Category Archives: Introspection

Here.

My arms are fire and my head is set free. I close my eyes and I ask, one question becomes a thousand, and I am back at square one. No real answers. But then I sense the flame and it pushes me face first inward, into my deepest fears. The memories, the inadequacies, the needs from love to acceptance, all of my failed pursuits, they dance around me as I flare my arms at them. But those are fears and they are not real, they are not me, they do not control what I am, who I am. I torch the first fear, then the second and I realize that there is nothing in there, just air. Empty air. Until the fear of insanity comes running and howling at me, am I insane? No. Just another fear, the most powerful one of all. So where did all my pain and panic come from? No answer, nobody in that room. Nobody behind the steering wheel, nobody holding the pen. So I sit back and I let that let down happen. I hoped for a mastermind, I hoped that I would get to face a stronger opponent, and Yet here I am, baffled. What lay inside when all the fear is gone? How would I live when it’s no longer about avoiding fears and reacting to them? Where will I go when I stop running? Who will I become when I simply am ? 

Words roll out like red carpets beneath the feet of worshipers, and I cannot hold them back. As though prisoners have been let out. As though nothing can ever be said again the same way. Words form and collapse right infront of me and I am letting it all slide, no filters or fillers, nothing to add and little to subtract. A complete cycle of renewal, nothing is pale and everything is sincere. I set this space free, my arms are fire and my words are here. 

Wishing Words

I wish I could write better stories, ones that would sway you into that parallel world of meaning, of clear beginnings and rightful ends. I wish I could provide you with mental images of severe beauty, the kind that moves your entire being, yet still manages to anchor you in an aesthetic serenity. I could write about moments that shake your senses, moments that you almost believe are yours alone, moments that stop your mind for a split second and you are in absolute surrender.

What if i wrote to you about the few seconds in between your last conscious thought and the beginning of your dream, where your mind softly switches and you have no control but to exist elsewhere, in a self composed dream as your body lay still, resting. How do i begin to describe the warmth of a hug when you truly need it, or the intensity of a push when you don’t see it coming?

I look for words everywhere, and when i find them I stop for a second and then I panic, because how do i possibly bring to life something so subjective yet absolutely intimidating. I suppose that is the quest for meaning, the eternal pursuit begins and ends with putting words to thoughts, and emotions in hopes of transcending a flawed perception of reality.

 

 

Mortality: The ceiling 

Like a little bodied statue I stare at the ceiling. One of many ceilings and walls I’ve faced and knocked down, this one refuses to move, it refuses to let me through. I let go and decide to just lay there, maybe now I see the big picture, maybe now I see the truth. Maybe this ceiling is keeping me from completely fading away and losing touch. 

I trace my thoughts back but I have none, I have gotten too good at quieting my mind, I have become stronger and less concerned with my body. The dread remains however. The unyielding and unrelenting need to belong somewhere to something to someone, and to feel infinite remains like the strongest emotion, the most powerful thought to ever exist. I cannot come to grips with mortality, not yet. 

I stare still and remain in my body, feeling an utmost safety in it, fearing the thought of ever losing it. Fearing the day that I let it go and crack the ceiling. Why is there no infinity right here and now? Why can we not have that? Is that the biggest ego of all? To want it forever? To have continuous return? Why is it excruciatingly painful and dreadful to be so close mortality and still refuse to see it?

Is this the highest feeling of love? Is it the newfound appreciation to every spirit surrounding yourself that gives you the courage to do this? Gives you a purpose and a light? How much have we forgotten to be able to be here today? How much are we blinded from that let’s us sleep at night and not crawl back to our mothers. 

I find my dark friend laying next to me, and together we look up at the ceiling. We hold eachother, I comfort him with my hope and with my light, while he confronts me with the truth: my mortality and everyone else’s, and our never ending pursuit of a single extra moment of being awake and breathing together. 

The choice

What happens when you pause? When you are drenched in a moment, be it of grace or of hurt and pain, what happens if you can just pause it and exit for a second?

What happens if you pause a moment of suffering and step out of that frame and look at yourself? What would you see?

I cannot answer for you, but I can answer that question for myself.

