some things change, some things stay the same.
and some things we never wish to change, not at all.
i dont regret it, any of it, except that i didnt cherish the time and the joy and the wonder of it all. and maybe that was better, because instead of knowing that it would end (which of course i knew, but never truly realized) i just lived it. we all just lived it. and isnt that so much more beautiful? so much more blissful in our arrogance and ignorance? now with wide, removed eyes can we enjoy the memories. with the casual sting of fresh air.
ahh, its so beautiful. life. moving and twisting like something alive and wholly seperate from ourselves. i dont understand you, life, although every day i try. yet i hope i never will. some things are better, seeming the same. some things are better in total unfathomable mystery.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
change
everything was too clear, too much alive. all she felt was the grasp of one hand upon the other, the strain of her arms clasping her knees, the pull of the wind on her clothes. Inside she was blank, empty; she had spilled all those emotions out like a glass carelessly knocked to the side, where nothing was there to catch her or feel the impact of her heavy insides except the cold careless ground. Now she stood staring sightlessly at the wood around her. Had she been absorbing, seeing at all, she would have appreciated the rise and fall of the forest, of the earth; the birds that soared and dived through the clear sky; the soft rustle of air and leaves together intertwined in a gentle dance.
a strong gust pushed her hair around her face, and she moved her hands up and brushed her eyes clear. A sigh escaped her lips, and she pursed them together in defiance. I am not yet ready to come back to life. She sat, wrestling with her thoughts, trying to keep the inevitable return to full consciousness at bay. So what now? What now? she wondered, and, suddenly feeling self-conscious, looked around before muttering the words aloud. She was almost disappointed when neither the trees nor the birds nor some unseeable presence provided any answer. Who knows, who knows, she cried, life is unknowable, and no one can say that they- and her voice broke, her head sagged, and her heart suddenly felt very empty again. No one can say that they know it, or even understand in the slightest what it is all about, she finished, whispering and holding herself tight, as if she might fall apart were she to let go.
I always thought there might be some good, she thought, and stopped again, feeling slightly poetic, disgusted. She shook her head and raised her face to the sky. Seeing the birds, following their circles and falls. Following one leader, then another, diving and soaring as one, flitting together, calling out as comrades, if not friends or lovers. She jumped to her feet, forgetful of her previous fragility, and shouted aloud: The birds! The birds! I will ask the birds for my forgiveness, and they will forgive me for everything, and it will all go back to being how it was before! Struck by the revelation, she stood rooted. Waiting for inspiration, waiting for the words to come, for the birds to nod and chirp and forgive. Nothing came simply, so she forced out: I'm sorry, I'm sorry for... for what? And she stood, awestruck again, realizing that she had no reason to be forgiven because she had done no wrong.
Sometimes... sometimes life will reveal itself to you, right? she asked the birds, a small mournful smile playing her lips. As if life were something living, something wholly apart from myself, someone else entirely! And her smile broadened, became true, and she took one long last look to carry with her before turning and walking away.
a strong gust pushed her hair around her face, and she moved her hands up and brushed her eyes clear. A sigh escaped her lips, and she pursed them together in defiance. I am not yet ready to come back to life. She sat, wrestling with her thoughts, trying to keep the inevitable return to full consciousness at bay. So what now? What now? she wondered, and, suddenly feeling self-conscious, looked around before muttering the words aloud. She was almost disappointed when neither the trees nor the birds nor some unseeable presence provided any answer. Who knows, who knows, she cried, life is unknowable, and no one can say that they- and her voice broke, her head sagged, and her heart suddenly felt very empty again. No one can say that they know it, or even understand in the slightest what it is all about, she finished, whispering and holding herself tight, as if she might fall apart were she to let go.
I always thought there might be some good, she thought, and stopped again, feeling slightly poetic, disgusted. She shook her head and raised her face to the sky. Seeing the birds, following their circles and falls. Following one leader, then another, diving and soaring as one, flitting together, calling out as comrades, if not friends or lovers. She jumped to her feet, forgetful of her previous fragility, and shouted aloud: The birds! The birds! I will ask the birds for my forgiveness, and they will forgive me for everything, and it will all go back to being how it was before! Struck by the revelation, she stood rooted. Waiting for inspiration, waiting for the words to come, for the birds to nod and chirp and forgive. Nothing came simply, so she forced out: I'm sorry, I'm sorry for... for what? And she stood, awestruck again, realizing that she had no reason to be forgiven because she had done no wrong.
