- in the name of Allah -
If all that glitters is not gold, then I see life itself a bronze-plated dream, hiding its own truth from the universe for eons untold. There are few patterns like mine, running out of sync with societal wheels and chimes, so many spokes but never quite the right road or right clime. Always I wonder if there is a way to explain, a way to make understand, everyone I've ever known, that to me this life is not the place for who I am: I want no lies, no half-truths, no deceptions, no desire-laced temptations, no delusions, no pretensions, no malice, no regrets, no envy, no ego lording over my own sanity, no inevitable regressions.
In truth, all I seek is the very essence of that which glitters and is truly golden, not this pale shadow of ambition pretending as purpose all-knowing. There is no true home here, no desired occupation, no open governmental seat, no legislative board without a penchant for power's intoxication. People crave their immediacies, the evident, their life's necessities, eventually losing sight of what makes living more than just a series of repetitious tendencies.
I suppose this leaves me in it all the dreamer, waiting to find his awaking moment, when shrouds cast off and the mirage disappears, making the truth at last crystal clearer.
10.26.2015
10.11.2015
- in the name of Allah -
Looking out the window at the brightness of the sunlight shining whitely, inviting me to run with the day wherever it goes, leaving all yesterday's problems safely tucked away be-nighted. such an obvious beckon, perhaps my inner source at last changes colors to chase lighter hues, it's not as if nightowls ever let the day get away while able to pay their due. there's no road I'm aware of that lets people travel, that hasn't wrapped up poets in their wake, while keeping their essence to the world still unraveled. fortunately for me, any person can traverse such a path without knowing what it is in front of him he has, the result of choices being made one after the other, a series of batteries being continually drained, so all the effort I now have, is from the very last thing I did.
not a few weeks since passed, I came to learn she'd become an optometrist at long last. it was at that moment it struck me, that of the person I knew there was left no tangible trace, no evidence but memory to keep one rooted in place. part of me was slightly saddened, but even more than that most of me was gladdened, that she with whom I'd struggled so deeply had found a way out of the fog of ineventual misery. I can say in earnest, that as of now her ghost I can lay peacefully in rest, as it reached in fruition, the road I'd let her take at my own behest. this moment has no tears, just a little joy, to see her success, and my own past from my self deployed.
be at peace oh restless ones, oh glee-less memories, take your cue from future's fruits, and not from yesterday's what-if's or could-be's.
Looking out the window at the brightness of the sunlight shining whitely, inviting me to run with the day wherever it goes, leaving all yesterday's problems safely tucked away be-nighted. such an obvious beckon, perhaps my inner source at last changes colors to chase lighter hues, it's not as if nightowls ever let the day get away while able to pay their due. there's no road I'm aware of that lets people travel, that hasn't wrapped up poets in their wake, while keeping their essence to the world still unraveled. fortunately for me, any person can traverse such a path without knowing what it is in front of him he has, the result of choices being made one after the other, a series of batteries being continually drained, so all the effort I now have, is from the very last thing I did.
not a few weeks since passed, I came to learn she'd become an optometrist at long last. it was at that moment it struck me, that of the person I knew there was left no tangible trace, no evidence but memory to keep one rooted in place. part of me was slightly saddened, but even more than that most of me was gladdened, that she with whom I'd struggled so deeply had found a way out of the fog of ineventual misery. I can say in earnest, that as of now her ghost I can lay peacefully in rest, as it reached in fruition, the road I'd let her take at my own behest. this moment has no tears, just a little joy, to see her success, and my own past from my self deployed.
be at peace oh restless ones, oh glee-less memories, take your cue from future's fruits, and not from yesterday's what-if's or could-be's.
10.01.2015
- in the name of Allah -
It is always curious, the case of (no, not Benjamin Button) one who finds himself on the outside, looking in. Throughout my existence, no matter where I went or who I met, I always seemed to make my own amorphous bubble of sociality. I didn't belong necessarily to any particular clique, neither yuppies or nerds or castoffs or druggies or etc. The reasoning behind this fact I have always wondered at. As one might expect, with age and some experience many personal truths come to light.
