The Challenge For One And All

To be truthful in this:

I accept myself, as I am, not as I should be.
I accept that I am loved by God/Life/The Universe/Love itself.
I accept that I am whole.
I accept that I but need be myself.
I accept those parts of me that I felt were incompatible with the way of life around me.
I accept you as you are, not as what my thoughts may be saying you should be like.
I accept you are my brother, as one with me.
I accept that you are equally as loved as I am by God/Life/The Universe/Love itself.
I accept that we but need be ourselves.

I forgive myself for not accepting this before.

Faith. Courage.

Her, Her, But Him

It's an evening rain
I long
to touch sensitivity in my hand,
give it just a lightest tickle
to tell me how I feel, really.

She's here, for the taking,
but it's only his attention that I want.

She's whole,
yet she's my means and passover
to the other side I deem my home and happy place.

He's listening to this,
my play on words built up a scene.
He can't tell I'm acting,
neither can I,
so we sit and wait, an eager audience,
though the difference is I'm playing.

I'm playing him.
That guy, man, do I even know his lines?
They just seem to come up
without a prompt and cue and I say them
out loud, by his radar ear.
My fear, bubbling away discreet, streets
down - I'm running away gunning
for reality.

One shot, it's dead, I'm dead.
It remains,
but there's blood everywhere
and rubble
and underneath the shattered structures of trust
lies the culprit bomb, impending,
suspiciously vacant.

I want him. I can't have him.
I am him. I don't know him.
I want her to get to him.
I'll hurt her.
I can't have her, nor her eyes.
I still want him, my brother.
I want the truth, these lies.

And all for completion.
God, what am I doing?
If there's no doubt as to what lies ahead,
why am I seeing double?
And actually, what am I to do,
who am I to be,
that I don't turn away each time
fear talks back to me?

Brother To Another

Repetition, of partition, of repetition... we have a mission and it is in our lifeblood to protect it.

These thoughts somehow fit together on the screen. We see them not as a whole, but as something broken, divided by words. This is how we see the world, fragmented. Writing is an excellent reflection of it; it comes from it, does it not? It is an interpretive dance without the movement of limbs. Instead, oil lifts up above water. Words come up on the screen, no, colored pixels. The brain is trained to remind us of that which we attribute meaning to, and what that meaning is. And ultimately that that meaning never really was inherent in what it was attributed to. That part's not a special feature, but it is part of the film. The movie ends, sometime.

Caught amongst the feelings of grandeur, is a little boy. He's wee tall, wee small, wee wee-wee. The youngster accompanies the desire for love every where he goes, but he knows the desire for love is simply a shard of amnesia, forgetting that what it is looking for is in itself. How then, could I describe to you, and to me, that love is within us? Here.

I know your every move, you know mine too. And off the screen falls a place of enlightenment, somewhere where you can't see where you are going but that you know you inhabit. Already, there's a search going on for shadows, in the night, for emotions that are hidden in the most obvious of places. If only you looked during the day, when there is light, when the streetlights were off. That way, you could actually see, because in the light, love is most visible. In darkness, love is still there, but it is not visible to you because you choose to see with your eyes instead of your heart.

So I ask you, the writer, the reader, the interpreter, you, to look up in the light. There is no more to your pity than your bones, your body, your weaknesses and grievances. No more to your anguish than what you invest in it. No more to your loss than your lack of recognition. The light fails to see these, and instead merely shines. One day, sooner, you will know that the light shines so bright because it does not shine through anything. And the day that you will know that will be the day that you are uplifted and you will see. The truth. All of it.

We already are brothers. I just don't know it, but you do. I'll find out though, and you will have already known and will still know and when we both know, we will rejoice because are brothers. And that moment will be, and is, now.

So tell me, how do you feel? If you let it all go, it will fall apart.

But now we both know that life remains. And that's love.

An Affair Of The Heart

Every night I'll be with you.
Do you love her? Do you love her?
Every day I dream of you.
Do you love me? Do you love me?

And so it begins, this month of April 2010, with the lyrics of a Korean song playing from my MP3, on my computer, on Youtube and consequently in my head. In addition, I find myself with that unfamiliar and bizarre feeling that occurs after noon on the first of the month so is not an April Fool's joke. I say 'that' feeling because it reminds me of how other people feel at times, but it is unfamiliar to me, just as affairs of the heart are. Questions. It's a little bit scary. It's awareness of anxiousness. It's stomach-churning. It's looking through a glass pane and seeing blurred images that come in and out of focus. It's odd. It's brain chemistry. But there's pressure, too. To act, to do, to be like, to charge, to change. It is because of this that I ask the drive - are you real, or are you pretending to be?

