ir a principal |
Ir a lateral
Freshly ripped wings from my back,
at least I can walk
like a man still bleeding;
I cannot fly
missing wings once attached.
Trail shivers in the air
it follows you walking away
it follows as if I were following you
but I cannot lift my spirit
as you stretch out the horizon
and mark the path in my ink.
I'd follow it to find you
but I feel you are
not to be followed;
Instead, I step into another way
clean of knowing;
maybe walking along
I'll see you in my periphery
an empty sky between us.
I've spent the past few weeks examless and a couple of weeks before that semi-examless, yet I don't feel I've gone into the mindset of being on holiday. I say mindset because while I have been aware of there being a lack of needing to go to university and to study, all that energy has just been reallocated into other thinking, and some into non-thinking, which has allowed me to realise some things. In no particular order.
1) I take things far too seriously. Somewhere along the way that I can call my life, I switched, likely unconsciously, a switch that made me take whatever happens in my life with heavier hands and more attentive eyes. I think there's two sides to this. One, the 'serious' things that happen to other people (and myself as well), cannot be avoided, and years of counselling and advice-giving has made me think twice about the way they appear. A smile can be a smile. But a smile can conceal. And often what we conceal is what we want to run away from, perhaps when we ought not to be running away from it. The possibility of there being something seriously wrong in someone's psyche has made me think twice about why people do what they do, why they say what they say. And this is where the other side of the issue is revealed, because this, when applied to the majority of situations, means both misinterpretation but also a tendency to overreact to what others do and say. Simple jokes, meaning drenched in sarcasm, become harbours for hidden agendas. A little paranoia, here. And then, bitterness, when I realise those jokes were jokes and I took them seriously. Disappointment at myself for making myself into a fool, but also anger, whether it be towards the jokers, or the jokes themselves, or myself, the butt. Thus a balance is needed, a balance that I believe now to be struck by trust. The trust that whoever has something serious to focalise on, will be assisted in their way by whoever is in the best position to help them. Consequently, I withdraw my responsibility for the actions and feelings of others. If I am needed, I will be there. If I am not, I will not. Amen.
2) There is a difference between loneliness and aloneness, one discovered and clarified by some quotes from Osho. Loneliness is always in relation to the other, and thereby focuses on a lack of the other that is felt as a lack of self. Aloneness, on the other hand, is not relying on another, and simply being aware of the self. So aloneness is not lonely, because it is with the self. And that self relationship is the well from which all things aligned arise at the right time to be met and acted upon. Loneliness is a reflection of dependency, dependency which I realised I was harbouring towards my friends and acquaintances, as well as towards my brother and parents. I'd grown up expecting things of them, and many times they met them, and many times they did not and so I felt cheated, abandoned, a victim at their feet, unseeing his responsibility, my responsibility, for my own actions. I need them. I need you. That is loneliness, and what I want from it would never be fulfilled. It is not difficult to understand, though I am seeing it is taking some time to cement itself in my consciousness, because I have not been used to thinking that aloneness and loneliness were different, and that the previous is positive while the latter negative. I got used to co-dependency, and it is only recently, through pain and surrender to that pain, that I discovered that my fulfillment and joy does not lie in someone else's hands and therefore does not depend upon anyone else's actions. Instead, it comes from within. And paradoxically, it is true to say I am never alone, but I am always alone, since the self-relationship is the only one which is always there, and the more conscious I become, the more rooted I will be, and thus, nurtured and nurturing.
3) "Be fully invested in an effort, but not attached to the outcome." The words of Marianne Williamson. I've found myself so easily carried away into thinking I must control outcomes because success or failure depended upon my efforts, but I have learned it is not so. What do I know what a success is and what a failure is, because after all, they can both happen at the same time, because they are simply different perspectives on the favorableness of an outcome? I can see that things can be seen both as 'good' and as 'bad', so somewhere along the way I must have decided that everything needs to be seen as 'good' in my eyes, and I thought the 'good' was inherent in the outcome and not in the way it is seen. So I tried to fix the outcome, instead of fixing my lenses. I think this 'control' then comes from a faulty sight, seeing untruth as the truth. Knowing, then, that the outcome is neither 'good' nor 'bad' but just is, I do not have to control it, knowing that life will play its part in using whatever outcome it may be to its best use where it is most appropriate, something I cannot judge, but something that awareness itself can. I am grateful for that. It allows me to focus on what I am doing now, instead of what will come about. This, I want to carry on. Though I may stumble, I will allow that, unconcerned about 'getting there' but simply participating on the journey.
