Signposts On A Journey Within

Alien.
Sometimes we're just caught up in a bad romance: where things aren't what they seem, where what we say isn't what we mean, and who we talk to is not who we are talking to. Flirting with what, exactly? I cannot speak to you because the words I say do not mean the same to you as they do to me. I speak from my horizon, and you hear with yours, and so you selectively hear only what goes through your filter. I wish we could see each other for who we are, filterless. We aren't quite there yet, and that I accept. Much progress has been made however, many steps have been taken inwards. The outward shell has changed too, almost to the point of being alien to the past. One could say it is alien to the past because it's so different. And yet, it doesn't even matter because of course, we are here now, not yesterday, not before, not any time before yesterday.

Beneath this dance with illusion and mistaking what is unreal for the real, lies a struggle. A conflict, not of essence, but of perception. Essence is whole and therefore untouchable, but we seem to be able to perceive things differently from what they are. 'Why?' would be a fair question to ask at this point, but I'll move past it to get to what I wish to say. We appear to be uncertain of the world, to be transfixed by an apparently endless amount of possibilities and if...so statements. To clarify our blurry picture, we have dug our past out of our minds and brought it to the present, thinking that the answer is somewhere in our rubbish bins. Recycling repeats history. So we have had wars. We have had fighting. Cyclically. Internally and externally, we fight against/for a future with our past swords and guns. We arrive at a point of stalemate when we realise this conflict will restart if the rules do not change. Is there a winner? No, there is no loser. There is nothing to gain. Yet we think there is, so we continue fighting. Our essence remains intact, unaffected by our masquerading.

And that's where it is now. Still here, still at peace. I can feel a desire in me to really express the urgency or the sheer want to be at peace that I share with everyone, but I have clouded mine over with my fight. I stopped now. I really wish I would make the choice and be at peace forever. I will get there. I really will. I know it. Until then I will continue to be a light of the world, and shine as brightly as I can, through my illusions until they are dispelled. This, then, is a process that has the destination of forever, of presence, of now. Sooner is better than later, but it makes no difference in eternity, where there is, really, no time. That sounds like fiction, but the truth of it is untouchable, it's essential.

And this essential truth is oneness. And my words betray it. And my words know not of the truth. And my words are not the truth. But my words point to the truth. It's a journey that we have to walk ourselves. We are guided along the way, for sure, but we must walk back to truth just like we walked away from it. And in our journey we gain awareness. And we become conscious of our wholeness. And of our peace.

And we are not aliens, nor actors, nor characters, nor puppets, nor puppeteers. We simply are. And it doesn't make sense on the level of the mind. And it's conceptually disturbing. And it's twisted. Yet it's clear, because it's real, but it looks blurry when seen through unfocused lenses.

Just like a dream, you are not what you seem.

And it isn't what it seems. We are told what we should believe. We are told that if we believe one thing above another we will suffer. And we are scared, so we choose what we think makes us least scared, and we end up scared anyway. Why would we choose to be unhappy? Because we do not see the 'un'. So, again, we selectively pick out what we wish to see and that becomes our horizon through which we perceive the world. Distortion occurs, and we have pain. Reality lies intact, but the inability to see it for what it is is painful, because it resists. The truth sets us free precisely because it is peaceful, it is aligned, it is not in conflict with what is because it is what is.

And the metaphysical nature of what is currently being read by the reader might seem alien. It's a perspective. I don't know if how I see the world is how it is, because the inexistent realm of possibility can make it seem like it can be anything. Enter fear, shutting the door behind and giving you the key. Unlock it, if you dare. This is how I see it. Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone. I hear you call my name, and it feels like home. I measure how I see things by how they feel to me. But feelings are ephemeral, so more than that, I let the feelings come and from what they show me and from what I know, I make a decision whether I would like that feeling again. This is how I change my behavior. There is a simple relationship here - I do the things that make me happy and avoid those that don't. I see things that make me unhappy sometimes as things that make me happy. And in those cases, I learn from my misperception. And increasingly I become aware of something more. The pillar of strength that allows me to make such decisions, to feel, to know. I am conscious of its presence. Is it God?

It's another signpost on my journey within.

Looking Up

Living here, in this brand new world, might be a fantasy. But it taught me to love, so it's real, real, real to me. And I've learned we must look, look inside our hearts to find, yeah, a world full of love, like yours, home. Such a place I've tried to find for a long while, I've tried to locate where my heart was. Some find it in precarious places like their birthplace, some discover its existence in the remote reaches of a dream and from then on go on the search for that dream. Some Google it and get 100,000 results. Some seek and find what they are asking for. Some don't ask for what they really want, and get that which they ask for. The subsequent results indicate that it's somewhere elsewhere where I haven't looked previously. It's not complex. When I feel apart, I am not.

