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| july 2003 |
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| Handle | 12:09am thursday, 31st july |
There is a thought that God never gives anyone more than they can handle. I don't know if I agree with this theory. Somewhere, through my sufferings, it seemed to me that I was given a little more than what I could handle, a little past my breaking point. It's a terrible thing, to be broken, and I hope you never reach anywhere close to that threshold of your being; but at least I can tell you that if it happens, it is survivable. You may think that tomorrow has been canceled, but no, the day next comes by and by, the sun still rises, the world has not ended. One might say that this is what is meant by what one can handle, if he survives: but people do die, thus meaning they were put through too much, there; and no, I simply do not hold to that view: some people break.
When a bright Spring day is a mockery in its gladness, when the wind seems to laugh at you, when your heart seems to have been torn right out of your chest, when there is nothing to hold onto but pain — there is sometimes nothing of consolation. But live. Survive. For no one knows what tomorrow brings, no one can say what will be until it is. There is for one who perseveres a great benefit, if perhaps the only one, coming in the form of two words: "I understand". Having been through what I have, I can say that to someone else who is suffering, too. They are powerful words, and not everyone is able to say them and it means anything. So it is thus that sometimes meaning can come from the meaningless.... Have you been there? Maybe you understand, too?
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| Where Tomorrow | 12:13am tuesday, 29th july |
There is an unnamed longing
that echoes in my heart,
and I know not what I desire.
I stand on the edge of a vast
space, and I wonder: if I
leaped, would I fall, or fly?
My dreams trouble me, though
I cannot comprehend the
things they are trying to tell me.
I have felt a change to come
that my blood has foretold,
but it is slow to its prophecy.
A day ends, a day begins, and I
wonder where tomorrow
is — it never seems to get here.
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| No Surprises | 12:10am monday, 28th july |
No surprises in life: there are times when I've been there, like for all that happens, the expected thing is the only thing that comes. Sometimes that's a good thing, for it may be exhausting to have one's life turned upside down with every event upon our beings, but to stagnate into nothing but routine — such a curse would not be imagined by our worst enemies. We all want what is extraordinary, I think, at some instances within our passing days. We want to be surprised, sometimes. When I was in my madness, I longed for what was ordinary — but "ordinary" then was what would be the extraordinary, considering my circumstances. To want more: I believe that it is not wrong to desire so. After all, where would the world be if people did not dream of something better?
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| Writer's Block? | 2:04am saturday, 26th july |
I have heard about writer's block. I don't understand it, myself. My apologies to those who sincerely suffer from it: is it that some words come but they are worthless? Or is it that you look into that space from where you draw your energeia and find it completely empty? If it is the former, I in that situation would start writing anything that came to the fore down onto the paper; it is often the case for me that what I think is worthy others find less so, and that what I think is garbage someone else will cherish. It may just be pride, in that first situation, that keeps the pen from its flow of ink, that you have judged the scribblings of your thought unworthy of you, unworthy of even the attempt to render it in print. Or maybe you're right, and it's crap. I'd write it down anyway, even if it is: once or twice, I have just started writing this kind of crap down and found a gem unearthed from it. I never called this type of thing writer's block, just a lesson in humility.
The second case, though, looking within and finding it empty of all form, of all function — this I find quite mysterious, and I can't say that I've ever experienced it. Of truly being blank... my cynical take on this would be that you haven't suffered enough. If nothing else, pain would give you something to complain about. This emptiness itself is a sort of suffering, I would think, so it may be good for you. But to be a bit more on the kind side, if all else fails, I'd pray. What could it hurt? (Then, when nothing comes, you could write about how your prayers don't get answered, whereupon they would be, but I won't go into that any further here.) I don't know. If you're really empty of everything, maybe you've just reached Nirvana and haven't realized it?
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| My Question | 12:10am friday, 25th july |
I ask the stars above, but I know they hold no wisdom.
I ask the wind, but my question is swallowed in its rushing by.
I ask myself, and there is a long, long silence while I wait.
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| Gray Wings | 2:42am thursday, 24th july |
On gray wings I have glided past the hills of my wondering, and I have broken through the horizon more than once, to come back hoary from the freeze of the void. I have stood still while the seasons traveled over me, while the years slipped quietly by, until this child's shadow shrank into the nothingness of yesterday. By the river of time I have skipped stones across the waters: I named each of them as they were claimed by the depths, only to forget them when I waded in, looking for lost treasure. I am in motion, then I stop. I stand still, then I run. I can't tell who I'm trying to catch up to, or who is passing me by....
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| Nothing More | 12:47am tuesday, 22nd july |
In the bleak spaces there is sometimes a light,
some spark that the darkness has not snuffed,
waning and waxing like a candle light. This
is the voice of hope, when all other voices
have silenced, the voice of dawn before dawn
has risen from the horizon, the voice of all
who have never let night be the final say.
