The Last Day Before Semester 2 Starts

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.

Growing Up, In

When we were outside, we'd find ourselves face to face with a gravity-defiant sea of space, pushing us down into the surface of the earth. We'd call that lying down, ears touching the blades of grass that still managed to tickle us while their neighbours were flattened by the weight of our burgeoning craniums. That was our affectionate relationship with nature, our childish imprint upon the ground, it allowing us to be like children. And now, we seem to have grown into something different, older, aware of what we've done by how we see that our surroundings have bent to our wills.

They have allowed our whimsies to shape them, without strife. At times we were hurt, yes, when we pushed too far. Nature would be on its way, though, regardless of what we thought our fortress-building or sculptural selves could achieve. And I think, close to the ground, then, we were being reminded that we, too, are on that same course. We call it life. Nature doesn't call anything anything. And in the realisation is a joining of wills.

We learn to allow, ourselves. That's growth. Then the sea is our yonder. Miracles glow from its depths, our depths.

Addiction To Thought

This has occurred to me several times, but perhaps it's now becoming clearest. I am addicted to thinking, and having seen what addictions can do to people, both indirectly in the media, and directly in the people that surround me, I've attempted to stay away from such external things so as to lead a more balanced life, perhaps set an example to others so that they themselves can see that they don't have to live that way. And perhaps it appears fine, from the outside, but from the inside it has not been the same peaceful picture of perfection.

The truth is, I struggle with thinking because it is my drug. It is strange to call it that because it isn't exactly some substance I feed on, but it's one I know I'm addicted to because it's so difficult to stop it. Even writing this is made difficult by the desire to make it sound good so that it can be read by people and understood and appreciated. But I will attempt to simply let my thoughts flow like a stream of consciousness, without feeding the need to be special.

Thinking is addictive. It gives me a quick-fire feeling that I am doing something. It validates me. Just like receiving a text or receiving a Facebook notification, a thought reminds me that I am alive, and there is something to acknowledge. Often, these thoughts are not positive, because if they were they would not be a bother and they would not come seemingly incessantly. I could describe it as a bombardment of sorts, thoughts coming in and landing without much care as to where, in my field of attention. As each one appears, it demands I listen to it, and if it sounds remotely believable in what it is about, it joins the cycle of consideration where it says what it says and then I hardly have time to decide if it's true or not because there's another thought on its way, usually on the same wavelength. This happens with negative thoughts.

An example: I often get the thought, when I go on Facebook, that other people's lives that I see pop up in my news feed, either through photos or through status updates or just conversations, are much richer and funner than mine. I cannot prove this, and I would not prove this, because it's a comparison based on nothing but my own feeling of inadequacy with my own life, that I'm not good enough in the eyes of others or that I'm not really worth their time because they clearly aren't having that fun with me. When I get this thought, my mind shifts into a sort of 'victim-mentality', where I tell myself that others have not looked at me honestly and considered me for what I am worth, i.e. they have judged me for what I am not. This necessarily implies that I have been attacked by them, in my mind, often taking the form of abandonment feelings or perceived exclusion. This is a lie, of course. I cannot possibly know if those faces that come up on the news feed would ever think like this, and even if they could, I doubt I'd ever done anything to deserve such cruel punishment. But my mind, enslaved in its dreams of doom, chooses to not to doubt the dream's reality and pursues an agenda of thought that reinforces the pain I feel. And so, I get thoughts that say I am unworthy, followed by ones doubting whether I really matter to the people that know me, whether my being in their lives really has any meaning beyond appearances. The thoughts usually center around particular individuals who my mind sees as worse enemies because they have betrayed my trust in not giving me the attention that I desired. They don't deserve this, not by any means. I recognise this now, because I am calm, yet in the moment, it is not as easy to discern this truth from the wall of lies that consistently put me down and swallow my attention. The impression remains once I get off the computer, kept alive by the talking in my head, telling me I'm not good enough. And I, well, believe it.