It's now that I see. It's clear to me that home is where the heart is, not because one feels an attachment to where the heart might be focused on, but because home is always here. I go on journeys of discovery to find places I belong to. Where do I descend from? Who are the people I have originated from? This leads me to new paths, new worlds, some traveled, some unexplored, some ancient, some untouched, some inexistent, some on the edge of exception. It's a compelling search, the search for home. I look at the yonder and wonder. Clouds mourn their lamentations and it rains, and I am scared to look up further. Then it stops and I look up again. Awaiting the lament.

To stand outside when it's raining
When it's pouring
Up I'm looking
Up I wish to be looking
To meaning
To being
To being myself,
To healing
Towards what I'm praying
About what I'm feeling
To what I could be seeing
If I was looking
While it was raining.

Home. It's where the heart is. It's here.

I seem to like to twist the idea and play with it around so that I can see it from different angles so I can understand it. Really, it's quite simple. There is no hidden message hidden in the obvious. The rain is symbolic for the 'tough' times where we forget to forgive. I am learning now. Thank you. To look up when it rains, to see that the world is not blanketed in darkness. There is light, because the light that shines upon me comes from within.

Our Course To The Stars

On a quest, are we not,
Trying to find our meaning?
Heaven shine a light
On these emotions we're feeling.
Tried and true, onwards we go,
Eyes closed to blind our seeing
We will have to open so,
To bless the world with our being.

Rhythm In Rhyme

Elsewhere, in crevices unweathered
There's a box of hope stashed away
Awaiting the touch of your hand.
Open it.
In between your fingers, feathered
Light may shine, show you the way
Through 'ere hallway of darkness.
Face it.
Hold out your hand, receive,
Be whole in what you are to give
Never ask for it back, for you do have
What you give, always in your hand.

Looking for myself in empty places,
Broken paths I must uncover.
Yet the silence and the lack of faces
Yell the truth I need discover.
Trodden journeys nowhere, blind with dread,
Mirror perfectly my mind.
They show the wayward image, turned to shred,
And a blessed son behind.

The world we're given, we push away,
Desiring one made by hands with which we pray;
Hands not wounded by counted battles for control
For a say in who we are, our role, our soul.

Rhyming
Several spaces
Lyrical inspiration
No frustration
But memories
Memories

Any meaning?
Anyone?
Any certainty
Jump the gun
Sit still
Listen
Stop hearing
Listen
Stop seeing
Listen

