ir a principal |
Ir a lateral
I, we, you, choose
To contradict the blessing
With what cannot be.
I, we, you, choose
To compromise heavenly
Things with harsh nothings.
I, we, you, choose
To replace peace and love with
Anticipation.
I, we, you, choose
To suffer indecision
To be left suppressed.
Love.
Seventeen minutes and twelve seconds later and the parasol is in full bloom and the sand is still bottle-necked in the hourglass. Time, has replaced the message with its clock face and its arrow hands, cupped full of the matter of shattered glass. There's beaches of it, and you and I are swimming ceaselessly in it. All the time. I may ask myself what is going to happen within the next fifteen seconds, but will realise by then that by the time I would have thought about it, I would have lost my time thinking about it, and with that, my mind. And you would leave me behind, to drown in my contradiction. I'm not impressed.
But you come back for me, anyway.
Wounded is my pride that I carry with me on my back. Yes, it aches. As I am caught between a senseless conflict between the illusion of greatness without foundation and the probing lasers of the observers. The latter feeds what is seen to the cycle mind, the mind on repeat. It's a war of projection in which there are no casualties but egos. I am thus left with a mood of inevitability, a sentiment of somehow missing my worth and my devotion while I am carried, weightless, to a new place.
I imagine I am floating, drifting, going where the wind takes me. It's quite apparent in this state that my emotions have been numbed and distanced from the limbs of my body so that they merely feel within me, without attachment. As peculiar as this may be, it is close to a freedom I did not envision. I can smile, but I do not find a drive to. My pride, the fortress of it, is crumbling into the dust from whence it manifested itself. I could shed tears if I held on, but I couldn't. I let go, and in limbo is not where I expected to be. I feel relieved that I was not suppressed aside and merely left to walk out through the gates as the walls burned and the sky turned a dissimilar shade of blue. I did not come out on horseback or in a carriage named Peace. I simply ambled down the path and the threshold was passable. I went through and in the next few shots, the citadel behind me, is falling. Falling.
I am no more. No more.
There is nothing left in the wreckage. The ruins deconstruct themselves as effervescent structures. Out of mind, they go. The dust cloud is clearing and soon the way will be free of distraction or blurriness. There will be vision. There will be truth. And there will be no corners nor shadows where there are no walls. No places for fear to hide, it has to finally see itself under the yonder, among the plains.
This place, the barren, the past forgotten and the now remembered, has always been here. From here, do I truly begin. As the seed in the soil, I lift up through to the light, and I flourish, unhindered. In this empty place, a wonder grows.
Suddenly, I see the things I used to see so differently,
I feel as if I've found a new reality.
Suddenly, the noise outside my window is a symphony,
A symphony of endless possibility, right in front of me.
Suddenly, I understand the meaning of eternity.
I'm reaching out my hand to touch you,
Now I see, suddenly.
The fragrance of your smile
The womb of your indifference
The flight of stairs for a mile
The whole lack of penitence.
The peace in your heart
The marshmallow gaze
The presence from the start
The most familiar haze.
The riddling laughter
The broken lies
The prose right after
The sudden ties.
The four lines
The feather
The two signs
Together.
The she
The you
The me
The true.
Your face
Your pupil
Your space
Your beautiful.
The past is gone and today I wake up and feel freer than the day before. My day is not burdened by what happened last night, by the expectations that I would have held on to or by the easier-said-than-done task of keeping everybody happy. Those mental schematics fell through the shallow floor into the nothingness they came out of. I could have tried to control how the night went but I knew I was out of my league and doing that would have created more stress and worry. And so, we started off with so-and-so number of people and slowly they all went their separate but clustered ways. And I don't resent them for it, although the past 'me' would have felt very beaten and ashamed and let down. One could take it as a metaphor for the life experience, but then again one could take any part of the whole and see in it reflected the whole. No surprises there.
This morning I woke up and I am still here. I realise I am. And the frail defenses against the enemies of no one have been taken down.
I figure that anyone reading this blog, likely someone that knows me over someone that doesn't, would not particularly understand what I am talking about, or where I come from. The words paint a picture that I have not so far been able to see from another point of view but my own. To me, it is sometimes clear, sometimes deliberately not. To others... I don't know. This is 'my' space, and if all the writing were to disappear from the site, I would still remain.
Those words, those words that you said,
I took them and burned myself with them
Hoping that the pain would be great joy,
But it wasn't.