It isn't true. I tell myself this yet I wish I would believe it. There is still a part of me, that refuses to accept that even though people are not 100% in contact with me all the time, they have not abandoned me. I feel this too often though, and it is strengthened through a domino-effect of thought after thought of negative affirmations. In the case of this thought, many different reactions are possible - one could simply dismiss the thought and laugh at what it says, though I fear to do that due to not wanting to risk my pride swelling. One could indulge in drink/food/alcohol/substance in order to take their mind off the thinking. I chose avoid the ceasefire so as to drive myself insane via an internal war, a war of voices and shouting. Thoughts come and fight against other thoughts to decide on truth, as if truth hadn't already been decided. But it's like they don't want to know the truth, they just want to fight amongst themselves because at least in this way they seem to have meaning, even for the short while while they're causing me suffering.

I'm addicted to the thoughts because I don't know yet how to decide what is true and what is false. "A Course In Miracles" says that is not my job to decide, and I would graciously accept that, if I didn't believe that my ego needed to know things and could know such things too. But it in itself is false, so it'll never tell me the truth anyway. The arguments for keeping it are absurd and do not work, yet they are kept because they are kept hidden in my mind, away from the eyes of others and away from mine too. What would I do if I'd lost my ego? I'd probably live a much happier life anyway, free of cares and worries. But, there's a but. I'd have no secrets, no need for them. No shame. No embarrassment. No barriers. And thus the ego would have no meaning, and without meaning, my existence would be... meaningless? I am more than my ego, but my ego says it is necessary for functionality in this world. I don't wholly believe that, but I believe it more than not, since I haven't yet been proven otherwise.

Thinking is a form of security, protection. Against what? Against being taken over, against the reality that I'm not really in control of my life. Yet this protection limits my potential so so enormously that life becomes a scrap of damaged experiencing. Not worth it, I've told myself sometimes. I need to stop this thinking. I need to. Must. And I don't know how, but I need to do it, otherwise I won't be able to connect with anyone or anything because I'll always be blocked off by illusions and pain.

So in writing this, is my question, my call for help to God, the universe. I am here, not of this earth, but on it, for some purpose. I do not know what it is, though I could think about it and not find it. The truth is, I resort to thinking too often because I don't trust in the connection I have with You. That's to say, I don't trust You. I want to though, because I sure ain't happy trusting in myself and my personal version of hell. Help me out. I want release from my illusions and I want to see the world as it is, others as they are. I need to let go of my thoughts in order for this to happen, and I envision that will be soon, at this rate. Please be there to catch me, with a cloud or something, then take my hand, firmly, and show me the way back to You.

An Outcarnation

Anticipating a poem about ephemerality,
I was thrust upon a word, a poised vide,
knighted recently for its appearance
and valiant efforts in doing something.

Importance, we can talk about over coffee,
and debate the meaning of life,
and yes you can have sugar and I milk,
and we can muse over particularities.

I'd like some chocolate.
Anticipating a poem about ephemerality,
I had a bite of fortune and spat it out,
disgusted at its bad taste.

I speak a different tongue, for each
time I breathe, because the breath changes
my vocal chords and tampers with sound
to the point that you may not be able to hear me.

Did you pick it up?
That was it. The vide. The word.

It's in ephemerality.
It's in something.
It's in meaning. Me.
Though not in life.

Ent In This Moment

Oui.
Je voudrais commencer avec ça. Because
the allowing makes way for what cannot be seen,
yet will be; what is, is.

Demain, dans un recoin d'un lieu inconnu,
quelque chose s'arrivera.
It will become the precursor to the written word, spoken by battled pathways, upon journeyed pipelines from whence the tears of solemn seeking ambled.
At first, terrified.
but then - triumphant in its trek
now tesselating towards tomorrow's today.