To Irk The Sum

Irk: Poetry about love, I could be writing. But you know what? I'm not.
Sum: Yeah, I know you're not.
Irk: How do you know I'm not? You're not even looking at me?
Sum: I know I'm not looking at you, you don't have to talk to me in that tone.
Irk: So then how do you know?
Sum: Well, you can't really write anything about love unless you've experienced it.
Irk: And why do you assume that I've never experienced love?
Sum: Because you just got defensive and said what you just said. You've never experienced it, you don't know what to write about, and besides... if you really sat down to write something about love you would think long and hard and longer and harder and then give up and talk to me about it and we would have a conversation like the one we are having right now except I would pace myself better and try to not have run-on sentences.
Irk: Your wisdom, or lack thereof, bores me. I'm telling you I know what love is.
Sum: Oh you do? Well... what is it?
Irk: Why should I tell you? You're probably going to annoy me once more with your useless banter and return the question back to me like an unqualified psychotherapist.
Sum: Thank you for that pathetic attempt for an insult, but you don't really expect me to change the subject now, do you? What is love?
Irk: You're full of something, you know that?
Sum: Yes, so are you, that's why we are here together.
Irk: We are not here together, you are here with me, for a good reason I imagine.
Sum: Maybe. What is love?
Irk: Maybe... that's all you have to say?
Sum: Stop avoiding the question. What is love? Or maybe you don't know but are too pathetic to admit it?
Irk: Excuse-moi, but if I was pathetic I wouldn't have such clever self-conscious dialogue to entertain you with, now would I?
Sum: I don't know. I don't care. What is love?
Irk: Please, let's not board the apathetic plane lest we crash into the sea because we stop caring about living.
Sum: Don't worry, I don't have enough money to purchase tickets. What is love?
Irk: I'm not worried, we cannot fly anyway, we don't have passports.
Sum: No further distractions. What is love?
Irk: Agreed. Love is.
Sum: Lovely.
Irk: Is it now? Do you know what love is then?
Sum: I was asking you the question, you were answering. No cheap psychotherapy, tyvm.
Irk: Ok. Then do not interrupt if you want to know my answer.
Sum: How do you know I want to know your answer?
Irk: Well you are asking me a question, are you not?
Sum: Am I? Am I now? Am I?
Irk: Are you?
Sum: Je ne sais pas. I don't feel like I was asking you anything.
Irk: Maybe your memory was shot down by your feeble attempts at humour.
Sum: Possibly.
Irk: Yes.
Sum: Mmm.
Irk: Mm.
Sum: M.
Irk: Did you just say M?
Sum: Yes, yes I did. Appalled?
Irk: I would be if you didn't expect me to be appalled. I see you are, so I am quite ambivalent.
Sum: Serious? How so?
Irk: I don't wish to bore you with the details like you have been boring me with your questions for the past unspecific amount of time.
Sum: Well that could offend me, but it does not.
Irk: I'm glad, no words can hurt you.
Sum: Nope, I'm invincible.
Irk: Yes, and so am I.
Sum: We are.
Irk: I am, you are, we are. All three pronouns we can use to describe our isness.
Sum: And isn't it funny then how we can never really point a finger to it?
Irk: I haven't quite been able to laugh at that yet. Not yet.
Sum: Really? Don't you think it's funny?
Irk: That we go around in circles?
Sum: Isn't that conversation? We take turns speaking?
Irk: Yeah, you talk, I talk, you talk, I talk, and from the point of view of the collective we both talk and that is our conversation and it goes in circles because it goes from me to you to me to you to me to you to me to you and it goes on and on like that until we stop.
Sum: Right. You would rather be doing something else?
Irk: Yes. Feeling.
Sum: You want to write poetry, don't you?
Irk: Yes. Poetry.
Sum: About?
Irk: Oh, you know, something that I can write about. Something I can express and look at and see how I feel about while I write and while I read it later if I get the chance. Something about nothing in particular, but something nonetheless because nothing in particular is really worth talking about unless it is something relevant.
Sum: Care to elaborate by giving an example?
Irk: I don't wish to elaborate because that would mean longer sentences. So I will be brief. I'm thinking... I'll write about love.
Sum: Love? Oh, and you know love?
Irk: Who doesn't?
Sum: You know about love?
Irk: Yes.
Sum: You want to talk about it?
Irk: Do I look like a teenager who just witnessed a shocking event in their life?
Sum: To be honest, I don't know what you look like.
Irk: Well, I do.
Sum: Can you show me?
Irk: Nope, I couldn't even if I wanted to. But you already know what you look like.
Sum: Yes, but I want to know what you look like so I know who I'm having this conversation with.
Irk: Yes, but you don't need to look further than yourself.
Sum: This sounds quite profound.
Irk: Sounds can be deceiving, just like appearances.
Sum: So then, what can we trust to be true? Oh, please tell me!
Irk: An exclamation!
Sum: Oh, oh, oh, oh!
Irk: Fear not, I shan't change the subject to Shakespearean England.
Sum: I am glad.
Irk: I am, too. You are glad. We are glad. All three pronouns are used.
Sum: Correct.
Irk: I wonder sometimes... who I am...
Sum: I wonder that sometimes as well.
Irk: Have you found an answer?
Sum: I don't know what to tell you. I know the answer already but it's like I want to check it with something and every time I try to find something to compare it against, it doesn't quite match up.
Irk: Is that so? Why is that?
Sum: Well, let me elaborate. There are others that I see around, and I try to get to know them and I make friends with them and if we are good friends then it means I am closer to finding a match to who I am. Then there is money, which I try to use and buy things for myself and when I have these tangibles I try to see how I feel when I have them.
Irk: And how effective has this proven to be?
Sum: Not very, I still don't have an answer.
Irk: You know why?
Sum: Yes.
Irk: I do, too.
Sum: Have you had much success in that department?
Irk: Kitchenware?
Sum: We are not in Briscoes. I mean with the question of who you are.
Irk: Yes. I have had as much success as you.
Sum: Somehow I don't believe that.
Irk: Neither do I... and I was the one that said it.
Sum: Why did you say that?
Irk: Je ne sais pas.
Sum: You should write your poetry now.
Irk: I should? Why do you say that?
Sum: Thank you for repeating my question, we have once more arrived at a common point in the circle.
Irk: We are always at the same point in the circle. The Earth moves. We don't.
Sum: Sometimes I don't even think we are on the Earth.
Irk: Why?
Sum: Because we don't move. I would expect that, if the Earth moves, we should move with it. But we don't. We seem to be stuck.
Irk: You know... you have a point. I feel stuck, too. Frozen in a loop.
Sum: You should write your poetry now.
Irk: Ah, you remembered that I should be writing my poetry now.
Sum: Yes, I do retain some memory.
Irk: What should I write my poetry about? Perhaps a memory?
Sum: You were going to write about love.
Irk: Yes. Do I know anything about love, though? You were doubting me sometime ago.
Sum: Doubt is a bitch.
Irk: No doubt.
Sum: I won't bother you with the question about love then because it would take you too long to answer it and we would end up back here again without an answer.
Irk: I might have an answer for you.
Sum: You might.
Irk: I might.
Sum: So, this love... is it grand?
Irk: You know already.
Sum: Remind me, so I know I know
Irk: Well, it's not very grand. It's not taller than Everest, smaller than a pea, juicier than a pear.
Sum: So how do you know anything about it if you want to write about it?
Irk: I know it, somehow. Inherently.
Sum: This is a new development, is it not?
Irk: No, it's the same question and answer, phrased differently, giving the illusion of originality but actually hiding behind the same thing.
Sum: That is wonderfully simple.
Irk: We are copies of each other because of it.
Sum: How do you think that makes me feel?
Irk: How I feel, but I could lie to you and tell you a different story. Then I would be inventing a narrative.
Sum: Then it would be original, would it not?
Irk: Would it? It's a copy, but it looks new. Is that new?
Sum: Je ne sais pas.
Irk: We do, we just don't want to know it yet.
Sum: How does it make sense to not want to know something that we already know?
Irk: It doesn't.
Sum: Are we waiting for Godot?
Irk: On the surface, if you had met me about an unspecific amount of time ago, I would have said yes.
Sum: But now?
Irk: Just now.
Sum: Now?
Irk: Yes.
Sum: So?
Irk: I was telling you about love, was I not?
Sum: Might've been, yes.
Irk: Ok. Well... Love is.
Sum: I hear you.
Irk: I'm glad.
Sum: So am I.

