a red-blooded American man. A real man. A man’s man. A man who moves rocks for a living. Probably with a pickup truck. One with a V8 hemi and award-winning towing capacity. The new voice sings about this sometimes. I don’t think I’m his only gig. But he gives me a sense of agency. I can hear myself think again. Or someone like me, anyway. He talks me into the truck — waives some dealer fees; pulls some strings on the warranty. My APR is incredible. And even though I know it’s still the same voice, singing the same song, at least I can cover more ground now. Maybe finally put some real distance between myself and the water. Spend some time with the Earth. Study it. Know it. Maybe start a farmer’s market.
I see nothing in a different way…
The truck has turned out to be both a gift and a curse. It’s gotten me somewhere landlocked, and the farmer’s market is clearly a success, but I’m also helping people move, like, literally every other weekend. I have a family now. A house. A yard. I can see for miles in every direction. Not a nebulous body of water in sight. My daughter runs to greet me, and a decorative cake topper lets me know it’s her sixteenth birthday. This gives me a sense of both my own age, and my mortality. A clue as to when this all began, and reassurance that someday it will be over. My wife and I share a warm smile. I don’t know what the song means, but in these small moments, I experience something almost like joy. I even catch myself whistling along as I sink a winning cornhole shot. Could this really be it? The freedom I’ve been looking for?
And it’s my moment, so I just gotta say…
Suddenly I see it. The plane overhead. The ∞ in the distance — featherdown white against the azure sky. And the water, stretching out below — so calm and crystal blue that the point where it meets the horizon is all but imperceptible. I thought I’d escaped, but it was there the whole time. I don’t even know how I missed it before. The girl distracted me. Spun me around in a wondrous, twirling hug. Back to face the land, and our home, and the life I’d made with her and her mother. Were they the ones singing to me? All this time? Leading me here?
Nothing is everything…
I toss her the truck keys without a care. A fatherly gift. I don’t need it anymore anyway. For the first time I understand: there’s only one way to get where I want to go. With the voice decidedly mine now (for I’m singing the song aloud) a rope descends as if from nowhere — seemingly, from the sky itself — and I take it in hand, swing out wide, and at long last, plunge into the cool, clear water (I think it’s a bay… I’m going with bay).
Nothing is everything is nothing is everything is nothing is everything is nothing is everything…