Try.
Follow the path, three doors down, instructions written on the other side of the panelling that lines these walls; beyond these corridors lie lies; and here, ushering new existence, stillness carries out the weaving of the fabric of life, majestic in sound, incomprehensible in reality, yet existent nonetheless, uninvited but inviting as a sweet dew to the soul's morning herbe.

I shiver, and here it rains. Il pleut de l'âme, because what else could sheen so brightly in the moonlit circumference of the prayer.
And it glides - outwardly touching within, explained nowhere, but witnessed everywhere and remembered anywhere here. Dans ce moment.

Ce moment. Ent, a tree root's knot in a bowl of
glass, fathered hymns,
praise, honour and grace,
ce moment, ent-ire worlds aloud,
in tie are worlds allowed,
and I, our world's a loud
memetic colouring book.

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.

Still Life

Today, time just waits while people pause
and find a feeling.
The quake broke the clock,
timed all that was meant to be
and stopped intentions from fulfilling.

I speak without a voice;
despair: my vocal chords,
with no verbs, just sheer implosive emotion
eager to shout and save
in its scything silence,
echoing the sound of bone.

Downtrodden, Christchurch ushers in a new day
this 22nd afternoon,
dismantling the old one
brick by brick, life by life.

Now, I wait for confirmation
that my child is alive and well
and my mother's still out there breathing
and my friends and aunty and
the elderly man three doors down, are all okay.

Life is still.
All of the lights strobe red in sawdust fog,
cars rake along the city streets,
away from the concrete caveats.
The buildings creak to stay statued
before the worms start feeding under them.

Faces hurt,
ache to react and contain and release
but freeze, uncharacteristic, undecided, disabled.
These dust-covered ashen molds
from which I hope life may still emerge,
I cannot even touch,
though they have touched me.

Trying To Understand Life

Settings and design
in appropriate proportions
are spun out
longingly
by me ego
when he tries to rule
the world that he made up.

When I, the holder of the atlas,
page through the cartography,
I sometimes laugh,
when I can tell these are maps
that have been drawn by him.
Yet when I can't,
when I forget he painted this picture,
I get lost in it
and it's a whirlwind's journey across creation to get out,
until I do,
miraculously,
when I'm reminded that
what I am scared of
is what I made of
misunderstanding how life works.

And no, I still don't know.
But I might not need to
while I can still flick through
and laugh.

Mediation

In this voice, you hear
my understanding waver,
my resolve unravel,
a shredded temper,
some listless ordure I made,
fall to these feet
I used to call mine.

Deceived, I believed,
spun my sycamore paper
reliving a solid nether
in passing, in angst
anticipating the blades
to be hit by squat
and drown in the mess of waste.

Yet time's not a reaper,
governed by no sickle;
life's already been made,
my decisions made fickle
along with what I thought
was needed to complete
this day.

I realise, least I think I do,
hurt's a game, a spawn
torn from a puddle in a cup
and all I've got is wrong,
more or less of it, enough;
I part too many times once
with what I had in mind.

Stint

Nobody's rain drips from nobody's window,
Nobody's touch touches the ground.

Here, nobody settles down,
For a while somebody feels.

Nobody's leaves fall in nobody's garden,
Nobody remembers a thing.

Attraversiamo

I couldn't compare this year to a kiss from a rose because I've never been kissed, particularly not so sensually or invigoratingly. A year ago nearly, I started this blog, this space of expression, ushered by an idea from a friend, one who walks by me. I wanted to write, so this, finally, was that opportunity to put something out there and have it reflected back and not disappear into the nether of the rubbish bin. About anything, about something, about nothingness itself, I wrote, experimentally, experientially, discovering that writing was a means of communication and connection, of courage and unity and the exploration of emotion, thought. It's a canvas, on which I can either paint an infantile abstract piece, or be blessed with something closer to art that's a window into my soul. So I can see it. So you can see it. And from the statistics that Blogger collects regarding my blog, it's not been a very widely-accessed experience, which I accept. Thus I can say that this space resembles more a spring in solitude than a photographed fountain in the centre of Rome, with statues in dynamic positions and coins carpeting the bottom. Looking for love, looking for the eternal, looking for happiness, that is what I had in mind, and each post, then, was my coin, my wish, my prayer, this being the 125th.