There was a greeting, simple and warm. A different language, one I could understand being spoken, and another being heard. 50 minutes. Then descending three steps, a little walking followed by climbing about a dozen more steps, then through a known labyrinth - a great metaphor - to pressing a button a couple of times and a light turning on. Up we go. Ink, a stapler and some paper later, further we fall. The empty place that beckons our arrival is quiet. On chairs, joined paper in front, a meeting occurs and there is talking. Two voices, then a third incidentally appears and flees. Speech about God, about what is spoken, about why it is spoken, about words and their meanings and their worth to be kept. Arms crossed, mouths open and shut, open heart(s). Light. Switch off, an apology sent but not wholly meant so I made a mental note to redeem by buying lunch for the one to whom I was apologising to. Steps on a footpath, gray. A meeting, followed by an opening of doors and a challenge of the mind to channel its knowledge into a tattoo on the lined paper. Less than 50 minutes. Then I walk, across more paths and accompanied. Up the stairs, to the left then straight ahead, a triumphant union, (re)introductions. Migration. Chatter, laughter, reservation, walking away. I remain, I reseat. More chatter, more laughter.

Then a question spoken with a smile for an answer and the appearance of this feeling I talked about at the start. It seems to be an affair of the heart, one new in its intensity. A 'la-la-la' in my head. At this point, the doors were open and I felt, maybe not in these same words, that hiding visibly was an imperfect exercise in pretending. So to the question, I gave a smile to the person who asked it, an extension of a brother's hand, of thanks. Laughter following was the cause of a mask feebly arranged, not really meant to cover anything but the ego of which I am letting go. Then another question and a piece of advice. Then a headlock. Warmth within extending out. Such a sentiment in my steps as I walk to the bus; remaining on the bus as songs play with my feelings as a child with building blocks, making up a structure, then tearing it down, marveling at the spectacle. It is not defined, however, for this affair of the heart has inspired me until now, to the writing of these words that you are undoubtedly reading. Thanks for going on my journey and sharing this moment with me. Creation is beautiful - it is true. One does not follow the other, they are the same. And so are we.

So then, this affair of the heart... I do not comprehend it. If it is meaningless, then it's an illusion and it will fade. If its essence is real, it will shine through.

Here I am then, typing this, but once I leave there will only be left an imprint of my emotion, for you to interpret.

Question

I would like some advice, if you wish to impart it.

The question - what is the feeling I am about to describe?
I meet a person, I feel strongly about them, I hold on to them because I respect their person, I respect what they say to me, even though it is not always serious, it is always with kindness, even if disguised through the façade of a joke. I get the impression that they care for me strongly, like there is a pull. A certain respect of this kind makes me feel like they are my brother. I can depend on them with anything, even if they don't outwardly show this loyalty, this sweet fidelity that is such a blessed feeling, a feeling of belonging. How do I know I can do this? I feel it. I have not tested it, and I do not feel the need currently to discover any of these limits. In my mind it might have taken a certain imaginative appeal, a desire that replaces a lack? A lack of what? Of brotherhood? Of respect? I enjoy when others are kind to me, when they care and they openly wish to defend me - despite the attack never actually occurring.

Opened up, I have, to them, in the past. This liberty has allowed me to reflect my inner feelings. Those sentiments. Those whose life they do not dissect but present, in a way, for pursuit. Is this one of those? Quite possibly.

My feelings are strong, they are of peace. Where does this feeling come from? This feeling that I have just tried to express without truly revealing its light? How can I do this in words? What is the essence of this?

Could it be love? Full acceptance?

Could it be that the person that I feel this feeling for is but a reflection of myself? A me that wants to connect with me? Why are they in this other person if that be? What is this call that I feel as a sentiment, a warmth from within the heart?

Teach me.

Gratitude

This week was my first week of university, hence the mini post-hiatus. Monday to Wednesday, I left home at 6:50 a.m., came home around the same time in the evening. Information overload in the first few days because I found out about the expected workload. Full-on expectations of excelling, chasing those A+ grades. Study all the time. No. That was my mind blowing it out of proportion. I don't need to worry. So I'm not. One thing at a time, I will focus on that. Thank you for that advice from a friend on Wednesday, and reinforcement throughout the week.