4) Having said what I have said about dependency and its affecting my mentality by giving me expectations of others that they need not be burdened with, I am learning to become more independent. Aloneness is sheer independence, according to Osho. I am not saying I do not need to depend on anyone ever again - I need not wall myself in and just meditate for the rest of my existence as this form. What I mean, instead, is that I can relate to others without being attached to them, or what they might do (the outcome). This way, I am not possessive. When I am alone, conscious of myself as myself, independent and thus aware that I do not need anyone else for fulfillment, I can fully invest myself in an activity, whether it is solitary or whether it involves another person. And what will come of that is then of its own accord, perhaps using me as a vessel, but not of me as a form. Amazing things can happen when life flows through. It performs miracles, it permits everything, and guides what needs to be guided back towards itself. Being a vessel for that, is, I believe, the point of this all. It is peace, it is joy. And it does not rely on the serious, unstable, inconsistent, uncertain, me. I am grateful to be.
Pinpoints in this relationship
are corneas for the indulgent,
those thoughts I harbored
as I stole from my own coffers,
believing them yours,
believing them rightfully mine.
I carried on, bending to a rule
that distance should be pinned
only by tempting opportunity;
thus I sewed dependent roots
and a tethered foundation,
wanting our minds tethered,
first believing my mind severed.
And I see my mistake,
in believing in my version of events
sediments of loneliness,
ere treasured sorrows.
It is evolution that has lit up
the hallways of my mind
to the reflections of shame.
I owe myself the attention I'd paid
to the wounded you I'd made.
I'm thankful it is as it is,
though it hurt, it was because
I'd kept my eyelids shut to
the world within without.
How it was meant to be,
in my web of mind,
I've traveled searching
for the way to make it,
into something of value,
the fourth place being,
the fifteen selves really
there, standing side by side,
living lies holiness-wide.
Not all temples have doors.
Not all people rest on ships
and not all saviors dream
about their sentences.
People kill, people die.
Worship ends,
mornings lie,
mornings cry,
spirits bounce
and elves pronounce
incorrectly
the beginning of winter.
My name is
unimportant
because in your ear,
you cannot hear
but what you're
saying,
and you aren't reciting
the truth.
There's no reason for this,
but everyman's punishable
for the hell he opened
when he stopped talking
to himself, turned away
towards the bars of other prisons,
self-made men, self-saved men,
bitten man, hidden man.
Woe, man, woah.
I wanted to know if you were going to look for me
if I'd asked, I kept wondering.
And amidst this wondering, the light suddenly turned inwards.
I wondered whether I'd really wanted you to care.
Because I couldn't see whether you did, so
it left me but with wanting
and with questioning what I'd asked for.
And with enough wanting, I chose the other door.
Why do I want you to care? What would it add to my life?
Everyman wonders and wants to be taken care of, nurtured, paid attention to.
I grant you this, but why does it matter to me? I am either everyman or one.
Who cares? I'd wanted you to.
But what will it mean ultimately, because my wanting is what would've called it firstly,
so it'd be me that cares, through you, about me.
It just feels strange. Dependency calls for reassurance. It is futile, I realise now, to depend on you for the satisfaction and fulfillment of love. Grave expectation. Yet, unreceiving of this, I feel the capacity to move on, to not depend, to be joyful with what I receive from whomsoever but to continue to grow spiritually without clinging to another. You. I still want you in my life, but only because you want to be in it. Only because your spiritual growth matters to me and if I can help with your evolution as an individual then I am willing to be there for you, to love you. If you don't, then, I will not hold on. So I don't hold on to something I made up. So the puzzle pieces can fit together without being forced together.
Release.
Arrowhead sipping the colour from my eyes.
He she may not recognise me in my disguise
as a river, with my knees bent into a rush
and my arms dispersed to hide in the gush.
I'm nowhere to be found, having never been lost,
having not been taken apart and further tossed
into the oceans of other minds. Where I belong,
I drink from the wavelengths of a conscious song.
What I would call a hush, a murmur, I hear,
and see without vessels that worlds can tear
into estuaries. Listening, I am blind and deaf,
but a fingerprint on the window to the self.
I stream through, as he she wanders about
through the mistakes of believing in doubt.
