to us, who knows not much, yet with ignorance, we arrogantly move on, i hope that we may see, that there was nothing else there to see our pride and base desires are true reality, that we clothe distasteful to appear in fashion and thus remains there to be passed on.
there is beauty in exactly what we are we are self observing animals. the shackle that we fight against - perhaps is freedom itself.
why risk believing what others tell u when truth is essential to living. why trust knowledge of books, when u read so little of them why depend on logic without data when u can train your natural instincts without a map, without guidance the entire world lies bare open to conquer without light, without thoughts to win or lose
surely, such is impossible for most for they lack disciple and resolve yet do u not feel the need- to taste freedom. that your soul is calling out for.
Just Broke up with a woman who loved me unconditionally, because i was scared shit about the prospect of having kids soon. Its complicated, but so simple you could say, because i love her too.
The more i thought about it, the more i could see why it would work-but i felt like i was getting locked in to a future i could not control. I felt less and less like doing it, even though it made so much sense.
She was there for me, silently, gently prodding me and making me face my fears. I feel like shit.
I am drunk and overflowing with thoughts. The sheer quantity is blinding, and therefore i can no longer perceive any individual qualities of any single one of them. they are a throbbing buzz pulsing to the rhythms of sight and sounds, people and their lives. They a a cavity of dull soft space that blinds me gently without suffocating me completely, yet their weight leads me to cast away all sense of what i am about.Why are they not letting me believe truth when i hear it?
I can longer connect a point to its origin. I can longer discover the root of a feeling.I can longer sustain those engines that creates with passion such wonders and feats of intuition that amazed me as a child. the world has grown so dull and so murky. Are we all seeking to return to a primordial state of prolonged childhoods? Is this a random thought floating in me that just happened to be near the surface?
What is the value of life? is it meant to be anything more than we can make it? ( now I'm slipping into the part where i don't make any sense at all.) What is the world and all its glory if it cannot sustain one individual to gradually open his folded wings into the sun and blast upon the winds its own tiny effect?
Are we walk upon the earth as controlled chaos withheld by your minds chains? Are we to seek a miraculous alignment of stars that synchronizes our beings with a universal existence? Why has my mind preceded my existence? Why has it and its folly's dominated my God Given eyes? Why has perversion invaded my pure touch? Why does this super complicated multi cellular being,so perfect in its design ultimately create its own dark equilibrium that effectively stops him from "growing"?
Is it our curse to seek answers? Is this a purpose built design flaw that leaves us scurrying to higher powers? Why i can i not simply be. Like right now. Like for a moment. Like a moment ago. Think about the moment. Its gone. But it was whole, and like it i want to be .
Water crystals spreading the spectrum of moonlight This moon- The eye of a wolf, a rabbit and a celestial tiger bright and high, the wide ocean lays at its feet. Saturn tilts the tail of Scorpio, heavy with Antares on its back burning in flashes of crimson. Some Lovers, we assume, stroll for comfortable rocks for what ever lovers do with only crabs in company. The night is calm, the sea is a magnet for worries which are rolled up and splashed into white foam. Engrossed in conversation, i heard a song from afar Over vast oceans and valleys, driving away all my thoughts. Those blue mountains, they are calling me again.
While this is not the fist time i have thought about the issue of born genius vs made genius, today i found two delightful articles on this same issue. Although you may basically know the entire crux of the articles with a bit of logic, its worth reading as its neatly explained with science and facts.
Many have fallen in love with the idea of innate talents, hundreds of years of literature glorify these themes to set few common men apart from the rest. When I showed my nephew an article of how a teenager built a spectograph from $300 worth of off the shelf equipment, he promptly replied " God must have spent extra time with these kids". So needless to say, it is also a common excuse. Somehow, I think i will remember these articles for a long time as there are important lessons here that one may apply in life (like when bringing up your kids).
