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| january 2005 |
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| Something | 12:09pm thursday, 27th january |
I have become something.
No, I have not solved
the riddle of it all,
though mayhap that be not
from lack of trying —
but I am not nothing,
not anymore. I remember
when I was even less
than that which is nil,
a vacuum of a being, taking
without giving any back:
and how I still was loved,
even though did I deny it,
love all around me,
and love from out of nowhere.
Someone had faith in me —
no, make that more than one;
and I never thought
it would of happenstance
I would wake from the
nightmare of myself, but
I am standing on my own
two feet, at the threshold
of my own humanity:
and yes, and that is it:
I have become something,
and think it not so simple,
this to be: a human being.
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| Tree of Life | 10:20am saturday, 22nd january |
Sometimes — usually by accident — I tap into one of the great veins of the collective know. It pours straight through me, as if I were not even there, as if the words need only a conduit, any will do, and all I may do is try and keep up with the verbiage. And when I am there, it is as though I am privy to the vernacular of galaxies, of the poetic meter of angels. They say that some of the great masters of prose and verse could do it any time of day, like they had a secret lifeline into the Source. Then there were some who drank of it and it consumed them; and others only hit it once in their whole lifetime, and never recaptured the brief ecstasy that it was. I myself of it may say only, how wonderful a universe that such a phenomenon exists: to taste the sap of the Tree of Life, to taste of life eternal.
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| Annoyed | 11:32am tuesday, 18th january |
Recently, just everything has been getting on my nerves. I’m back on my recommended dosage of medication, if you must know, so I’m more or less of the sane persona, but man: I am annoyed by every little thing. Is there a chemical for that, I wonder, for annoyance? We are used to thinking in those terms, these days in the field of psychological inquiry. A chemical for everything. Something sure seems imbalanced — that’s what I’m saying.
Maybe, though, all it really is that I am having is a bad week. Maybe I am not used to thinking in those terms, right now: normality. (Sure, you may say that nothing’s normal, but we have implied limits to oddity, even if we do not care to acknowledge them on anything but a subconscious level. You have a better idea of what is normal than you may care to recognize.) Yeah, maybe that’s it: looking for weirdness because everything’s a nail when all you’re used to having in your hand is a hammer; but right now, there’s nothing in your hand at all. Your hand is all you have. Unlike what is wrought of man, it is made by God: infinite in possibility. Maybe it is merely fear of so great a choice that makes me crouch out of the daylight: now that I am sane, what do I do?
I guess that would be my final diagnosis: I am annoyed as a defense mechanism against having more or less unlimited freedom. Nothing to combat, I invent things that are wrong from the littlest provocations.... Or maybe not. Maybe I just need more sleep. Eh. It goes.
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| Somewhere | 3:25pm saturday, 15th january |
It is as if these my dreams exist somewhere on their own,
just waiting for a suitable host to haunt and to impassion:
as if my dreams have never belonged to me, but I to them.
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| Today | 11:58am sunday, 9th january |
I thought I had been fighting it, but there is still such pride in me. I keep thinking I’m all that. I believe it is the source of my Antichrist dementia: thinking I am the greatest of all who ever were (the smallest part of believing such a thing) triggers the paranoia that I am like Lucifer before the fall. Yes, that part of my madness yet lingers. But don’t think that it’s all that bad; for deeper in me is the faith that I know will bring me through it all, however much I suffer doubt that I can be saved, however much I lose heart. The pride in me: these harrowing thoughts help me fight it, for if I am humble, I have nothing to fear. Count it all joy — you may find that you can, believe it or not, if you but try. We’ve made it through today. Tomorrow starts with a new dawn.
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| No One | 11:33am wednesday, 5th january |
I am thrown about,
a rag in the wind,
no position of the tide
to call his home, no
angle of the sun to call
his viewpoint: where did I
discover how little
I am, and where do I go
to forget? The yawning
cosmos, I discovered
you far after you
discovered me, but
the difference was that
I was the one that cared.
Or perhaps I miss
the whole point,
the entire meaning
altogether, that what I
need do is to be
blind to what I am,
only to see the other’s
need? Such a saintly way,
however, I find
I do not comprehend,
how someone else’s blood
could look redder
than mine, someone else’s
dreams more worthy,
someone else’s life
more important.
Maybe I should just
fake it, and when I
lay down my life
because I had nothing
better to do with my days,
they will think how
utterly courageous:
he died for love, he died
for the very honor of it.
No one has to know, at all.
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