A list of what I am grateful for this week:
- Making my first friend at university.
- Reuniting with my best friend from year 7.
- Seeing people I used to work with around campus.
- Hearing French being spoken predominantly in my French lectures.
- Meeting students who are enthusiastic and willing to speak to me.
- Being driven to and from university by my father, with my brother.
- Finding the location of all my lectures.
- Being given the opportunity to write for the Student Magazine.
- Having time to study and learn what I need to for my lectures.
- Learning about the university computer and library system through the courses offered.
- Going onto Queen Street when exploring with friends.
- Purchasing the needed textbooks and manuals for my courses.
- Organising my diary to prioritise my study and to tell me when assignments are due at a glance.
- Realising that I was creating unnecessary stress on the subject on university.
- Meeting friends from AUT in Albert Park.
- Having lunch and spending time with friends from high school.
- Playing badminton.
- Having notebooks to use for vocabulary and mind-mapping, as well as a refill pad for note-taking.
- Honing my mind-mapping skills by reading part of "How to Pass Exams" by Dominic O'Brien.
- Having Friday off to relax and recharge my energy in preparation for next week.
- Spending a weekend doing both study and fun activities, a blend that I appreciate for helping me achieve a state of balance.
- Seeing "Alice in Wonderland" at the cinema.
- Having Butter Chicken with Naan bread for the first time in a while, a few years likely.
- Being reminded who I am, and about what I need to do.
- Being given the lessons of "A Course in Miracles" for me to apply and learn from.
- Becoming more proficient at work and being present.
- Having my family's support as I adapt to this new environment.
- Being.
- Recognising my brother for who you are.

Thank you.

Brother

Here's another exploration of a feeling I had tonight. It's occurred before, yes, and I think for the sake of my inner peace and sanity that I be honest with how I feel. The truth shall set me free? That may just be.

There are people in my life that I look to and feel blessed in their presence. The particular people I refer to here are ones that I do not normally spend my time with, but with who I have bonded previously through a unity of hearts, I feel. Description-wise, the feeling of being with these people (in this case there was one of them) is one of a different respect. Let me elaborate.

There have been experiences in my life where I was bullied and made to feel worthless, less than I am, different, hurt, imperfect. In appeasement, I accepted some of these, and as I grew, I also slowly ripped off some of these labels. One that I can think of remains particularly and powerfully entrenched in my mentality. I do not mention it out of fear. It is scary to admit it. Not because it is embarrassing, but because the truth of it haunts. In some ways it feels like denial, living a lie, but in another way, it feels to me like a lie itself. I am partly scared of accepting it, but also scared about what accepting it can mean. I think for myself, I can be comfortable with it, so personally it does not bother me, but when it comes to those around me, particularly my family, I do not feel like they would share my burden. Maybe it would lift off if I told them, but I am unsure as to what would happen. No, I wouldn't be kicked out of my house or anything like that, but I feel like them knowing would shatter their ideal of who I am. That ideal is an illusion of course, but by breaking that... what is left? I worry for them worrying about me.

The interesting addition to this is that I don't even know if the label itself is true. It could be true, that is what is scary, but there is also an element of it 'just' being a label and thus non-representative of truth. The label is derogatory, yes, even though I know that what it really points to isn't. But the label is just a label, a categorisation, a boxing of the unboxable. So of course, that makes it untrue. But the implication is that me abiding by this label would be like me surrendering to a lie in itself - while at the same time, not 'exposing' part of this truth may be witnessed as refusal to accept, resistance. Complex-sounding. Paradox? I just feel this to be a challenge of identity. I don't accept the derogatory nature of the label, of course not, but the label alone could have some significance.

The aforementioned people can enter the commentary here. They don't know about the label as having had this effect on me, but why I respect them is because I feel for them a certain brotherhood. Let me explain. The people smile. They opened up to me in the past about things about in their lives that they held dear or about when they were hurt and I offered my support and understanding. I cherish those conversations, because those exchanges facilitated relationship growth. So now when those moments have passed and I talk to them, I feel a certain respect that they shared with me, that they were open. Brothers uniting in time of need. Acceptance. Love. That's what I want, and it is simply incorrect to believe that there is a lack of love in my life. But there is this piece left, this shard of darkness that is quite apparent and puzzles me. This label, which is not mentioned, but is heard. You may know it, maybe not. What might you grasp from this is that I feel I am at crossroads. Unsure where to go. What do I do?