the manner in which certain things catch the eye is peculiar to me. there is a romance in the stillness of things left behind after living moving beings leave the picture. they exist in a state of potential, or (momentarily) expired usefulness. the pulse of activity remains in the air, blanketing the objects with a magnetic narrative. and in the romance of it all, i am a ghost. i, a happenstance voyeur, penetrating the here and the now and the you-don't-have-to-be-here-but-you-don't-have-to-go.
if the ocean is any indication of an infinite causation, even the most still of men will find themself subject to the nature that they reside in and to the nature that is within. it is therefore futile to impose on oneself a stupid rigidity, that is to say, an infallible consistency of routine, and then suffer from a failure of it. some days will be the same, but never all the days. one can control the nature to a certain degree, but your control is but one such manifestation of nature being its very definition of nature, and your control will evoke change, and if you look closely enough, the change does happen to the nature that you reside in and to the nature that is within. if you feel that you have suffered long enough from the false belief that the days must be as homogenous as possible, then you have been trying too hard, and wrongly at that. if you must be still, then be so not by restricting change, but by restricting control, as you are of nature and in nature, regardless. be still and you will flow, without revolt, without a need to revolt, and you will live, regardless.
I am still reeling from the colorful beginnings of twilight, now in its latter stretch, a comforting dark blue lingering and glowing well past 6. I had to stop the car and lie down between the trees, a receding ocean beyond my feet, people in my periphery, and I could see none of these clearly. It was dark enough to not be bothered, bright enough to feel safe.
December to February was a tumultuous period. Some of the worst pain I have ever felt, and possibly could ever feel, burnt holes in my chest. I wondered if I still had any hurt left. I still wonder. You see, since then I could no longer cross this new threshold - I couldn’t cry when I should. I haven’t cried in a while.
The wind was a constant friction, a cool and rapid stream against my skin and in my ears. My eyes welled up for the first time in a while, this time from… what? Happiness? It’s been difficult for me to tag anything as happiness nowadays, as I am finding that we define it in as many ways as we do with love. Could be the chemical rush, the chase and the desire, the end to a trouble, the finality, the quiet…
In this moment, in spite of everything else I couldn’t touch, being in the intersection of the few things I love, and the light that takes the place of things I walk away from, I am just content.
I was cozy in bed but my dogs threw a silent hysteria just to get me up at 5:15 in the morning. Against comfort, convinced by reason, we went on our usual stroll expecting to see something worthwhile at least. This always feels like the day before christmas when you're not used to gifts but because you've been surprised before, it might just happen again. I'm now learning that indeed there is always the sun celebrating its majesty for me to see whenever I oblige to my dogs' excitement in the morning.
I've been spending a lot of time under the heavens <unadulterated by human chaos> more than I've ever been before in my life and I'm finding myself wanting less and less of what I used to think I want, or that I should have. This comes as an unnerving realization for me, because just about a year ago I was finally decided about what I want to do with my life, yet here I am now, allowing a little bit of it to slip off my fingers. I'm not just about to pour it all, but it does teach me one more thing about existence.
There is a caveat to this. The anomaly (if you will) in our human DNA will always find us in the end (if we don't try to fight it) wanting more. If however that leads to creating more, then I don't wish to fight it. That in itself is beautiful.
I'm living my final year before hitting the big 3 0, and I'm neither stalling nor rushing. It's not that numbers are a big concern to me, but it's amusing to find how wildly different things are now from what I imagined as a kid.
That if we pay enough attention to what nourishes us, there is really not much else that we could need.
Life has seen me through bliss and chaos, love and loss. Having bounced back from rock bottom a few times in the last decade, I want to keep going. To live through the glory of it all. To see all there is to see, and feel all there is to feel.
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That if we pay enough attention to what nourishes us, there is really not much else that we could need.
Life has seen me through bliss and chaos, love and loss. Having bounced back from rock bottom a few times in the last decade, I want to keep going. To live through the glory of it all. To see all there is to see, and feel all there is to feel.
intended experience only possible on desktop