I began the year without much knowledge of where I was going, except to university, which was to be dreaded and revered, and therefore not very helpful as a goal seeing as it could be anything I made it out to be. Life was in my hands after high school, though I was to realise later that it was not perched warmly in my palms but coursing through the veins in my fingers, and like the blood there, it wasn't in my control. I wanted to know more about myself, so I went on and began a journey of self-discovery. Fears, shame, guilt, stress, all emotions that I had felt before, would come at my door and I was supposed to open it for them. I had some new unwelcome guests too, such as jealousy, desperation, insanity, heartbreak. I'd seen them in movies before and in the lives of those around me, but oh, I did not expect them to come caroling at my doorstep, and yet life did guide them there. Hesitantly, I let them in, then at various times kicked them out, then after pacing back and forth in the hallway, I opened the door again, and they walked back in, temptation hand in hand with itself, so pleased to see me, and later to lure me with its sex. Beyond being host to this cauldron of negativity, I had been blessed with signposts everywhere I looked, telling me what I needed to do to entertain the guests or to be a better host. Friendships formed, friendships strengthened, friendships stilled and weathered the teacup storm that started when clouds gathered.

I started university in March. Stressed, I experienced a sense of loneliness that I had thought had been buried back in Year 9. It was a bitter, alcoholic aloneness: addictive because it placed upon me thoughts I did not want to think but which I ultimately scooped up again from the sands of time and built a crumbling mound I'd pretend was a castle. Suddenly, the world had opened up for me, and I did not see myself in it. The tempest had begun, trying to find my shelter before it was too late. But I wasn't quite getting to that place of safety anytime soon. I don't think I was meant to get to that ideal place at all, and every pocket of sunshine I could find, I basked in half-heartedly, aware the rain would come back in again and I'd get wet. I changed my clothes, my approach, several times, but that wasn't going to stop the weather. So, instead of racing away from the eye, I was instead guided towards it. The centre. Where the demons lay together and fornicated. I received "A Course In Miracles" in the mail. I thought to do the course, it wouldn't hurt to find some answers that the introduction promised. It specifically said I didn't need to believe each day's lesson, just follow it. With that guarantee, I went for it. Spiritual awakening beckoned.

I don't remember what I thought it would be, but this was not it. The course emphasised completion, devotion, courage, presence, gratitude, all which have taken turns to teach me this year about life, about what I had missed, about what I have held in my past like an idol to commit suicide over. But it was not just about learning, it was also about experience. Suffering was tearing me apart below the surface, and habitually, I would try to understand the shit out of it and then it would make some fleeting sense and I'd be happy, until it stopped making sense. What I learned was that I could not, could not, could not, understand it all. And if I couldn't solve my problems, then, woah, there would be pain, content to suck on my life like it came out of my teat to nourish this cute, pudgy, infested, destructive baby. My mentality took a serious beating, and I had to question everything, what people meant to me, what I meant to myself, what I was doing, whether I was hurting people, whether I was who I thought I was. The perfect list of ingredients for overthinking, and that's exactly where it lead me. Thought. So much of it. So much of it unnecessary, because it was unable to answer those questions with certainty.

