Becoming zen, more zenned out.
No find behind a door waiting to be unlocked.
No elusive shrine that you discover after staring at the ceiling long enough.
It’s not an answer.
It’s not a pathway.
It’s not a space.
Nor a trance.
It’s nothing but you.
The you that your heart beats for.
The you that scratches an itch.
The you that smiles in such a special way.
And the you that forgives you.
You can be fragile.
Lots of people break.
Pieces so small they never put them back together.
Peace is abound.
But so fickle to hold.
The far shore for which you sail.
The setting sun.
The dusk of your days.
Sunsets are beautiful.
But they are the end.
Ends have little certainty.
Except that they are not before a beginning.
Perhaps this is yours.
I doubt it.
But every self-help book tells you that you must believe it is.
I hate self-help books.
Is believing enough.
Is knowing un-required.
Is knowing a luxury.
One that life cannot afford you.
Or can you not afford it.
Given the choice.
No one chooses certainty.
Except the man who lives in regret.
Choices ruin your life.
But you don’t have one without them.
Don’t break yourself over ensuring you always get one.
Destiny awaits. The future is before you. Or perhaps, you are before it. One step. That’s all it takes to get you going. The second one should follow. Put a good stride in now. Time waits for no man. Good, now that you’re moving it should get easier. Or harder. Who really knows. I certainly don’t. But you have to try. What else will you you do. What else would you do. It’s a fiction you know, that old idea that you’ll enjoy it. Or is it a new idea. But you probably won’t. At least not most of it. If you’re lucky, you might just enjoy some of it. Best case scenario, you fumble around till you find someone. Then again. You might not, odds are okay. But guarantees and promises aren’t made. You didn’t pick your looks. You’re probably not so attractive. But maybe you’re lucky. Maybe. Loneliness awaits those who abdicate responsibly. And those below the median. Then you’re at the bottom. Not much you can do about it. Just keep digging. There will probably be rocks. You could either stand on them, or put them on top of you. You’ll probably surprise yourself with your choice. Choices are never simple. Surprises are abound and withheld by the unconscious. Blame others not, seek your answers inside. Not likely. You’ll point the finger. Wave the finger. Raise your chin. Turn a cheek. We all do it. Maybe after a few times you’ll wake. But then again, probably not. Monkeys. Monkeys, full of snakes. Do you know your snakes. Are they familiar, or unknown. They always say you should fear the unknown. Probably smart advice. Although the snake could be a phoenix. Don’t know till you look. Probably a snake. You’re full of snakes. Do you think you’re not. You are most certainly mistaken. The line between good and evil runs through the middle of every human heart. In case you hadn’t herd. But don’t stumble now. The stairs of discontent are steep. Are your legs long enough. Do your muscles burn. Does the ache agonise you. Well you’re not alone. You stand upon the death of a billion men. Don’t falter. The burn will ease. Although, it is easier not to. It is easier to run. To blame. To curse. Some take great pleasure in it. Perhaps you will too. Perhaps you won’t. You think you won’t. Be careful of such thoughts. The path to hell is paved with good intentions. You needn’t remember anything more.
When blowing up a balloon, excitement running rampant.
“I can’t wait to play ping-pong with it” she says.
“I’m giving mine to my mother when she picks me up,” another second grader exclaims muttering.
Time goes by blowing, with breathlessness and dizziness defeated by strict perseverance.
Exerted, jaws aching.
Eyes pressurized, like that of the balloons ever expanding.
Both balloons pop.
Faces splashed with its own slobber.
Surprise reflexes immediately all encompassing.
On the verge of tears from freight.
They recollect and acknowledge the other.
They succumb to laughter.
And looking into each others eyes, knowing this is their secret to keep.
*I would like to acknowledge that the beautiful image is not my own.
Edwards nose fell upon the table. He barely looked up to give it a despairing look. Perhaps just grateful it didn’t land in his soup. The others at the table fared no better. His mother Margaret had only one ear, a frizzly scraggle of hair and not much else. His father Norman was the worst of the lot, his face had slid off last June when he bent down to pickup the newspaper at the front door, needless to say, the news read no better that day. Edwards younger brother and sister were the only ones who could manage a smile, mostly because they were the only ones still with lips. Youthful ignorance their only friend, but time would come for them as it did for all. The unwelcome knock at the door. You just have to hope it doesn’t come for your good eye, or your preferred hand. Although it was given that what you valued most would be taken first, as if it was some cruel joke. But no one ever heard who was laughing. Perhaps that is the oddest part of all.
And the angels fought, they fought for god.
They fought for the ideals and the pureness they saw within themselves.
They fought for the goodness they sought to water the world with.
Caffeine seeping into my veins, bringing with it the morning kick-start for the heart. Why am I drinking coffee? I don’t really require a rev up. Coffee fills the stomach, fending away tummy grumbles and the feeling of ’emptiness’. Practicing intermittent fasting does this to you. It continuously leaves you wondering whether you are or aren’t hungry. Is it hunger or just me thinking its hunger?
Today will be filled with contemplation. I will fill today with contemplation. Always too many things to ponder and consider, to keep one step ahead of the rest, one step ahead of myself. The internal battle between the expectations of my life and of life itself raging on. As if I am the clairvoyant of my own life, predicting what lies just past my own line of sight.
My ex-girlfriend arrives back, walking back into my life with complexity. How do you sacrifice yourself for others? How do you allow yourself to wear masks, concealing your intentions from the ones you want to open up to most? How do you endlessly hurt yourself and close yourself off the way that you do?
King Louis XIV, the Sun King, was one emboldened, visionary man. Bending for others but never breaking. To live without judgement of circumstance is the true lesson he had to teach. How does the noblest of kings treat a peasant with the same sincerity and wholeheartedness as he does his courtiers? Did this empathetic nature make him he noblest of kings?
Are trees happier when they sway in the wind as opposed to standing cemented?