An Echo of LAUGHTER in the Canyon...

There is a particular type of human emotional disposition which could be described as a perpetual state of despair; an emotional concoction existing in a potent suspension of suppressed hysteria. And though it may not be apparent to others nor a particular individual, despair flows alongside blood, racing after every heartbeat through swollen veins and arteries, breathing oxygenated blood, and clothes the world in granular whites and soft-focus greys, framed by the deepest of darkest blacks. 

The realm of despair is the realm of conscious hell, albeit hell denied. Contained within the fatty tissue of the human brain, this realm does not cater to hope; although searching for it, it is incapable of conviction. For, what is hope but wishful thinking? Despair believes in nothing and cannot be convinced of anything. It refutes both truth and untruth. It makes light of joy and peace and does not adhere to the passage of time. Instead, it cruelly coexists in muted oppression in the same manner as the conjoined Siamese twin shares the same body, the same organs but the psyche is rend in twain. Despair remains fixed, immovable and rigid like the trunks of petrified trees which will never unfold a new leaf, shed an old bark nor reach for the immaculate blue sky with boughs blooming splendidly. Despair displays itself and its vices in the debris of poor decision-making, self-doubt and repeated errors in judgment expelled by the shallow waves of time onto the coarse and jagged shores of a human lifetime. 

Like the thin sliver of water that forged the mighty Fish River Canyon in southern Namibia, such is the power of despair. It may appear innocuous, be dismissed as a thin sliver of nothing, but dare leave a small stream of running water in peace, unchecked, following its course of least resistance, and that same innocuous stream will doggedly forge for itself a pathway through the highest mountains and carve for itself into the landscape, the deepest of valleys. Where it meets with resistance, it will roll restlessly, gouging into soil and rock vast and deep pools, where it silently collects itself, generating, releasing tonnes of energy, intent on obeying the instructions of its nature, regardless the impact on its immediate environment.

Despair is the root of hysteria. Hysteria, the long, irritating, high-pitched whistling in the ear of the restless sleeper. It comes not in from outside, does hysteria…it rages inside and bulges obscenely outwards, creating for itself a form of expression, a method of operation, an appearance, a persona. Feeding off despair, hysteria numbs the senses, darkens the day, fixes and narrows the vision to dull the chlorophyll green of flora and dim the bright gold of the sun. Such is the nature of hysteria. In the realm of hell, albeit denied, despair forms the flat roof and windowless walls of a dark, dismal chamber while hysteria is the poisonous vapour occupying every void millimetre inside. 

Is it our gratitude, or ingratitude, at waking up out of unconscious deep sleep which shocks us into the awareness of our physical vulnerability and heightens the longing for a companion, a sympathetic sentinel, to share in the state of sleep alongside our human bodies? A sentinel to ward off the subconscious fear of a sudden, lonely demise while we slumber under anaethesia of sleep? As numerous as the groupings of human beings on earth who draw breath in unison at every synchronised heartbeat, as diverse are the origins of despair. How should we then cope with and finally escape from despair? How can we silence hysteria without paralysing our vocal chords? 

In the face of despair, in the dark countenance of hysteria and its multitude of vices, the human psyche and brain evolved a 'trick', if you will, which naturally, after gentle prodding manifests as a peculiar noise...howls, hoots and guffaws of laughter. Laughter, a natural, life-saving antiserum developed covertly during the process of evolution in the crinkled crevices of the human brain, essentially to suppress the prescience of death. Laughter instantly refreshes the entire human nervous system, lifts the emotions and tricks the brain into resetting itself for the purposes of physical survival. 

Laughter steals and collects the battered debris from the jagged shores of human existence in the dead of night, and mischievously presents a collage of humour, the next morning. Laughter gouges for itself in the solid rock face of the harsh landscape of human experience, a singular humorous perspective, and collects itself in a deep, energetic pool of mirth and delight. Laughter languishes in the spaces between symbols scribbled on paper and laughter constantly resonates and echoes in the air, while the vain ape giggles in admiration at its evolutionary (im)perfection in the cold, flat surface of a handheld mirror.

Laughter saves us from despair. Laugh hysterically.