Certainty, then, came from elsewhere. The course lead me to God, or the universe, or Life, or whatever else you want to call what you cannot call anything. I was to have faith in Him, as I had consciously never had faith in anyone or anything before. Here was my life, on a platter that I'd chewed the silver from in my overthinking. Here it was, for God's taking. I have to surrender it completely, for the decision to have a transformative effect. I have let go of many things, but there still are some that I yet hold on to, still fears, lies, things I am ashamed of, things that burden my heaven and make me confuse it with hell. I am confident that I will let go of all of those, simply because I am willing. When and how, I don't know, but I do still have until sometime in early April 2011, when I am scheduled to complete the course. Past that, je ne sais pas encore. There are still lessons to be learned. Yet this is an appropriate time to reflect, as I have learned enough to witness a change. I don't know how old I am, mentally. I don't know whether I am gay, or straight, or bi, or a, or b, or c. I feel a sense of resentment towards being packed into a labelled cardboard box to be looked upon and segregated into some portion of interpretation. I feel it's detrimental to discovering reality. I don't know what specifically I am supposed to do. But I know that all the answers I need to know, will be given when they are needed, and it is in that promise that I trust. I can't rush everything, nor can I slow it down or numb myself from feeling pain so I can feel just joy. They are mutually exclusive by definition, but underlying them, there can either be unconsciousness, or the peace of consciousness, not both, always one. It comes down to the decision, whether I want the truth, or whether I want deception. Where I feel safe and secure is the criteria on which I base that choice.

The thought philosophy has dominated this period of time since the birth of this blog. I am trying to figure life out. While I watched others go on with their lives, content, taking part in joys and games and at times, their own soul-seeking, I removed myself from the stream of mindlessness that had driven me before so that I could prepare well for an adult life of doing what I was supposed to do. Quite frankly, it comes down to what I want in life, and I knew there had to be more than just chasing pleasure in a game, or a girl, or porn, though I do recognise they have their roles to play. With this realisation, I wanted the truth, I wanted what lay underneath the forms and things that we as people would involve ourselves in as if we were dolls in a house full of props. From situations, I wanted to go beyond to reason, to the mechanics of depth and creativity. I expected an intricate but clear machine; I found nothingness exemplified. Because, really, soul-searching had lead me to a skeleton of myself - dead in form, or at least, dying, ephemeral, but in essence, well, untouched by anything, invulnerable. Perhaps there is a better metaphor for that. I have touched that depth and its beauty is like a well of openness and disregard for difference. And it's really when I let go of thinking that that place is reached. The moment of experience is over and then I open my eyes from meditation and look on the world differently, as if it were all okay, even if there was fighting and politics and advertising and gore and poverty and apathy. For a brief glimpse, I do not even register the suffering, as if it was gone, and it mattered not. Then I slowly scooped it back in, because I thought I had to, as if it were my responsibility as a human being to take on the pain of others when I had some respite. I copy-pasted instead of select-deleted. Then I released back the tide, and that was the back-and-forth experience of finding peace, because it went to and fro. I want to say peace is winning, but the truth is peace isn't fighting, so that would be a moot statement.

I have been blessed this year, despite the war of worlds and words in my mind. Perhaps when one agrees to find themselves and agrees to confront their past with no weapons, just forgiveness, one is greeted with help from previously thought-of-as-unlikely places. Each situation has been and is a lesson. Each person is a brother. And underneath my strict mold of the world, that mental construct I foolishly wore as a protective helmet, I am a brother, too. In that spirit of oneness in which everything real is, I am. This lesson, I found difficult to digest, especially when there were those around me who were very different outwardly, who had different goals, approaches, behaviors. More often than I would like to admit, but I do here anyway, my ego has played the part of a victim, ever the attacked, ever the one who is hurt. Other times, my ego was the conqueror, dealing blows to other egos. Yet behind these masks, I am to learn that we are all the same. This is a glorious truth, but one I know not if I can impart but merely point to, one I yet bring to the world because I still believe there are exceptions to, even though there are not. I have talked with friends, at times nearing a point of desperation, and in those moments of vulnerability was revealed the river of love I had been searching for elsewhere, in the wrong places. In case you wonder, I talked about behavior, personalities, hopes, fears, pain, suffering, guilt. Identity too. Things I would normally stray away from but was needing answers to. And friends were happy to steer my vessel in the right direction, whether they were aware of it or not. That's another interesting thing that's happened this year, I've gone under the radar and achieved so much personal growth, without many people noticing. Help, signposts, have come from close friends to strangers to strange situations to music and literature. I figure if I am willing to give myself to life so that it can use me for whatever it wills, then it would point and guide me in the right direction, and if I deviate from the path, it would come and show me the way back after a pep talk and a realisation or two. But I don't want to create a tornado or some other dramatic turn of events. I want to quietly find peace and then radiate it through my impersona so that those surround me may find their own lives more pleasant and enlightening, wherever they are on their own journeys.