The Note Of Joy

Afternoon rain, blanketing somewhere
Those somewhere, rather nowhere
Sitting down, caught by surprise,
Reveling in someone's troubled eyes
Seeing passion, seeking free,
No end to their destiny
Intertwined and permeated
Such dreams dilapidated.

Pathos granted, motions set
Upon the desire to be let,
Answering the questions
Staring into the oppression
Opening the jaws of synergy
Into fascinating formations of energy,
The door is answered, the said said
And the repressed memories are shed.

If there's really to be happiness, there must be a note of joy left somewhere among the remains of our altercations with ourselves. I am fortunate and blessed to have others read that note from themselves to me when I forget where I put mine. I'd hold it in my hand but I could easily crumple it because I'd hold onto it too much. The solution is thus to keep it close and to form the habit of reading it often.

Let the story thus be told
In a manner that shines true gold
And let no obstacle stand in its way
So it can be heard by ears far away
Or those that are close, that wish to listen
To a word unspoken, unwritten, unhindered
Of faith.

Split Mind Spill

I am not in any way special and it's not in the way I dot my i's or draw the tails of my y's and g's and j's that you can see this. I am addressing you because I don't want to bother anyone else with how I feel. But I do need to say what I will so here goes. In advance, thank you for being, here and everywhere else that is here.

There is no one else. Or there is only everyone else and no me. Yes, it's fucked up, this perception, but I have to unravel its not so I can move on. Hold on through these metaphors, please.

I don't understand things anymore. Being happy, laughing, talking, dreaming... all ephemeral things. I meet with friends and we talk and we laugh and I put on a face that doesn't give much away... I kind of like it that way - locked in prison keeps me out of everybody's way. But that said, I, I, am still here. I can accept that this is my defense mechanism, my protection which I place before everybody else like a filter so that my shielding is justified and so that I can say to myself that there is a real reason why I am acting this way but that I don't want to reveal that reason to anyone lest they crush me in their judgment. Yes, it's misperception, I can tell. That said, I don't wholly believe it is, so here I am canvasing it so I can see it, and realise it, and receive the answer I am asking for. And I'm not checking Facebook while I type this. But if everything is fleeting because it's unreal, what the fuck is the point of being here, relating to people, encountering, crossing paths et al. What? I am convinced there is a point - something I should let go of lest I try to find it and desecrate nothingness into more nothingness. If I go searching in this split-mind state, I will not find peace. This point that I am meaning, is not necessarily a cliché of a life purpose, but some direction, some way that doesn't involve emphemerality, sadness, being upset, lost souls, loneliness, envy, abandonment, jealousy, drama... something that appears metaphysically like truth or love but that actually is here. I know it's already here but I need to KNOW it. I still hope that there is that. It must be, after all is said and done, something like that there. So what must I do to reach it? "A Course In Miracles" says it's already here and has always been and will always be. How have I become so lost if the answers are right here?