I am terrified in the moments leading up to the pause, I do not want to stop, I become the pain, I become the illness I become the anger, the fear and the suffering. It takes courage and unrelenting faith to split from myself. The act of forming space, creating distance between what you feel and what you truly are is agonizing and foreign. How could it be that I am not pain if it is all that I can possibly think about and feel? How is it possible to separate myself from my sick body or from my worried mind. What if this is it? What if i don’t live forever, what if I am not healthy forever, what if I lose everything that makes me who I am? What if I am a victim of the suffering, and there is nothing I can do about it?

The path towards self destruction is paved by our own hands before anybody else’s. 

But, there is a way out. All the what ifs are then stopped by one thought: if so, let it be, but I am not the suffering nor am I its victim. Upon that recognition, I overcome the fear, I release myself. I become an agent, no longer a victim. And in that split second, that pause is a transformation and a triumph.

Dwelling in that pause, and pulling yourself up requires practice and requires patience. There are no shortcuts. The fear will always remain, so will our strength to overcome. It is essentially all a choice, every second of every day.

Nothing Lost 

It remains a struggle to look outside of yourself and truly comprehend the wonder in this world. It remains an endless challenge to still believe at the end of the day, right before you close your eyes that you have been a force of good, a positive reinforcement to the powers at play. 

I dwell in the sunlight as I write, it envelopes my body like a loving mother covers a cold child. The spots that have darkened with life, are cleared away by the grace of light. 

I am still and bright, I am quiet as I gain my strength back. Nothing is ever lost inside this light. She watches from afar and greets my wanderlust soul, she watches from afar and smiles as I win this fight. 

It requires practice and might, it requires a journey through the dark. It is sometimes easy and at times a plight. She grants me a lantern and a ring to my step; she teaches me a song and disappears from sight. 

Nothing is ever lost within this light. 

Kingdom

It slips away when you aren’t looking, when you think it is never to be lost again. It seeps through your eyes and your pores. It drips out of your mouth as you speak, as you lie. Bit by bit, all that light begins to dim and you find your spirit sore and abandoned. It is spiritual beating it is beyond cognitive pain. It is excruciating to feel as though you have just almost found what you wanted and let it slip without really fully grabbing it. 

The journey begins again, but this time you know what you are looking for; you tasted it and felt it before. It all makes sense; you can never Un-know something you have become aware of. It is impossible to forget what you refuse to let go of. 

I dig, one mental black hole and into another. One simple thought becomes a lifetime belief and I refuse it. I look for that light beneath trenches of webbed and darkened thought. I stumble into realms of self hate all disguised as intelligence, all disguised as reality. Somehow there is a way out and I am not afraid. I am not afraid of this anymore, so i slow down…I slow down because there is nothing to be running away from it is all right where it should be. I am exactly where I should be. I recognize these walls, I spent years building them all, thought by thought, doubt over doubt. I recognize my demons and my still open wounds. One deep breath, two deep breaths and my beat is on repeat. All of this is my world, I am just on the opposite side of the fence. I like the other side much better and I refuse to let it get away from me. I walk. One step saves the next and i make my way. The confusion drills holes in my shoes, the path is difficult and elusive but I keep my pace I focus on my guide. One spec of light. It takes a single spec of light to grab a thread, which becomes a rope which becomes a bridge which becomes my kingdom of light. 

silence;

Chipped and sharp, my nails are no longer white. They are grey and apathetic to the skin surrounding them. This is not about the flame, but about the cold. This is not about the good, it is about the uncertain. This is not about the truth, it is about the mystery; anything could be true or false at this very moment. This is not about reality, it is about infinite possibility, the opposite of every impossibility you have ever entertained. 

My skin reacts to this, chills and rejection of the bland. Goosebumps because, just because. In this space of no flavor, nothing happens for the pleasure of your senses. In this state of being, comfort is extremely similar to boredom. In this kingdom of routine, the sun hides and winds blow, uncertain and unappreciated. My head rests, and my body slows, little motion brings forth less life. 

I bring music to my silence and he asks my imagination for a dance. His voice and his words ring and play on my nonchalance waking my curiousity and interest. I enjoy it. Softly, slowly, and quietly I anticipate the way his breath sounds in my ears. Violin, piano…and then percussion a simple perfection to my sleepy, bored and comfortable senses. Perfect. He asks about my feelings, he asks about my words, letters and emptiness in between. On repeat, two,three, four times I know his words now, I smile. One beat upon the next I find that I have been pacing around this space letter by letter. Step by step I trace the warmth of my letters, I press every word and I prepare my self. Silence will subside and I will transcend every wavelength, I will dance to the tune of a world of my making. 