Ultimately, I want to be loved, but I also want to give love, as I have before. Giving and receiving is the same thing. In the spirit of unconditional love, I would learn that love knows no boundaries, no definitions, no traffic lights nor walls. I expected at the beginning, foolishly, for someone to tell me that they loved me unconditionally, and then I would impart all my pachyderm belongings onto their ass and I would be a free mule alongside them. Bull. Yes, others can love you if you don't love yourself, but you cannot know it unless you love yourself in some way, at least a tiny bit, somehow, tucked away beneath layers of difficulty. This year has taught me that I can tell you nothing about love as you may want to hear it. I have never been with anyone intimately, so I cannot give any stories of romance or consuming bodily passion. Yet what I know of love, is that if it really is love, that is, if it is without reserve, then all it is is a recognition of yourself. You are love. And so am I. I am writing these words but language cannot encompass such completion, wholeness. From memory, I don't think I've felt it wholeheartedly. But I want to. And it will come when it will come, but I know it will come now.

Love is everything, and there's nothing else. Love is the word that I use, but I use it loosely. I like love. It sort of symbolises peace and contentment and fulfillment and joy all in one. Perhaps it's not very focused in my mind, but I don't hold on to it. I find myself saying 'true love' now instead of love because of all the changes to the term, not that adding 'true' makes it more true, it's just easier for me to know what I mean. Like I said though, I can't tell you anything about it, though I've written quite a bit on it. Perhaps it's me pointing to it, for me, for you. Perhaps it's my romantic mind, or my secretive desire to express emotion in a world that doesn't value it to the extent that I see it, especially coming from someone of my gender.

I am grateful for so many things, so many people, some that know themselves, some that may not yet. I appreciate you, for sharing your life with me by reading this. Everything really, even the 'bad' stuff, for it came up and showed me where I needed to change. The puzzle pieces fit perfectly, even if it all looked like a mess on the floor when I began. Now it's beginning to look like what it was meant to look like, life. I feel like I am right where I need to be, and I have faith in the gentle light of guidance that I am going where I need to go, home.

Attraversiamo.

The Time After Sleep

Thoughts belong to memory, yesterdays kept
Safe in the minds of those who dreamed while they slept,
Preserved by empty lines, wanting substance. Except,
When truth saw morning, they looked away and wept,
Having spilled ink on their clouds, unable to accept
Their folly. Nowhere fear fogged. In, the mists crept.

With that haze, terror down the storm drain crept.
It spilled ferociousness, flooded tunnels that kept
The calm intact, yet not for eyes to accept
That burdened the wanderer while they slept
Unsoundly in a twisting sopor. Any wept,
Windswept, subservient to villainy, except

Hanging by a thread exempt from torture, except
That buoyant rain-defying ring. A curtain crept
Across the window, yet while the welkin wept
Was there left enough tranquility, kempt kept
For an advent. Among the musing of the slept,
Lived beyond reminders, that which they would accept.

It happened when the sun eagered to accept
The yonder's invitation. What was except
Before first light, was undone afore minds slept
And outside life's palms did they believe they crept.
They but forgot who them had begot and kept
In joy. For that remembrance they wept.

In a symbolic gest, had the firmament wept
To imitate the gloom of refusing to accept
Responsibility for the fanged pets minds kept
Out of sight. So the world was poured misery, except
Its cup had a chip through which suffering crept,
Leaking into estuaries while minds slept.