Am I always looking away but never here? The answers are never anywhere else but here? I can accept that, but I need, again, to KNOW it.

The truth is, I've been hoping for things, for selfishness to go away. There's this fix I have with attention. I see reflections of it in my life currently. People that want my attention for a heart-to-heart conversation or for help with their assignment... they get my attention, because I give it to them. People that exhibit a thirst for attention, that don't stop seeking when I tell them to, that maybe are addicted to it... they also get my attention, although in a limited form because I get defensive too and put up a shield that could be referred to as ignorance. Where do I go from here? Because, I'm currently starving myself of attention, knowing that because I'm not getting it, I'm not feeding my ego. Subsequently I am becoming quite depleted and lonely, because without my ego sucking up attention from others, it's dying in abandonment. And these are the feelings that I feel: loss, doubt, abandonment, loneliness, jealousy of others who gain attention... I feel like no one really needs to listen to what I have to say because me saying anything will be my call for attention. This could be as well. But what I really really want, is assurance - to know that what I am going through will pass. The way out will reveal itself when it is time for it to be revealed. Now, I am witnessing the self-destruction of ego and it feels like it's killing me too. But it's not.

Heaven bent to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight

Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear

I'm sure if I ask my friends about aid in helping me they would be supportive. But I don't want to do this because it would be attracting attention which will satisfy my ego... Not yet. I don't want to be selfish. I don't want the attention. But my ego does. But my ego doesn't exist. My feelings are but residue which I believe in. So how do I let it go? I have asked and have received.

Laugh

It's funny.

Adieu

One day, we will say
We used to be okay
Before all of this happened.
It's tiring now
Those dreams we fought for
Will never come true
As we thought they would.
They never do

Everybody loses something
Somebody sings about it
Everybody fights for nothing
Somebody cries about it
Nobody lifts their gaze
Anybody can ignore
Nobody remembers grace
Everybody smiles no more.

Adieu, mon feu, adieu,
Personne ne peut entendre
Rien ne peut surprendre
Ceux qui se détournent de tout.

Adieu, mes yeux, adieu,
La vie morose vous attend
Si vous restez endormis
Lorsqu'il pleut... adieu, adieu.

Will anybody be somebody true,
Will somebody bring anybody through?
Will everybody cease sleepwalking
When there's nobody else left talking?

Am I just a simple step away
From falling off the edge?
Is this wind that makes me sway
About to predicate revenge?

Oh it's sweet
Oh so sweet,
So bitter, bitter, bitter sweet.
My last adieu
Shall be from me
And in its symphony
I will be set free.

A Stanza Of Regret, To One Of Realisation

It doesn't matter what I do
It doesn't matter what I say
It doesn't mean anything
To be the one that saves the day.
I could fall for you, but I won't
The story's been left unwritten
So the author's who you choose to be,
The one that doesn't hope to be forgotten.

I could trip on my own desires
Fluttering on some dream of mine
Blinded by what I think is sight,
Seeing hearts reflected in lost time.
It could be a different world
In which we fear love and run,
But the day has come today to be
True to what we've been given.

Disproportionate Wallowing In Things Received

Today's events highlight one thing: you receive what you ask for. Whether you honestly, openly, slowly, subconsciously, vengefully, sympathetically, lovingly, apathetically ask for it, you will get it. The law of cause and effect operates within the world and there are no exceptions to this.

Part of the awareness that I have gained indicates that one needs to know what questions he or she is asking in order to notice that the consequences/answers being delivered are in direct response to what was asked. No exception. The surprising simplicity of this took me aback and I refused to believe... yet one cannot deny what is true and expect it to become false. The world does not operate under rules that we have made, we simply got here, in our fortunate positions, and started our exploration. The puzzle pieces fit together one way only. Thinking, forcing, expecting, cringing, pushing, resisting otherwise is futile and has no effect on the laws because the laws simply obey themselves and push back with resistance. Causes cause consequences.

When thoughts are sent towards the universe, to God, to the beyond, into apparent nothingness or the obscured abyss of life (or whichever other dramatic, meaning-infused, emotionally-charged substantives and epithets we use), they are heard, always. When we realise they have been heard and that the answers to questions we have asked have been given, we notice a pattern, an effect of familiarity. This is the invitation of sentiment that has been received. Subsequently, the sentiment has come to the party, in whichever form it may have taken, relevance aside. We ask for a feeling, we feel that feeling, wish granted. The Genie gets a box ticked in the 'trust' column. As time goes on, we become more aware of what we can achieve. With that comes the discovery that we aren't just pieces of flesh with electrifying sludge/brain mush that makes thoughts and reasons. We have the ability to create our experiences and experience them. Cause + effect.