Oblivion will not win, I have decided — I know
not when I did — but this heart will not be
driven from its onward go, this spirit will not
be quieted from its song. The light, though
small and fragile in its glow, I will keep, like
the fingerprint of a guardian angel upon my
desire, like the aroma of a rose long after the
rose has withered, like the tune of a forgotten
hymn: I cannot stop, I think, though I may
falter along my way: I must this need to travel
through courses meant for me to go. I am a
dreamer and always have been, and there is
nothing more for me but to see that light when
it is most distant and faded. This is hope,
that I will unearth my inspiration when the
world and time have buried it in the numb of
everyday drivel, and I think I must stake my
flag upon tomorrow — it is mine if I choose,
it is mine because that is where the light shines.
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| Despair | 12:36am monday, 21st july |
I feel as if I'm failing. There has been this notion that I've had, and I've had it as long as I remember: that I was meant for something great. I don't know what that great thing might be, but I feel as if I'm letting that notion down, that I'm letting destiny itself down. It is as if I have given my best, and it wasn't good enough, that it will never be good enough, no matter what I do. It is despair. It is "Who am I kidding?", and nothing can make it better, nothing can tell me that it's going to be okay, because it isn't okay: I have done the full of what my capacity can do, and that forked no lightning, that moved not the currents of any river against its course. I feel old, and defeated. I know, I know, this, too, will pass, but this is where I am right now, at the bottom of emotion.
Was it wrong, all this time, that notion? Was it just a fantasy concocted by my unconscious mind, or just pride manifesting itself? Perhaps there is a lesson here to be learned, but really, I am not in the mood. I don't want to try anything more, not right now; I don't want to do any more of what my dreams foretell, because they were all wrong: I wasn't meant for anything but survival, and I wasn't even that good at that. It was never meant for me to surpass the expectations or even meet the potential everyone (including me — I was fooled too) had for me. This is my lot, to be ordinary, and maybe that's the only lesson here. I will keep on, though my hopes are dashed, and I will continue in the only ways I have ever known. These dreams that I have had, maybe I will let them quietly recede.
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| A Grip | 12:07am saturday, 19th july |
There are times, when I am under great duress, when I feel I'm going to snap, as if I'm on the edge of losing my grip on things. Maybe you've felt such as I, but perhaps you don't know what lies on the other side — a place I inhabited for some time. It is tempting to just let go, just to break, but I desire to hold on: I don't particularly want to go back to babbling at little cartoons running through my mind's eye. I take a sip of tea, inhale deeply, and cope. That sort of process, perhaps, you know as well. Just a note, though, to those who have never been elsewhere: sanity is worth it. Problems don't go away if you lose your grip and let it all slide; you get other problems — of perhaps a more transcendental nature, but problems, nonetheless; it is better to try and handle real problems than imaginary ones. One thing I have learned through my suffering is that all suffering passes: I look back at my pain and it seems almost as if I dreamed it. Almost. The memories are real enough that however I can, I get a grip, and hold on for dear life. Something I recommend.
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| Me, Myself, I | 12:14am friday, 18th july |
I look in the mirror, and this is strange: I expect someone else to be looking back, I don't know whom but not the face I see. I don't know how far this goes back, whether it was only after my madness had receded or I always had this feeling but just hadn't noticed before, but I am a stranger to my eyes. Well, perhaps not a stranger, for I am used to this face peering back, but somehow I get the feeling that this is not me. What/who am I expecting to see? Does it speak, perhaps, that somehow I am not comfortable in the skin I've been given, or is it deeper — that this face I see is not what I'd imagine myself if I sat down and considered it? Or does it just say that I know not who I am, nor who I am supposed to be?
I have at times tried to reconcile this reflection of myself, pointing at my face in the mirror, telling myself that "This is you!", but the feeling of strangeness remains. Maybe I just need a couple hours when I have some free time (that'll be the day) just to stare at myself in a big mirror, looking at the person that I am, learning myself for perhaps the first time. I guess the question is still relevant to me: "Who am I?" Maybe I have never asked that of myself, not really, or maybe I have never tried to answer it to any satisfaction. Maybe that's it. Know thyself: that's probably the only thing within reach of anyone to truly fathom, and that's a tall order in itself.... I need to try to see myself and know it is I who I am seeing: I will try to see the me in that me reflected: this is me, myself, I.
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| Hover | 12:05am thursday, 17th july |
The footfalls in a dream don't ever land on solid ground:
in our imaginations we hover over what we perceive.
It is strange that in dreaming, I have died, but never looked down.
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| Significance | 12:02am tuesday, 15th july |
Am I an insignificant pebble? Is such mine that I will scream at the world, and the world budges not, nor even notices? A pebble thrown into an ocean — its ripples are lost in the waves, and we will hear of it none, for the sound of its tiny plop is lost in the crashing of water upon the rocks. In the ever growing many of this world, I am just one and stay the one, so I grow smaller by just remaining myself. Have you felt this, too? The world grinds on and cares little or nil for what we are and what we have done? We should gather together, all we of little import: if we all cried with one voice out into this vast place, for that one moment we would be heard. We are a multitude, all of us who are only one. Perhaps we should take that to heart: feel not so alone in being alone. And understand that even if we have nothing to say, we all want to be heard.