Come a day, when we may shed our sins like clothes. Not ripped, not torn, just sliding away and dissolve into the ground around your feet. Come a day when gravity may repel you, and lift your feet inches from the ground for you to wonder what what it feels to be truly removed from the world. Come a day which is not a day but a mix between seven sunrises and a moon, and we may loiter among the shore with crabs senselessly zig zagging sideways. We may look at the waves and bring out that sexy wide angle lens to capture the moment when the image of all seven suns are stamped on three single intersecting ripples of your morning tea with your officemates cleavage in the off center. Should anyone suddenly forget-no lets all really forget where this notion arrived from, just that it exists stark naked in the glaring sun blocking rush hour traffic, gracefully dodging all and any available justifications. Nobody cares if some crazy advertisers committed suicide having painted the town lavender green to promote their dying seaweed based nasal hair remover product that day. We were all thoroughly engrossed in hating ourselves the day before, and were looking, scavenging rather for anything that sparks that little engine in our brains so that we can justify that hate by appropriate responses. like writing truthful nonsense. Or trying to see if a single oxymoron can insult three world religions at the same time. Someone, somwhere must find this remotely amusing. I particular love listening to people talking from their hearts, amazing the lies that they force themselves to believe just so that they can wallow in their self imposed corner crying foul on thier existence to have been created so bleak. Yeah, right on! Who cares about truth when everything crumbles in the face of your very unique and particular "situation". Yeah yeah, who am i to talk? Thats exactly the spirit, don't ever let anyone destroy your mental stability, the miracle that is your backup plan needs extraordinary faith to be kept believable and its best you divert your creative abilities to serve this cause.Have you seen that beautiful ball of fire, where well rehearsed soldiers danced in the backdrop of the giant spume of algae? Its amazing how beautiful it is (x 10), to see the meeting of glimmering circles upon a ball of pure energy, pushing out the fabric of space around it and dispersing clouds like a celestial hiccup. How come i love watching nuclear explosions? What is crazy, isn't it all relative? Relativity is about quality, like the basic principle behind Google search. Dare we bother with the world when scientists are blending elementary particles like orange juice, in immense blenders called cyclotrons which, if not built could have provided the entire world with an years supply of blockbuster movies? Where are you Basho when i am 5-7-5 ing? Had you infected me with your spirit like i had asked, i would gladly sacrifice my buttocks in endless contemplation while capturing the essence of a butterfly's wings, a glowing ember, and a time worn cliff draped in vegetation like the fallen hair frozen at the moment of revealing a smile underneath.
I need my dove to fly, leaving footprints of blank color.
-----------------fin--------------------------- "when I die, bury my body on that spot, where i, anxious and in fear of my own self, killed the hopes and dreams of my garden of azaleas. Perhaps as lie dead and dreaming, fueled by those dreams i may give birth to that unknown plant once more."
-----------Begin here----------------- In your garden of white azaleas, there is a strange plant, blossoming. It needed no seed, seeks no water or sun it existed because it must, the beauty of the azaleas called for it to rise out of nothing.
Now your garden is transformed in your mind, because of one strange plant, that needed nothing. Your azaleas, seem buoyant and young Yet you ask yourself, what will it grow into? Will it lead my prized garden to ruin?
The unknown plant gave off a mysterious scent creating excitement, doubts, fear in your mind. Growing ever uncomfortable, day by day, until you gently kneel by the plant and pluck it out, unable to whit stand not knowing.
Your garden of Azaleas remained beautiful, sweeter and your mind has quietened in this safety. Yet the unknown plant, stubborn in will, rose again. Day after day, you pull them out, never once curious of the nature of this plant, that just refused to go.
It has now become one more of your duties, watering azaleas, weeding, pulling out the unknown plant. You are amazed, yet refuse it a place in your garden. One day, that single plant , that grew out of nothing, whitdrew into the soil, defeated by you.
--------------the myths--------------------- Time sweeps upon your beautiful garden Azaleas blossomed and lived, and grew tired their scent waned of its intoxicating perfume their sight seemed feeble, not delicate, just incomplete their relentless aura has stopped feeding your soul.
In anger, you plant new roses, hibiscus and carnations. You learn at once, that they would never belong here. Growing old and weak and alone, everyday you eyes and mind wanders, fixing on that spot where one unknown plant grew, out of nothing
Without wanting to, you wonder, and dream . You hear echoes in the distance, birds? A fleeting feeling of sudden warmth, and cold a fragrant breeze soaring thorough your hair an intense longing that stops just short or revealing itself.
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Alexander Graham Bell A secret is like a dove: when it leaves my hand it takes wing.Who can catch my white dove?