How many days must pass until the truth is revealed? I know and they know too, that life, and living, well… there’s no standard, and no true way. For one slips into the next, and the next into its neighbours. All that ever was, is, and all that will be… that’s something else entirely. Pondering questions of the future, and what that future has in store. Maybe a remedy, maybe something that reveals all there is to see and know. For we are young, living the passion of youth. A careless melody, starved in a crusade for truth. Lies they run our commons, biting and bruising all that we leave in the light of day. And we feel all under the light of the moon, the dusk, and the shortening of days. Because, in the end, we are all that we are…
Hey there all you lovely people! Thank you so, so, so much for reading, liking, commenting – EVERYTHING, these past few months. It’s fair to say I’m really enjoying this, both creating my own content, and reading other’s. It’s a special thing I’ve come to cherish, and you’re all with me for the ride! Because, I’m telling you, sometimes it may get a little bumpy. But I’m cool with that. 😀
I can’t promise a consistent schedule, nor entirely consistent content. Maybe that can come in the future – because I really do hope this space I’ve created has a long and beautiful future. It’s turned into so many things I thought it couldn’t be, so many things that bring that extra little spark to my life. A day would feel strange without being able to interact in this way, without being able to launch my ramblings and depressing poetry out there into our world.
The reason for doing it?
I’m not sure… after I came back from university (you know, that dreadful week of despair) I felt like I needed to do something, to achieve something that I hadn’t before. And maybe this has, and will continue to be, the thing that allows me that. Or maybe it suffices a deeper need that I am yet to understand – maybe it something not entirely benevolent. Though, I try to take each moment as it happens, without looking too far back, or two far ahead.
So, for now, I really love this!
Hope to see you around!
-With love, Chris ❤ ❤ ❤
Eclipsed beneath the sweltering canopy.
Sweat, pouring from every orifice.
And for what, fear, servitude, country?
In the face of so much inhumane absurdity.
Alive, in the mud; though not truly living.
One cannot say this is life, nothing even close.
All that jumbles, and all that rots,
Here beneath the canopy where most is not.
The buzzing of days gone by,
The yearning of days yet to come,
Days existing within a distant, entirely uncertain future.
One men cannot ever hope to reach.
Indecision within every execution.
Nationalistic, heavy, redundant, feeble…
Man will always be man; there’s certainly no kidding.
Hidden, drowning, quivering in the mud.
Failing to stand up for those they reluctantly love.
Dead in the light that pushes through the thick leaves.
Men, silently begging as they’re relegated to their knees.
Unable to weep beneath the canopy.
For this is their life, all that turns the world.
Breathing the moisture of forgotten rain.
Trampling the bugs and creatures laid to waste.
This is life beneath the canopy…
So… I’ve been meditating for a month, give or take a few days. I think I missed Christmas, but that’s allowed isn’t it? (Shhh, yes, it is!)
I didn’t know what to expect. And well… I still don’t. It would be silly to say I am a different person, it would be silly to say I’ve changed a noticeable amount at all. As with most things – for right, or wrong – I went into it without any expectations, without any preconceptions of what might happen, of what I might feel. Do I feel different, maybe not. Though, I have come to realise that is not the purpose of it anyway. Not to get fixated on the end-game, or the result – but to acknowledge the journey, and what the act of it in itself might one day achieve.
On some days I don’t feel like meditating. Maybe that’s because it has not yet become habit, entwined within my routine – maybe it is something else, a resistance to myself, a lingering servitude to some darker thought. Does it really matter? I tell myself to do it, to sit down for fifteen or twenty minutes, to walk along the path to finding a more in-touch version of myself. Because one day I know it will pay off.
One of my main motivations is, for those of you who don’t know, to overcome my fairly debilitating Social Anxiety. The one that caused me to run away from university after a week. Just remembering back to late September is painful. So, I await this year’s September for when I return. For when I integrate into society after being institutionalised within the catacombs of my own anxious, depressed mind.
I’ll take any help I can stumble upon – meditation being just one thing! Because I have realised it is not the time to live life in the gutter of self-hatred, in the lake of resignation, on the island of utter loneliness.
So, here’s to better times, and to better minds.
Since I was a very young child – as young as I can remember – I have always had very… vivid dreams. Of course, they are different now than they were back then.
I used to have the most horrendous night terrors. I can’t remember too many details – but from what my mum says – I would scream, cry, speak incoherent words, my eyes fully dilated, covered in sweat. One thing I do remember is lunging out of bed, looking out of the window to see a bull charging down the adjacent field, heading straight towards me. Of course, I wasn’t truly awake, though I was standing and my eyes were open. My mum said it scared the living daylights out of her. I can hardly blame her.
As I got older, the night terrors, and nightmares in general dwindled. In no time at all, the night terrors vanished completely, and well… everyone has a nightmare now and then.
It is not the nightmares that concern me, for they rarely come, and if anything they are an annoyance at worst. It is all the other dreams, the magical, the thoughtful, the wonderful, the feeling, the dreams that when awake leave me with such a sense of wonderment and beauty. These are what I sleep for. These are what make my living, conscious days bearable.
It is a hard sensation to explain, but I will try. A few nights ago, I had the most wonderful dream. Sure, it was strange, weird – I suppose as most dreams are. And yet, it was utterly beautiful. Not in what I saw, and nor it what was contained within the world I’d created, but what I felt – the unattainable warmness, the clarity it left with me. It amazes me how this affects my waking life in such a profound manner. In a manner that I could not even… dream of. I felt love, closeness, contentment in a way I never have in reality. And maybe that is a sad realisation once you inspect it… but I like to see it as a reminder of times to come. Of a mechanism to preserve my daylight sanity.
For Christmas I received a book on lucid dreaming, something I have been interested on for a very long while now, something I’ve also been apprehensive of, after reading accounts and stories. Though, I will give it my best shot. I cannot imagine the feeling, the heart-stopping glee that would come from being able to direct a dream. Nightmares…pfft, you don’t scare me!
So… here’s to dreaming. And here’s to all the dreams that remain to amaze!
Dreaming, I thought
Of what could be, but certainly wasn’t.
Of all that was, and all that’s gone.
Dark in the room, that’s all.
Past memories; lost opportunities.
Life in Limbo – seclusion at best.
Something in hand, purpose questioning,
Drawing shallow lines of red.
Couldn’t stop that relentless questioning.
In contempt of life;
In arrogance of want and need.
No sense of purpose, not even a shred.
Walking thorough one’s life,
Unsure, maybe alive, maybe dead.
A living ghost, paranormal dread.
Senseless sitting, scared of true living.
Berating one’s entire feeble being.
Accepting of what I had become.
A world, used to coming wholly undone.
So, it seemed like the only way;
The only desire in the darkest of days.
Sitting, and drawing those bright red lines.
From plate to plate in the world of green,
Motion in the sway of stiff grass,
Vibration in life that has come and gone;
Slow or fast.
Lived at a pace, comfortable in its ritual glance.
Rabbit hole and fox burrow,
Blind in the sheep’s deep wool,
And in the terror that lurks far, far above.
Extinguish and rebirth;
An unending perpetual circle, unstoppable.
Force upon force, exhibited.
Motion after motion, always sensed in line.
Edges felt; sandpaper smooth.
Different shoes to be worn with the turn of the moon.
From one passage to the next.
Undying in the light of secular angst.
From which a sprout is birthed;
From which one turns to insipid earth.