People band together based on commonalities, things that bind one to another, whether interests or goals or delusions, the crux of it is uniform across the species. What binds me? Only one thing has ever caught my soul's attention that way and kept it: the ideal. How many such people existing in reality's vacuum are still able to hold such a perception? The inevitable refrain is that life lessons one learns harden them for what is to come, what 'has to be done'. This is no doubt true. But what else happens in the process? Do people realize how much of themselves is lost during this process? The next question, after ascertaining the previous, was the loss worth it? For me the clarity here is unavoidable. Life tries to cloud my sight with many things, earthly ambitions, human objectives and customs, but these things don't stick to me. Being like rubber (hey Luffy), stuff bounces off me (and sticks to you...lol) and just lands to those places/people where it finds a home.
The biggest conclusion I reached, the most desired result, would be that I am able to make other people understand this, what I have written, what it truly means. Of course this is the most difficult thing. Human beings have the best time understanding something the more similar it is to themselves and/or their expectations. When something falls outside those categories, typically a 'non-conformist' anomaly, they resort to conjecture and fabricate/assign motivations/raison d'etre to it. This makes sense. The brain is always seeking to put things in order, whether consciously or not, so the end result is whatever is perceived has to find a place somewhere, somehow. It isn't this inevitability I lament though. I couldn't fault people for being people, just like I couldn't fault a bug for being a bug or mosquito for being a mosquito. These aspects are simply intrinsic to such creatures' being, and as such are not meant to and carry no meaning to debate/be disapproved of.
If any or all of this sounds like fluff, then one would not be far off from truth. In the plane of philosophy, talk like this looks to the outside world as nothing more than ether floating on the surface of creation, beyond the necessities and easily-grasped notions that the world and life normally occupy. The question really becomes, can these two planes be reconciled? That is, can it be possible to see both at the same time, to not lose sight of either, but yet hold each in its place without loss of focus? It might be that is what I need most in this life, a person to bridge these aspects of myself with the part of reality that is so starkly different. Presuming, of course, that life itself was worth the trouble of being engaged/involved with, something I am not entirely uncertain of.
It is always curious, the case of (no, not Benjamin Button) one who finds himself on the outside, looking in. Throughout my existence, no matter where I went or who I met, I always seemed to make my own amorphous bubble of sociality. I didn't belong necessarily to any particular clique, neither yuppies or nerds or castoffs or druggies or etc. The reasoning behind this fact I have always wondered at. As one might expect, with age and some experience many personal truths come to light.
People band together based on commonalities, things that bind one to another, whether interests or goals or delusions, the crux of it is uniform across the species. What binds me? Only one thing has ever caught my soul's attention that way and kept it: the ideal. How many such people existing in reality's vacuum are still able to hold such a perception? The inevitable refrain is that life lessons one learns harden them for what is to come, what 'has to be done'. This is no doubt true. But what else happens in the process? Do people realize how much of themselves is lost during this process? The next question, after ascertaining the previous, was the loss worth it? For me the clarity here is unavoidable. Life tries to cloud my sight with many things, earthly ambitions, human objectives and customs, but these things don't stick to me. Being like rubber (hey Luffy), stuff bounces off me (and sticks to you...lol) and just lands to those places/people where it finds a home.
The biggest conclusion I reached, the most desired result, would be that I am able to make other people understand this, what I have written, what it truly means. Of course this is the most difficult thing. Human beings have the best time understanding something the more similar it is to themselves and/or their expectations. When something falls outside those categories, typically a 'non-conformist' anomaly, they resort to conjecture and fabricate/assign motivations/raison d'etre to it. This makes sense. The brain is always seeking to put things in order, whether consciously or not, so the end result is whatever is perceived has to find a place somewhere, somehow. It isn't this inevitability I lament though. I couldn't fault people for being people, just like I couldn't fault a bug for being a bug or mosquito for being a mosquito. These aspects are simply intrinsic to such creatures' being, and as such are not meant to and carry no meaning to debate/be disapproved of.
If any or all of this sounds like fluff, then one would not be far off from truth. In the plane of philosophy, talk like this looks to the outside world as nothing more than ether floating on the surface of creation, beyond the necessities and easily-grasped notions that the world and life normally occupy. The question really becomes, can these two planes be reconciled? That is, can it be possible to see both at the same time, to not lose sight of either, but yet hold each in its place without loss of focus? It might be that is what I need most in this life, a person to bridge these aspects of myself with the part of reality that is so starkly different. Presuming, of course, that life itself was worth the trouble of being engaged/involved with, something I am not entirely uncertain of.