July 4, 2009

• I used to trust this place with my thoughts.

       I used to trust this place with my most acute, bizarre, and deep-invoked thoughts.

             I remember discovering the most unconventional, gifted, and strange people through this portal of thought.

                   Perhaps there is a price to growing up into conscious sensibility; your obscure thoughts did not disappear. They are just unexpressed.

  Back in the days when I was that naieve teenager.

       Writing ametuer poems to express myself. Writing bluntly about the things that inspired me.

             Writing about the longing for spiritual revolution, or at least, back in the day, I called it ‘supernatural realization’.

                    You could only imagine the kinds of things that I wrote about, and you could not believe the kinds of things that I discovered in this place.

  Last night, I descended into Focus 20.

        A meditative state of relaxation, with the help of an audio recording on Lucid Dreaming.

               I stopped the recording half-way because I didn’t manage to ‘fall asleep’ like I was supposed to, so I thought it failed.

                     I went to sleep, and I dreamed lucidly, but only to a partial extent. My sleep was deep, but my head was ultimately a blurr of subconscious habit.

  Right now, I’m feeling rather subjective.

        My latest proddings into the spiritual/supernatural me has been very uneventful.

               I’m not sure that my current surroundings help this much. I’m not even sure why I’m typing in this strange, textural shape.

                     I guess I simply ‘feel’ like it, like it has some siginificance. Perhaps I’m tired of searching for the significant only to return to the earth insignificant.

  The rain is falling just outside my window.

        The rain is falling just inside my mind. I’ve created a place of insignificance here.

               There is a large forest, filled with tall trees and a thick canopy. I stand on a rock, overlooking a formation in the wall.

                      The rain is pouring down. I am staring at the large rock formation in the side of the cliff. The head of a rabid beast, with its jaws wide, and fangs beared.

  Everything here is wreathed in serenity and discovery.

        It speaks the promise of something unforgivingly true that I must understand.

                In place of truth and significance, however, is a strange void. I am the only one here, standing at the overseeing rock.

                       The ones that I wished would accompany me are not there. Soon, the formation of which I am standing before is just a cliff. Nothing more.

  In the end, I am only an obscure human being.

        I am a creature of habit, with pointless aspirations that cannot be met.

                 I am an entity of unestablished identity. A pile of flesh, bone, blood, and sweat. A number. A strange man. A nobody?

                        Except I know I am somebody. I know I am more than flesh. More than bone. And my blood and sweat have worth in this realm of existence.

  My reality brings me into the ‘now’.

        How am I doing today? What is the weather like over there?

                 Things I, strangely, don’t have much interest in typing about. Who will care years from now what happened to me today?

                         Other than myself. … I’d rather speak about things that are timeless. Those things that cannot be measured by time, except only in related event.

  My approach on life is strange.

        You may call it unique, or you may call it ‘freakish’.

                 I do not ask for the permission of others in being the way I am. I do not yield to false judgements or projections of weakness.

                          The only question, that I have been asking continuously: how many times will I need to reprogram my consciousness in order to understand myself.

  • 3:46 pm
  • 1 Comment