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| november 2004 |
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| Letting Go | 2:14pm monday, 29th november |
What is in us that refuses to let things go? There are times when we believe we have release, only to be seized down the line by some latent passion, a sudden wrenching desire. The liberty is peripheral: something deep down grips whatever thing in question with eminent force, as if holding onto a fundamental need. How do we loose ourselves? In the huddled, twitching dark of our unconscious, a perverse compulsion seems not to surrender that thing which the part of us in the light desperately wants freedom from. But I think there is hope. I think what seizes us, being of the darkness, is intrinsically a blind force. It may be tricked — I cannot in this space say how this may be so, for it differs dramatically from case to case, but I do say something may indeed be slipped by it. If you suffer from what will not let go, take it to heart that something may be done. The darkness we need not acquiesce to it the final victory. We need not surrender the heart of our souls.
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| The Infinite | 1:26pm thursday, 25th november |
How little is it ours to understand the infinite,
yet how many people are certain that they do the will of God?
It is the grand illusion: second sight's gaze in a mirror.
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| Infatuations | 3:41pm friday, 19th november |
All the women I have ever been infatuated with: I’m still in love with each and every one of them, somewhere. In me are all the reasons why, and all I need do is turn the pages of my memory to stir them into bloom. There are some more than others who verily took my heart, and I never ever got all of my heart back, each and every time. Even unrequited, this is so. Most of them never quite knew the meaning behind my gaze, did not want to understand it. I cannot hold it against them, though, for the complexities in comprehending just what we to each other mean are often insurmountable. And yes, they all have ended sadly thus far, but I imagine all I need is one resounding success to turn them all into memories that reflect the joy that life can be. I as yet hope.
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| Desire | 4:35pm monday, 15th november |
Desire is how
nothing
becomes a thing.
It is the
vehicle of dreams,
prescience
of action,
and both crime and
justice rely upon
it to be.
Do not casually
discard
that which even God
channels:
we understand
it little
enough without that
we think
it is — not nothing,
but less.
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| Unreality | 1:03pm sunday, 7th november |
Sometimes I still have moments of unreality. I recall this happened every now and again when I was going out with my last girlfriend: something about the what I experienced did not seem like it was a genuine one, a feeling like it was merely a simulation of life, that on a deeper level, it was not really happening. What am I comparing these things with, I wonder? Where did I ever get a sense of what a fundamental ground of existence might be, that which is more solid than the most solid of all material things? For that is what the unreality centers on: these things are too light to be true, that there is something deeper elsewhere I am sensing in my subconscious, which I cannot quite put my finger on, but somehow I know it is there.
It comes sometimes just as I’m walking down the street. Not even the asphalt seems to be as solid as all that, that there is nothing that truly fills it with reality. Everything is hollow. Somewhere I have lost the sense of that which exists, it would seem, that there is a malfunctioning circuit in the experiencing of anything — that life is like a waking dream, with no girding of fundamental soundness to it. I half expect at times that all things will halt and its true nature, its hidden nature, will reveal itself... though it never does, of course. I do not know what it is that I have to get used to to make the real things seem real. Things are real enough, for now, but the hints of madness I don’t know if they will ever let me get past the shadow of doubt, that this is really happening, that life is truly here.
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