Personally I didn't know much about this until I watched "The Secret" then read the book of the same name. There, they called it the 'Law of Attraction' which appears to me now as some sort of New Age term for the simple principle of Cause and Effect. Ask and ye shall receive. Seek and ye shall find. Knock and the door will be opened. Same principle here, too, just in another form.

In 21 Minutes

21 minutes until the 22nd hour of the 12th of May, 2010. Look at all these pixels - see how they are perceived as letters, as words, as coherent sentences, as information to be understood, shared, transformed, transferred, translated, transubstantiated even. When the time reaches a certain combination of pixels, this post will end.

The words of today were guided by trust. They were spoken to be heard, and they were. I was met with faces, with smiles, with a hug at one point. I knew I did not force them to occur. And I have learned not to derive meaning from them but let their significance be told from within instead of from without. Yes, they were humbling, reassuring even. They were more honest, I feel. In my previous game of forming expectations, I had trampled upon the basic feat of friendship - space. Space to let the other people grow, instead of imposing a framework upon them that boxes them in a certain way, like a handicap. Those aren't friendships. But today, I see friendship as unity. Despite the surface paraphernalia and the miscellaneous gesturing, there is an open connection through which smiles emerge and relationships blossom and manifest emotions and support. Do the forms mean anything? I can assign them one, I am capable. But they themselves do not come programmed. Maybe we should let them be, instead of attributing them with ephemeral import where there is none. One can place nothing in nothing, but it won't be something, it will still be nothing.

Amidst this world devoid of meaning, I find there is light where I am, light that I had overlooked. And this light cannot be encapsulated by pixels on the screen. But it's there; not as a mystical ideal, not as a magical energy ball, not as fiction, not as a character from Death Note, but as it is. Objective, I might not seem. Subjective, I may. Cela ne fait rien. Whatever I say comes from here. We can argue, debate, refute. Mais...

"I am light. I am one too strong to fight."

Alignment

You see now?

I see now.
I complicated the whole thing myself by fragmenting it into tiny little pieces and putting them back together. Of course they fit, I treated it like a puzzle, but they were never apart anyway. You can't fix what ain't broken, the saying is right. If it's not broken, there is no need to fix. I didn't need to be fixed either. I needed my space, I needed to see the bigger picture. Voila, I got a glimpse of totality. It's nothing to chase, it's already here. It's simply a matter of alignment. Reality, with what is. They are already aligned, which is what confused me before, but the point is for me to realise that they are one and that there is no elsewhere, for one must be all, which is why we are alone. It's already there, all of it in place.
I heard a story today that I've been wondering about for a while. I didn't know how to react, I may have made some remarks to express my desire, my approval of this story being told. But come now, space. It is here you are, where I am, what I am, who I am. I trust. This is the way. To let be, what is. In my initial silent struggle for an answer, I though the world was on my shoulders, that I was special, that I had some idea that needed to be expressed through me. But I was misguided by my ego. There is no such thing, no weight. There is freedom, responsibility - but no burden. It is love, it is will. Answers are given as they are received. When means nothing because it always is now. What I have is what I am, and neither subtracts from the other. There is no fear, for when I walk into the valley of the shadow of death, there is light.

C'est parfait.

Method Of Persuasion

Be happy.
Live the life that you want,
Don't you ever, ever
Let anyone tell you you can't.

Be happy.
Be brave.
Open your eyes and see ahead,
There are a few that are left.

Stand strong.
Don't look back
Hear them saying things to you,
Watch their lips move
For they are talking to you.
They see you.

Be happy.
Be wise.
Carry on.

Be happy.
Laugh a little
There's nobody here to cry
With you, no tears to be shed.
It boils down to the point
Of what was done and what was said...

Believe
Believe there's a chance for you
There's a place where you can go
There's a light shining the truth.

And believe in yourself.
There's no answers to be seen
But known.
But found out
By those who seek.

Be happy.
No path can ever disappear
No world can chain you up in darkness
But the one you hold most dear,
And you know that I care
You know that I'm behind you
It's just a little hard to bear
When I see that you're gone
Among the flames I see you're done.
You're done.
You're gone.

Be happy.
Raise your flag towards the sky
May the clouds part ways for you
To clear the storm that is inside.

Stand strong.
I know you will
There's no other possibility
It's a matter of life
What's the matter with you?
It's not about you.
It's not about you.
It's not about you.

In the greater of scheme of things
It's one little brick out of a building
But you're holding on too strong.
The wind is pulling at your heels
There's no mountain to be climbed
In the broken heart of the unreal.