Poison diluted, life did not die. They slept
Beside each other, sharing spare hope, and wept
For their mistakes, until a glance of light crept
Into their eyes, forgiveness, yearning to accept
Their tempest as a passed zephyr. Except
This memory, only verity was kept.

Minds have ere slept and in waking, taught to accept
The traces of tears they wept. There was no loss except
Of the channels in which hollowness crept. Such thoughts, only memory kept.

Pursuing What Means

The light has faded, the peace has burned,
The room is cold and I can't reach out
To grab the hand slipping out of my sight,
Too bright, too far to see into the night,
Too long to bear the pain
Of standing alone in the rain.
While life is pouring out its veins
It's still my beating heart that strains
For love, to come be my savior,
For love stares blind into my fear
Like it wasn't even there, my fate to cripple,
Like somebody quietly knows it's all so simple.
I have half a mind to see responsibility
And the other part to want the seas to part,
It's outside where windows look alive
But spirit drowns and after it I dive
To give it breath, divinity I can revive
With the hope that I somehow will survive.

Going

Teeter-tottering on the edge of reason,
Wondering how long it will be until
The knife cuts deep into my opaque resolve.
Is there not long to go?
I can feel the dial turning on my clock,
An emotion switches to another.
Back here I am sitting, waiting,
For the last thing to go wrong next
And for me to fall in a straight line
Of repair, recovery, reset, repression,
Until there's just about nothing left.

Because, let's face it,
What really matters doesn't matter
And what doesn't really matter matters.
So is the web spun, twisted.
Why would we say we want it different
When we expect it always this way?

Such is how God delivers the goods.
Feastingly, our mouths: open garages
With vans of servitude parked inside.
Ready to be taken for a spin
Outside the parking lot
On the soaked roads at night
With the streetlights mirrored
In the darkened flesh of the ground.
There can't be any people here
Except cameramen and the
Director.

That's right, Him.

I don't blame him for tragedy
For two reasons:
One, it is not my blame to attribute and
Two, I cannot attribute blame where it is not.
If a guilty man were to sleep
He would sleep with his blame
And no woman nor man,
Could take it upon themselves.
No one lets go of their cross
And we carry them on our backs
In the heaviness of pain
With the anger of blame.
Imperfect tools.

After all, the weight will break our bodies
Not in a literal sense
Because that wouldn't make sense.
We'll all be smiling in heaven
In the metaphysical bliss
That's, oh, oh, so close
That you can feel it more and more.

Teeter-tottering on the edge of reason,
I'm finding no answer where none is supplied.
Riding in the front seat,
I can pretend that I am going,
But the truth is
I don't know how to drive.

The great lesson I am learning is that
The less and less I struggle to survive,
The more and more I know I am alive.
That's why I never wrote the script,
Just followed the directions.

We Really Are Each Other

Reasons, for changing the point of view may come, to change your image from 2D to 3D. To those who would rather see it as they would a television show, I have nothing to say but to make you aware that I have stirred you from your slumber. To others, know that there isn't always a worded reason that coils itself around the lies we tell about ourselves or others in an attempt to fashion a beneficial reality. Lying fails. The truth doesn't, that's why it's the best option. But we may try to find reasons, a certain intelligence that answers a 'why' behind what happens in our lives, as random and uncalled for as it may seem. I have been trying to find that, the causes all being in my past of course but digging that up and trying to reinterpret it has opened old wounds and brought to my attention my deeper, previously hidden vulnerability. And so it is, that I've had to surrender some of these feelings. Insecurities about many aspects of life knocked on my door and I answered thinking they needed my attention more than the present did. That was a mistake, because all they did was drag me outside and give me a beating. And then I went into cyclical overdrive, trying to find out the purpose of this, and the meaning and all that has gotten me nowhere but in a rut. Overthinking. I've been there, done that, it got nowhere.

So Life said to give in, to stop, to breathe. I did not listen, so the pain of perceived lack got worse. Finally, when I couldn't take it any longer, I let the moment be. And it is.

