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Bed time story for adults

Alone in bed at night, you stare at the ceiling, one breath in, but it stops half way through and it erupts into a muted sigh. Your heart beat is heavy so is your world. You need to close your eyes, sleep is the most important action right now. Except you know, that wont happen, your mind is too anxious, so many thoughts, events and roles underplayed during the day. You should have done more, you should have said something, you should have acted.

It is silly really, all the thoughts, words pushing and elbowing each other in order to make it to the finish line, topped by a long banner with the word TRUTH inscribed. But in that race, truth is not the finish line that your thoughts are racing for. The finish line is a bed time story you tell yourself about the life your are leading. And we all know baby, bed time stories are only stories after all; and nothing in them is real.

See, the fear of waking up feeling unaccomplished and miserable comes from a deep consciousness that you keep muffling after every chapter in your bed time story. Not doing what you really want, going to a job you hate, marrying the wrong person for the wrong reasons, staying in an abusive relationship, accepting unfairness in your daily life in every form, all will pile up with time, especially if you always have that quiet little voice saying “I really don’t want this“.  And when that pile becomes too large, no amount of stories will be able to hold it. The pile will become too real, your life will become too real, too late. 

Resolutions for the new year are almost always broken, not because people don’t want the change, but because people are too afraid of it, and are too lazy for reality, and would rather go back to their bed time stories by February. Waking up once and for all is exhausting if you are so used to snoozing that alarm. So you snooze 2017, and you might snooze 2018, and live your life on snooze, bored and missing out on the day, and unable to sleep at night.

How wonderful would it be if you could place your head on your pillow tonight knowing that you did one thing right, one thing that did not have you thinking “I really don’t want this“? How would you feel if you woke up in the morning with an anticipation for the day, where the traffic will not bother you enough to ruin your day, nor will a few hiccups along the way? How would it feel to live your life slowly, where when people complain, you say you are grateful for the things that you have, and work on the negatives?

Nobody will change your life for you. So get to it.


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Our life 

So as far as I know, time has not stopped yet. I approach the second half of my twenties with everything and almost nothing figured out all at once. For starters, the worst days end, and so do the best. I am grateful for both. Somehow we sail through, both too silently and all too chaotically as though we get to do this all over again differently. 

Some days are so similar that I lose all meaning between days of the week. So I make a decision to remember minute details like the smell of the freshly watered sidewalk or the white dust on a construction worker’s hands. And then when I think back I realize that those days and those thoughts will add up to being my week, then my month and eventually my year. So why does it matter? Because I get to recognize elements of my story as it is happening, and believe it or not there is some wonder in that. 

For a second I get overcome by a sense of melancholy, a fleeting realization that this right here, right now is it, for the time being it is all I have. But then I submerge my mind with presence, with absolute existence, being drenched in reality and still having the ability to step away from it is what makes us human. It is what conscious human life offers us, all we get to do is choose, maybe even simply dance in between our life, and the story we tell ourself about it. 

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Story upon story, my mind plays and skips across roads and thoughts less traveled. But then again, the roads I have travelled keep on teaching me, grilling my stamina and testing my willingness to accept the gloriousness of being so small in such a brilliantly huge world.

My heart is heavy sometimes, and my choking anxiety hits hard, but on most days my peace prevails, fed by the beauty of shores, lakes and sunflower fields.

The stillness of home feels as it should, but the pumping heart keeps pushing my eyes open, I can’t sleep; there is so much to see. So I put myself in my bed after days of sleeping on planes trains and cars, using sign language to try and describe the confusion of being so thrilled and so lost all at once.

I rest my case for now and leave some of my words here, I must release the rest with my eyes closed and my mind open. The soul glares with color and summons me to slow down and rejoice. The high of adventure sways my fingers into a halt, and I pull myself from this practice into a deeper one.

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A song for the Living 

She sings and her voice taps at my skin, informally casually, she raises her voice and the tap begins to hurt, it begins to burn. She says all the right words, makes the perfect sounds and yet nothing else is perfect. Nothing besides that tune makes any sense.

The power we posess screeches to a halt. It becomes a fault. The power remains mossy and filthy; it grows ugly and loud. It wrinkles at the edges and breaks into infected tears at the surface. That power grows heavy and damp, it drops and oozes harsh words and cold weather. I carry it all on my back like a tumor, like a dream that was supposed to be. I carry it around my shoulders and it drags its feet and swings like a nonchalant child. It kicks me in the gut whenever I remember what I had done, what I could have been. The power loses its original form and its agility. It loses its faith and it becomes despair.

I carry it because it cannot move. I carry it as it weighs me down, I crawl as it drags its toes beside me upon the ground. It grabs my hair and pulls it away from my face, because I still am pretty despite it all. And pretty shields us from the eyes and the bigger picture.

I carry the power be it of any kind, I bear it all and I transport it, giving away whatever is necessary of it.

She still sings and she takes me away from where I stand. She lowers her voice and recognizes me. Pretty face in the light, a tired massive hub of demented power in the dark. She sees me through dimming lights and darker shadows. I suddenly feel lighter and my power regenerates into a magnificent beauty; i ooze words that sound magical together; I muster all the power within me and a day comes to its end. I caress the carcass I have left behind and I listen to her bringing me back home and reducing me back to life.

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This Moment

Without chains, is what I am; without real borders defining what I should be. I do not see myself in the future, not because I have no dreams, but because I feel undefined still. Nothing should break me; I am the strongest person in the world. Or so I would like to be.

You ask me about my thoughts and I have so much to share, but I don’t know if I believe half of them, am I a hypocrite just like you? Yes I believe so. But if I do not discover my truth then I will remain a liar and I do not want to be one. I give my ideas away though my writing and many times my fragility shows, yet there is so much more above and beneath that. I say I am afraid of repeating myself, but how is that possible, for I have been changing as a person with every new heartbeat and new song out there.

My age is far from defining where I should be in my life, for I think I might be doing the absolute wrong turns, just as well I might be gradually stepping closer to paradise.

Many advise us to live our lives in certain ways because of general knowledge. They tell us to take lead of our lives when they are the ones dictating our behind the scenes. Maybe if the sun doesn’t shine and the moon doesn’t rise I will understand how life changes and how days change into miracles or disasters. So I will not wait for that, instead I will scream to the world that I have not figured my life out, nor have I made a great plan for a giant success. What I have done is formed relationships with my being, my mind, my emotions and my dreams. So when the lights don’t shine and the darkness dims my love, I will know I have myself, my soul is mine and no one else’s.

You are reading now, what I feel at this moment, nothing has happened before, and maybe a lot will happen after, but it’s this moment and its mine. It is prisoner to my words and my descriptions, it is here and now, when it goes away my emotions will dim and my words will run dry, my world will go on and so will time. Nothing will stop for me, so I make it seize. I write and I keep it for me and maybe for you. So when you feel this way or judge at least, you will have actual life in front of you dripping from those words. Now this moment is over and so is this song. This page is not close to ending but my words are and my thoughts should rest. My moment of depth is losing essence and gaining shallowness into mere pleasure and satisfaction for reading what I have done.