In your eyes there is a promise.
Light the fire of your state
Burn the videos, the emptiness,
The ones that guard your fate.

Please, please,
Hold on.
Be strong.

Be happy.
No other life will come through,
Your success is not a battle
When it's already part of you.

Be happy.
Laugh a little at yourself
It's just one step closer
And you're off the edge.

Be happy.
Take the leap.
Be happy.
Make the journey.
Be happy.
Cross the bridges that you've burned
For fire cannot touch what can't be hurt.

Space

There is space in everything.





It is a silence that we know.








It is the foundation on which rests our beliefs, our forms, our emotions, our thoughts.






Transcend this. Go within.

Vague Vagues

1) Live the Life You Want
Emotion. Such a thing courses through my veins under the deceptively persuasive guise of lifeblood. It surges from my aortic pump into places of other biological import and teaches them shades of shared sentiment: la tristesse, la colère, la honte, la peur, or a viable concoction consisting of any combo of the previous and the unmentioned so that, on demand, when the command center utters its instructions, the expansive plethora of feelings can dip into its colors and manifest a condition under which each organ can play in an orchestral manner. This rich culture is further enriched by long sentences, symbolic of their journey, but also of their ephemerality. That decisive punctuation mark, little in size, is a segment of finality. Its presence is telling. It is defiant and seemingly otherworldly. It ceases, it ends and as such it is feared. It is a doorknob which can, when turned, open the door for emotion to enter. In it comes. Out it goes. Personne ne comprend. Nobody. It is with this apparent caveat that I ponder emotion in vague vagues. The road behind me was paved with good intentions, with the silent hope that there would be something ahead, and voilà. I never wanted to go to hell. I forget where I came from, but I made a wrong turn somewhere I can't go back to. No loading a previously saved game.

2) Corners
Nobody looks at me. I walked on, giving in to clichés. I played my cards with subtlety as to not give away my game but I created an image for the other players to look at. Call it my poker face, sans the sexual undertone introduced by Lady Gaga, or maybe just a little of that dressing, for influence my behavior it did. This image, which glues all the players together, which builds them up when they are down, worked for a while, when thoughts could be manipulated. But things have changed and I don't have the same cards in my hands. I can't play the same way with the different circumstances. I can change my tactics, but... I want to stop playing, really. You could mistake my jeu de cartes as a metaphor for life, but I precisely mean it to be an ironic symbol for the absence of made-up rules. Language, socialisation, is all a game with apparent winners or losers. But nobody looks at me. I sometimes think of myself as a winner, walking down the street, music in my ears. When I play the loser, I walk slower, head down, to the lament of a sad song that I feel is attempting to capture my sentiment. Life is not a music video. There's nobody watching each one but the people that make them, with their stories, so it's all in their heads. No one else cares. Everybody is too concerned with their own card games . So there's really no reason to lie in the corner, hunched, seemingly protected by the two walls that join behind. There might be a singer crying and validating somebody's abandonment, but they don't know, they aren't aware. Disillusionment is not revolutionary. I wasn't going to do anything very impressive actually, but attention is something we give and receive. The balance is ever-present and unchanging. This is why nobody looks at me. I don't like to look at them and when I do, I don't always want them to look back at me because, just maybe, they might see truth in my eyes, sign/sneer, and turn away. In those eyes, I might see myself, but there would be no place for me to turn, cornered.

3) The Silence of Those Who Lie
Deception plays its part and li(n)es are cast in the waters, baiting the restlessly foolish, begging them to fall into the net and believe. Losers... they'll want to be winners later which means that there will be more losers and then we'll have a food chain. But you know, it's all fake. There's no meaning anywhere, no significance that we can point to and say "This absolutely means something." In God, we do not trust. In ourselves, we have no faith. In nothing, do we believe. In nothing, we do believe. When it's dark, we turn away, avoiding what is not there, because we think it is there. And we lie about it. We say we are strong, we are brave, we are wonderful, we are powerful, we are free. We mean something, we are more, yet we call each other less. We play with meaning like it's something when it's nothing. And while we play the game, we are silent.















Notice the irony?

Operation Cwal

Do we increase the rate of unit production like the cheat above? 'Coz you can't wait any longer... is that why you have to rush? Cheater... I'm guessing you weren't taught to play fair before? Anyway, now that the Starcraft reference has been disposed of, I present you with a more light-hearted post. I've had enough of the worrying et al. My conclusion, which I have written on this piece of paper in front of my keyboard, says "When you are led to think that things you do and that happen to you mean more than nothing, all you can do is trust." I shall gladly take my advice, because I can't wait any longer. Nope. To be driven crazy is unhelpful and time-consuming. So I press Enter and type this in.

operation cwal

And now it's enabled. This is not a Starcraft game but we can agree that it works because the subject now changes. To a memory that is related to Starcraft. Stay tuned.

