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september 2012

Meaning12:27am saturday, 29th september
What is meaning? I have asked this question of myself numerous times, from different angles, for different reasons. In my madness — o the flood of it: the littlest things signifying cosmic (un)realities. But that’s another story.... Knowledge in its most stripped form is one thing mapped to another thing. This means that. But the mystery is the substance of which all mental things are composed of; what is this? what is means? what is that? And technically, mental things are all we ever deal with — even the physical cannot be known to us except through the mind. Meaning is everything, and paradoxically, seems to be nothing. Maybe it is fundamentally only a grand map of things pointing to other things, these pointing to other things, and at ground, made only of these arrows.... Myself, I will keep asking the question, for it never stopped me that other people have been asking for thousands of years, and still don’t know.
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Aperture12:06am tuesday, 25th september
What will I do if I actually get healed? Whatever processes are at work here, whether it truly is from above, or if it is just time, that natural forces have churned enough that the brain has solved the puzzle of how to cure itself of the disease — what if I am returned, one of these days, to a pre-drug teenager brain? Dostoevsky wrote about his reprieve from a firing squad, how he thought as he was being prepared to die, how if he could somehow survive, never from that point on ever to let any moment go to waste... and how that promise so soon afterwards fell by the wayside. I pray again and again, that if I am healed, not to forget the lessons I have learned, the miracles I have witnessed, but is this also a vain hope? I dunno, it may be that the madness is sort of a scaffolding, where the edifice of salvation was built into my soul. Something to think about, that there just might be a higher purpose after all. For everything.
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Air1:00am friday, 21st september
Dream again like as a child
When you went wand’ring in the wood
And seeking lonely in the wild
Found the evil and the good

Fly thy spirit like the leaves
In autumn wind caught in the draft
An airy pattern so to weave
Learning heaven’s sacred craft

Speak as if the world could hear
For all that’s hid shall come to light
And all your words shall find an ear
Come the dawn that follows night

Love, to hear what heartbeats say
The whispered wishes hearts will send
That all of life’s collected days
Of love we’re given what we spend

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Gently2:20am monday, 17th september
I am fascinated by the mystery of the gentle things. It seems to me that the storms of the universe, like the violence of reactions occurring in the heart of any star — this extreme I find makes sense. You throw everything you have at something to get something out. On the other end of the spectrum, when there is nothing, just stillness — this extreme, too, gives me no profound sense of mystery. If there were nothing instead of something, I would find no enigma in it at all. But that which is gentle: a light breeze, a drizzle of rain, a candle lit in the darkness: I find this these almost inexplicable. It speaks of such the restraint in the world, yet not to shut off completely, of there being such forces in the universe to thunder, and yet that these forces caress rather than strike. The wonder of it.

Next time you are brushed by a slight wind, consider it. The gentle: it is as if the world is being careful. We are fragile things, and sometimes we are overtaken, overcome by the brunt of the forces that careen forth from out there. The gentle: it is as if the world is taking exquisite pains not to damage these frail forms we call life. No, it does not happen always — I think it is rarer than we realize in this vast universe. I think we have grown accustomed to it on this gentle planet. Such balance as it is, we have been spoiled by it at our particular place in existence: nothing about that which is makes that which is gentle necessary. The laws of physics speak much of harsh reactions, and we, of this gentlest thing called life, we often brush away the slight as insignificant. I think that not so, not at all.

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songs1:16am thursday, 13th september
we will be what songs cannot sing
nor kiss the secret of your glow
in the hand of breezes, guided to go far
your skin poured over mine in a longing touch
so true is the sound as one we lock
soul in soul where we both begin
as time floats away, adrift in your eyes
to imagine so closely to life unfolding
i am a breath away from being immortal
enclosed by your heart and fingertips
slowly as the music waltzes past
we weave our story in the fabric of moonlight

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Flow12:23am sunday, 9th september
I await the phenomenon of wu-wei to overcome me: the enlightenment, the flow experience. It has always fascinated me, the idea of it — to work without working, and without flaw, to have art moving your hand for you, an effortless and blissful know. Or perhaps I misunderstand this thing, this concept, incorrectly; that is certainly possible. I have had flashes of insight, times when everything seemed to go my way, but they were so... ordinary, those experiences. And so short lived. I think I have been expecting something much more of a mystical bent. Like the hand of God were to possess me, something of that ilk. I have been at my work for quite some time now, so is it wrong to think that such a thing could happen? Any day now, yes? Perhaps it will come after all, when enough stars align with the axis of the moon, in the high midnight at the sound of wolf’s howl. And then I’ll know. Without knowing.
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Differences12:06am wednesday, 5th september
So things are different, these days. There is still something of the demon that was left, when I performed that self-exorcism, but I know it is not really him, but an image, like all the people I meet in my head — like people you meet in a dream. The demon seems like he’s still here, but he seems like half his former self. All that is left to power the image is a curse that the actual demon left behind; and that, too, is starting to dissipate. At my worst, I used to reach out as if spatially in my mind, and that was indicative of the madness, and now that space seems to be shrinking: I am coming back to myself, the mind is becoming integrated again, as it was before all the drugs so derailed it.... And in other news, I’ve gotten a position at a place called Learning Tree, where I will apparently be teaching a course in C#. It’s good pay, and I’m realizing now that this is one of those life changing events. Also, the Russian model may be coming back into town. Fingers crossed for that, but I’m not giving that more than a 40% chance of happening. Better than nothing though. Later.
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rush12:21am saturday, 1st september
thus to burn as the passionate headlong will plunge
for i have known of roses sweeter than a fire of spices
that cast me adrift in a thousand dreams
where i lost myself down a river of feathers
so nude were your lips, so deep was the wondering in your eyes
lost in a forest of whispers, of breathing
the stars behind your gaze sought me to enter
within your leaves did springtime begin her calling
the blooms everywhere are far away
as we are the only ones inside this eternal yes
hovering before the door of forgetting the sound of our alone
time spilling moments of red, like kisses

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