For now, I dwell…

Chapter Twenty Five: Prologue 

Well here we are. Quarter of a century and still kicking. With the proper nutrition, and medical advances I might even live seventy five years longer. But I’m not betting on it. Whether it’s 75 more years, or just one more day I am more than blessed to be here today.

I’ve always adopted a rather dramatic approach towards my life. Ive circled around myself like a predator and pounced at myself when weak, I tore myself apart any given chance I got. Except I made it through, it never worked, nothing was ever solved, words were just words at the end of the day, and thoughts remained just thoughts, with no real value.

Approaching twenty five i began to take it easy, I figured, well if all this hate, this suffering, this negativity surrounding me couldn’t destroy me, then I probably am bigger than this, I am deeper, stronger and much more surreal. I decided to love. I chose it even when walls crashed. I found it in ruins of relationships, broken ideals and beliefs. I created love when it ran out from the hearts surrounding my own. I loved, and I learned. I still am.

I started to let go, and forgive. I decided that every human I will meet from now on will be a lesson and I will try my best to be a source of light. I started getting comfortable in my skin or lack thereof. I shaved part of my head and i discovered that just like thoughts, my hair wasn’t real either. I was still there, even when uncovered I recognized myself. I overcame my deep fear of loss. I pushed through.

Twenty five and present, no more preconceived notions. I have exhausted my prejudices, and my thoughts. My doubts are all still present, so are my insecurities and my demons. Except I know them all on first name’s basis now. I see them coming, I greet them and sit with them. The battle to get them to leave has become civil. But very difficult still.

There is more to life than I thought there was. I will keep this one to myself though. Words are just words after all. Let’s hope that at twenty five, I can live better, love better and just be.

Thank you

Full Moon 

I erase line after line, all my phrases seem vacant. I am trying to fake this. It’s not really working. I am trying to run yet my feet are heavy, they won’t move as fast as I hope they would. My breath is short and unforgiving. My mind refuses the track, it refuses the motion it demands that I stand still at this specific moment and just stop for a moment. Just stop. 

I have a million and five thoughts racing to the front lines, my blood freezes at the notions of some and boils for others. My mind demands that all this stops as well. No motion whatsoever, I must stop every transaction, transition and transformation taking place inside and outside of myself. Nothing will happen now, nothing must. 

Being still used to be so much easier that’s for sure, all it took was closing my eyes and sinking. Now I can’t stop.

I grab onto a tune that slows me down, one that forces the friction I have been avoiding. My scars begin to show again, indifference cannot be faked at this pace. I grab onto the night in hopes of shielding my cowardice, maybe the darkness would help make this pause less shameful; but it doesn’t. I am stripped and stranded because I need to stop and listen, to stop and look at everything. Maybe today is special, and maybe that is why I cannot move. 

Naked and foolish I rub my skin and peel off the beauty, I do not need this here. My hair falls to the ground beneath, and my nails grow long enough to claw through this fractured body. I must stop and see, my eyes water and my mind soars. I cannot move but I can see. 

I can see that my soul is aching, I can see that all this motion is sickening. It is mindless and senseless, it is excruciating and exhausting. 

I just stop, unprotected, frail and aimless. I am in awe of this crash. My mind is unclogged. My blood is cleansed. 

Maybe this is being free. 

The Fight 

I stare at my palms and at my broken skin. When did this happen? I didn’t see most of it. I didn’t feel any of it. I was so desensitized; I was breathing in rust and breathing out gold. I broke myself while fixing this. The process pauses as I suddenly watch the Reds Browns and greens scale off my knees and my elbows. I find that my hair has turned to rope, my eyes are made of glass. The world is loud, it is immense and psychotic. I am still and I am loveless. My limbs have rusted and nails are black. Somehow I stopped, my soul is awake and it is thunder; it is lightning and it is fearless beyond my fragile body. Shrieks turn to screams, and screams become prayers for redemption. The psychotic world grows even more hysterical but I am awake, and I am becoming. 

I spit out words and bones, I press my palms over my face and I smash the glass. I give my soul eyes, and suddenly I recognize myself. 

One more battle done with this world at war; I am not broken, I am not heavy. I am made of gold and rust; I have a stream of rain running through me. My soul is thunder and I am not not blind. I see you. Beyond anything, and after it all ends; I still see you.