Imagine me, a young boy of seven or eight or nine years, lying on my mother's side of my parents' bed. There's a small notebook in front of me, nearly untouched save for some pages ripped out of it - previous attempts at giving the book a use. My head with that brown-blonde hair is focused ahead and a bit to the left, at the computer screen. This Pentium 2/3 (I forget which) hosts the afternoon's entertainment. My brother's there, playing the game of the month, and on the screen I can see hordes of Zerglings massing across the plain into a Terran base defended only by a few feeble Marines. My brother played Terran - he liked the tanks because they dealt splash damage. I hated them because they dealt splash damage. I preferred Protoss, thanks - more yellow, happier, more interesting. From my perch I got excited at what was happening on the screen - it was only later on that I learned that excitement expressed through erratic movement was considered mental for older people. Once I reached that, I stopped doing it publicly.

Each of the three races of Starcraft had a particular technology tree, each unit having a particular name and significance in the game. The balance of this has provided many people the chance to enjoy the strategy game... which is why it is still played today, in Korea especially. Those trees... they were the ones I liked to fool around with. I was so fascinated by them that I decided to make my own race and the tree to boot. Where to start? The beginning of course - with the main command building that each game started off with. It needed a fantastic name, so it received that honour. My not being able to remember any of the specific names can suggest to you that this honour was ephemeral. I make no apologies for that, bigger and better things appeared so I must have seized them. Or lost interest. Either, or. I would spend quite a few minutes thinking up these names... which were most important to me because they introduced to the reader how cool they were (the made-up buildings, not the reader - it was never read by anyone else besides me). After the first building was named, soon followed the worker unit, then the first fighter unit, then the other buildings and then upgrades. This process lasted me hours.

I don't remember having gone past a whole page. The next time I would come to do it, my interest in my current tree would have waned and I would rip the page out and begin again with a 'better' idea. At some point I collected the big (big) grey English-Romanian dictionary and looked up a plethora of words to sophisticate my trees with. Magical. I also translated some words of buildings from the game itself. I taught some of these to my mother because she wanted to learn English and me being helpful, I endeavored to assist her. I taught her the meaning of Barracks, Hatchery, Lair and Hive. The first is the first attack unit-producing building from the Terrans, the other three, in that order, are the upgrades of the main and only unit-producing Zerg building. I chose these because the words fascinated me - I had never heard them used in spoken English, not that I was exposed to much at that early stage of my learning/absorbing the language. Suffice to say, these words did not help much with her personal language acquisition. Maybe it helped in pronunciation, just a little. She still remembers two of them, although likely not the meanings. I don't blame her.

So... fast forward, and I stopped my tree invention/creative expression; at least in that specific way. It had taken many other forms, some similar, some quite different, later on during my teenage years. Possibly, this unearths the origin of my impatience, this operation cwal. I've noted in my first job interview, when asked for my weakness, that I was impatient at times. When asked how I would improve on that - as generic as the question sounded - I may have said that I would try be more patient. Maybe I should have retyped that cheat, or just quit out of the game - that would have put things back to normal speed. This journey through time thus has been brought to you by a cheat code. Now, back to the present. I press Enter.

operation cwal

Loss Sung By Somebody

Singing a song like this makes me smile
For I know you're smiling beneath as well.
In the morning light we lie there a while
Your hand in mine, you break through your shell.

Oh, we are waves
Meeting at the seams
Crossing in complete formation
The love that sees
Us come together as one.

Oh, we float above
The shores of sentiment
Hearts untied and bold and true
I can let go
Knowing I won't lose you.

Words are spoken like the past smoke
And the mirrors go along with them.
What truth is there, near our own oak
By our campfire, roasting love again?

Oh, carry on without
The burdens of my memory,
It may lead you to a brighter day
One without
Choruses and bridges over what we say.

Oh, catch the stars
In their wishful magnificence
For they may grant life to your dreams
That you dream
On a night where nothing's what it seems.

Stir within the confines of this scorned jail cell
Betray no secret that has dawned on you to keep,
Unfold the corners of the letter written to tell
Me of your truth, your decision made to made me weep.

Oh, how do cards
Arrange themselves in such a hand
That any move will split the heart twofold
And blood will drain
Leaking into rivers, into seas of love and gold?

Oh, why do hearts
Guide us into memories together
Where we are denied a new chapter to our story
Because it is done,
This irreversible undoing I had never wanted you to see?