Everything happens for a reason, for there is a cause to everything. I will know them when I need to, and I will know what to do when I need to do it. There is nothing but illusion, speculation, avoidance, fear and whatevers outside of that. Rather, there is nothing outside of that! And this is peaceful, because we are always in the place of truth, as we are truth. It is a conscious choice that we must make to awaken and to live as true people, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, hair colour, nationality, miscellaneous differences. Everyone's form is different. Life breathed it that way. Life breathes through us. The lungs, that is to say the Source, is the same.

That is joy. To know that everyone is the same, and that we are here to really discover and aid each other in discovering that we are one. As Kim Eng put it, "We really are each other."

All The Difference In The World

You've got heaven on your doorstep
The man standing with a hand outstretched
For a while you've left him there untouched.

But he hasn't taken back his offer
This is something telling you he never will
You can close the door, you know he'll be there tomorrow.

Counting the times you've shut it
Withers not his dedication, his wish to see you
Never wavered, always eyes to your eyes, heart to yours.

This man, you're telling him to leave
But never wanting him to go, and he won't ever
Because he knows you're simply lost and all he wants to do is save you.

In your mind there is a cloud, a shroud,
A loincloth stripped of life that's doing the impossible
In causing you pain, shame, blame, and all the rest of sorrow.

Yet you look upon heaven and know,
That it doesn't matter at all, that no one asked for blood,
That no one sought your life to end, no one really cared.

And he makes all the difference to you
Because he is gently walking across the doorstep
Into your room, where you welcome him with your arms.

One day with your heart, one day
You'll wake up, one day you'll seize that day
And never fall back down for there will be no tomorrow.

That day is sooner than you think
That day is brighter than you feel, and closer
To your heart than what the world tells you to see.

It will make all the difference in the world
The same.

As It Is, It Remains

No hearts can break.
No stones can shake.
No love can kill.
No death can will.
No light has passed.
No wind has grasped.
No hate has flown.
No peace has blown.

No hearts can truly mend.
No darkness can transcend.
No stories are told.
No present is old.
No fear is meant.
No fire is sent.
No shadows are paved.
No ego is saved.

No hearts are torn.
No grace is born.
No silence is shattered.
No pieces are scattered.
No hurt is real.
No pain can feel.
No truth is a lie.
No life can die.

And the rest is silence.

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.

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.

B-Side

Look at us now, chasing ideals
Thinking we've got to run far.
I ask you what it is you feel
Do you know who you really, really are?

Have you been asking around?
Have you been searching away?
Before the pain strikes its bleak sound
Let yourself find the heart's own way.

It will lead you here
And it will be great
A day without tomorrow.
Skies might be grey
No tears on this path
I won't ask you to follow.

Know that I tried to break through
Carve a tunnel to find you.
Among the rubble I discovered
Pieces of your scattered lies.
I know enough to not assume
That fragments are what's left of you
For truth can't hide its permanence
And there's not a single secret to be kept.
I know you.

In the mirror I was looking for
The reflection of my own image
I found nothing, my boat, no oar
Flowing away under this bridge.

In this light I changed my ways
Stumbling on my lone impotence,
Wayward from the hanging haze
I charged ahead with renewed deference.

It will lead you here
And it will be great
A day without tomorrow.
Skies might be grey
No tears on this path
I won't ask you to follow.

Unearth the worlds in distances
Don't pretend they do exist
Walk among your brothers well
And sing to them your wholesome love.
Fall apart those sediments,
Those illusions of real sentiments
Remember your hand of guidance be
Nothing cold, unknown, no mystery.
I know you.

Illuminate your thread,
Those false weapons you shed
Fly across the depths
Across windswept Everest.
Glow in the dark, glow
Let the only light show
Those that close their eyes
Will see through their meaningless disguise.
Into my mind and theirs.
Into my heart, always
I know you.