Sometimes... sometimes life will reveal itself to you, right? she asked the birds, a small mournful smile playing her lips. As if life were something living, something wholly apart from myself, someone else entirely! And her smile broadened, became true, and she took one long last look to carry with her before turning and walking away.
samsara
life like light flashes on carpet
spinning so quickly,
complaining of stillness
we see simple movement as stagnation
and call for speed
to dull the pains of growing.
what does it mean to live truly
to embrace the world
alone being true to oneself?
to recognize beauty in ourselves:
behind us, before us, in us
spreading us thin and swallowing us?
what we want is undefinable
no one can explain their heart
the brain follows like a dog
the cyclical paths laid before us
we dig deeper to discover the truth
and uncover the child, the irrational.
we move onward, then,
stagnant in our simplicity
ignoring the gnawing on our ice-hearts;
dogs with goals and timetables and physics
until we come around again
the rough carpet, the spinning world
cyclical thinking comes to cyclical living
what do we know now that is so much more?
spinning so quickly,
complaining of stillness
we see simple movement as stagnation
and call for speed
to dull the pains of growing.
what does it mean to live truly
to embrace the world
alone being true to oneself?
to recognize beauty in ourselves:
behind us, before us, in us
spreading us thin and swallowing us?
what we want is undefinable
no one can explain their heart
the brain follows like a dog
the cyclical paths laid before us
we dig deeper to discover the truth
and uncover the child, the irrational.
we move onward, then,
stagnant in our simplicity
ignoring the gnawing on our ice-hearts;
dogs with goals and timetables and physics
until we come around again
the rough carpet, the spinning world
cyclical thinking comes to cyclical living
what do we know now that is so much more?
beauty is terror
there's very little that gives me comfort anymore. i woke this morning to find the sun staring a hole through the pillow where your head is supposed to be. it was heartbeat-warm, and I picked at the hairs that your head had left behind in some twisted love note, or perhaps abandoned prisoners of war. my ears were filled with a fuzziness, a solemn empty noise that bid me lay still and wait. so i did, and i thought about what you haven't been saying, and where you've been going while sitting, walking, laying next to me.
do you know sometimes i wake up at night with your teeth on my neck and i think, what next? and sometimes i cling to your body, collecting your warmth, and feel more alone than ever. when you look me in the eyes i wonder what you see that makes you so afraid. and when we hold hands i can feel your heart beating, and you grasp my fingers harder than you probably mean to when you slip off to where i'm not invited. when i look you in the eyes i wonder what it is that makes me want you here.
when we first met i was so full of you, anytime of day i had the feeling that the stuff of you was coming out of my mouth, my nose, my ears, the corners of my eyes. i would push you back further into my mouth with my tongue and swallow hard, and close my eyes tight, and plug my ears and my nose until i felt like i would burst with what you had created inside of me. i never told anyone, never betrayed you, never let them see how you seeped from my very pores and fell to the floor in a mock version of you that followed me around like a shadow. i pretended that you were with me when i walked down the street, when i was alone i would talk to you. i imagined that we did exciting things together that i never would have done by myself. now i think i liked the shadow version of you better. at least it laughed at my jokes, and stroked my hair when i was ill, and let me jump first. when we did all of the same things i had imagined us doing it was if you were pretending to care, your skin betraying your words, your eyes betraying your hands. do you know that your jaw clenches when you are lying? do you think that i'm still not noticing?
i've memorized you, i can see the patch of skin beneath your left ear, the lines and pores and shadows from when your hair obscured the light. i can draw on paper the moles of your back, the veins in your arms, the tattoo on your chest. i can prop up this pillow next to me and create you into it, and hear your voice talking to me, even more wonderful than your real voice sounds. we can talk and laugh and i can feel my heart jump within me, and my cheeks burn and my eyes glisten. and all of this is what makes me sick, because i want you here, but i don't want you.
do you know sometimes i wake up at night with your teeth on my neck and i think, what next? and sometimes i cling to your body, collecting your warmth, and feel more alone than ever. when you look me in the eyes i wonder what you see that makes you so afraid. and when we hold hands i can feel your heart beating, and you grasp my fingers harder than you probably mean to when you slip off to where i'm not invited. when i look you in the eyes i wonder what it is that makes me want you here.
when we first met i was so full of you, anytime of day i had the feeling that the stuff of you was coming out of my mouth, my nose, my ears, the corners of my eyes. i would push you back further into my mouth with my tongue and swallow hard, and close my eyes tight, and plug my ears and my nose until i felt like i would burst with what you had created inside of me. i never told anyone, never betrayed you, never let them see how you seeped from my very pores and fell to the floor in a mock version of you that followed me around like a shadow. i pretended that you were with me when i walked down the street, when i was alone i would talk to you. i imagined that we did exciting things together that i never would have done by myself. now i think i liked the shadow version of you better. at least it laughed at my jokes, and stroked my hair when i was ill, and let me jump first. when we did all of the same things i had imagined us doing it was if you were pretending to care, your skin betraying your words, your eyes betraying your hands. do you know that your jaw clenches when you are lying? do you think that i'm still not noticing?
i've memorized you, i can see the patch of skin beneath your left ear, the lines and pores and shadows from when your hair obscured the light. i can draw on paper the moles of your back, the veins in your arms, the tattoo on your chest. i can prop up this pillow next to me and create you into it, and hear your voice talking to me, even more wonderful than your real voice sounds. we can talk and laugh and i can feel my heart jump within me, and my cheeks burn and my eyes glisten. and all of this is what makes me sick, because i want you here, but i don't want you.
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