Hea rtbreak
Is like that.
I know you knew nothing, suspected some
Things maybe, but you didn't know. It's how
It turned out. Nothing to do about it, but
Forgive.
Un enfant tient au gaz d'échappement. Il le respire et le gaz voyage à travers son cerveau aux fins minuscules de rue, de monde, d'endroit connu et de lieu imaginaire. C'est le chocolat chaud qui frappe les nuages, et la pensule avec laquelle on mange la soupe.
And if by any chance one would listen to words as if they were drenched and leaked off the page into the estuary of someone's palm, maybe that someone close by who had auditory nerves enfleshed into their fingertips, one would realise that sense is not made by the chorus of the crowd but by the imagery of the spark that desires to make. But it can't make what it wants, only what it must. However, it can only make what it must when it is what it wants. The first part of the first statement is then not true, and we have an argument where logic takes a seat and watches bored in a corner on a fold-out chair. Shenanigans. So far, the lines have been blurred little, but the sense has not been made. Or has it? Do you get it yet? As you sit in your chair, are you comprehending that what I am writing here is not what I am writing here? And can you also see that no one is writing, that it's all been done, thought, processed, dried, revered, clasped, probed and pieced before you even sat down? Can you see I am being self-conscious? Can you really see anything?
Et nous arrivons ici avec beaucoup de temps pour réflechir et penser à tout ce que ne fait rien. Désolé si je semble existentialiste. Je viens d'être étonné par la guerre entre moi et moi-même, encore. Encore, ça survit. Mais aujourd'hui je me rends compte que c'est bizarre. Ce n'est pas naturel. Ce conflit... c'est tout dans mon esprit, avec des aspects mis en lumière de temps en temps dans mon monde.
This place is dark. It sucks. The corner shadows of the mind in which fear rests restless seem to be static to the ephemeral attempts to think them out. Glorious syntax, will you please unfurl? I don't like praying to doorways. So can there not be so much inbetween? Because it's just so darn confusing. Clarity, please turn on the light. I know you're in the room somewhere and just too obvious to see. I want to see you now, c'est-à-dire, I want to see. Properly. Truly.
In light.
En lumière.
It all comes back to the man in the mirror. I fight and blame someone else and then learn to forgive them and myself. And it all circles back to me. Ultimately though, the biggest fight I can have is with myself, my ego. Against nothing.
And because this doesn't make sense, I am watching it dissolve into the light.
I hear the rain pulling out the rift of space
between my facial features and my feeling
of abandonment. It dries up the pale light
of peace. Some corpse lies on a table alone,
undergoing instructions to shrivel. Sand
remains remain to remind one is yet free.
Remember the voice of silence, yelling "Free
yourself!" Now I have given it more thought space;
see I have drawn with a mental stick in the sand
my aspirations. These schematics, feeling
has kept firm and unbent. Now that I am alone,
I can exhume them to be burned by the light.
Friendships, relationships, secrets in the light
of truth, their funeral is nigh. Let me free
also my buried heart, a symbol left alone
far longer than desired. Amidst found space,
I gather from below the surface of feeling
like I understand, a feather kept by sand.
I used it to write down names, scribblings in sand,
of those who I held dear. Carved, when met by light,
they still shine, resplendently touching, feeling,
setting their etched presence and nuances free.
Perhaps in my voyage, I may roam in space
for them. Maybe not. Maybe I journey alone.
Yet this path is too well-traveled - the alone
eventually find it, don't they? Breathe. Sand
parts and the windswept realms greet me with the space
to find my way. My luggage gone, I trip light.
I am not even burdened by want to be free
and so, I rest in an embrace of feeling.
Ever, I could not encapsulate my feeling
into expressions where I was left alone.
Now, I reach beyond them to where being free
is but the way beyond the walk in the sand
of mind. Joined are the granules, in purest light,
permeating the dunes on the shores of space.
I am free of any bounding feeling
That in space, in rain, I am held alone.
In the wet sand, I but follow the light.
I am obviously hiding.
I try to find the forest inside the book so I
Can rediscover the mists where I dreamed I
Was not fictional.
I haven't yet found that familiar path I
Carved through the paper and roots I
Left behind.
I am clearly hiding.
I wish to discover a fountain with a gurgle I
Can capture with cupped palms so I
Can be reassured.
I walk among the wisps of light I
So dearly wish to be seen by but I
Flicker.