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| Wanting | 12:25am monday, 14th july |
I do not know what I want. I wonder if I ever did. Sure, back when I was doing drugs, it was the drugs that I wanted; but even then, did I really want that, and what they did to me? Currently, I hate my job where I'm working, but that is a normal situation in this world — I might guess that I wanted out of this job, but do I really even want that, to sweat it out at some other equally disappointing career? I might guess that I desire wealth, so that I wouldn't have to work at all, but what would that do to me? Would I lose some of this fire I have been caught up in of late — to succeed at this life — if I were suddenly rich, and needed do nothing and still survive quite nicely? I don't think I want fame: I believe that might be fun for a week or so, then a big hassle for the rest of it, not to mention that it could potentially swell me up quite full of myself.
Have you looked, yourself? What do you want? Is there anyone out there who knows just what they want, or are you like me, and think "I want this, except..." or "I might want that if..."? Is this the human condition, that what we want is too often not what we want, not at all? I might try to think back on simpler times, but I believe I never had such times. Maybe it is as easy as that I want love. We all want love, after all, and perhaps there is no two ways about that. But that is such a vague thing, and to receive love, people are always involved, and one never can predict what comes also with those people. What do I want? What do you want? Maybe it is that I want to stop wanting... I could guess forever.
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| Happen | 12:01am saturday, 12th july |
Whispers in the night foretell
strange and luminous armor upon
the cast of the moon. Something
is about to happen. To understand
the calling of night, one's gaze
must be directed inwards, one
must fold one's imagination in two
to better view what lies within
the heart. Prepare for the
unexpected event that midnight
will bring: it comes fleeter than
a passing shadow, and it is often
mistaken for a dream. When
something happens, here is wisdom:
do not be proud just because it
happens to you, for you are nowhere
responsible for why you are chosen (you
may not even understand it if told).
But be glad. For time comes 'round:
something is about to happen.
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| Busy | 12:10am friday, 11th july |
Hurry hurry hurry. There is no time to think. All is go go go. There is no time to comprehend, no time to examine, all is rush and the rush is all. All one asks is if it works or no, and if it does, don't question it — just move on, because that's good enough. There is no time for craft, no time for speculation, no time to wonder or for wonderment. We must continue, for that is civilization these days: slap it out and go on to the next thing. There is no time for adventure, no time for curious diversions; business, after all is business. Were we ever children once? I sometimes have my doubts, at least about some of us — some of us seem as if we were born carrying briefcases.... I will stop if I can — a moment — take a breath and look around; but not now, not now, busy busy busy.
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| Dig | 12:07am thursday, 10th july |
Is there no revelation that has been left unturned? I guess I feel that way, at certain times, that the best visions have already been seen, transcribed, and been through analysis. But then... then I think of Einstein. Just before he came on the scene, there were those that predicted the end of physics, back there at the end of the nineteenth century — then Albert came along and blew their minds with just how strange and mysterious things really are. More than that, at least to me: he hinted how much stranger and more mysterious the world is that has yet to be discovered. So, maybe the time is ripe for me, who feels as if he is at the end of his creative rope. That when I think all things that I am to discover I have discovered already, such will be when the real magic strikes. (Going meta, perhaps this itself is the epiphany.)
What are you, world? I think I know you well enough: maybe that's the clue that I know you none at all. How can I think I have figured you out, when I understand so little of this infinitesimal I call myself? Humility, it seems, is in order, for I think I comprehend you, o world. These fragments and scraps I have pieced together into something of a coherent image, but should I look further? Look past the things that are before me? It is, perhaps, that I should rediscover my childhood, when I understood how little I understood. It's just that these days, the new things lie a bit deeper. Methinks it's time to start digging....
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| Corner Window | 2:24am tuesday, 8th july |
I have
imagined
myself into
a corner
— what
next?
Hm, if I
draw here
a square,
I can
turn it
into
a window...
I open it
to a
new
world,
or have I
been
here
before?
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| Back, Sort of | 12:22am monday, 7th july |
I was so freaking RELAXED this last week in Seoul. I managed the whole week just one time in front of the computer, in contrast to my "real" life where I am constantly before one of its cold faces. I am back at home in the San Francisco Bay Area, but I am very quite tired, as I was not able to catch any sleep on the plane ride here; it's like I have stayed up all night and it is tomorrow afternoon for me now. I scribbled two little somethings down on that plane cruise, and right now, I'm to weary to even scry if they make any sense at all. Here they are, for whatever it's worth:
There are reasons for the things that happen to us. It may not be for us to know what they are, until perhaps that far day when all mysteries are revealed. But it does not hurt to look.
Love is the only word that has ever been. All other words are only attempts to explain it.
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