Thought for food – 10

I cannot go back in time. But I can do the next best thing: start making positive improvements in my life right now.

Thought for food – 9 – a psychological axiom

There is no such thing as dishonesty. It doesn’t exist in any meaningful sense.

In our deepest selves fluctuating values constantly tug on the strings of our wills.

Behind any deceptive act is a value held to be true; a belief which, no matter how wrong might appear to another, completely informs the actions of the deceiver at that moment.

We may deceive ourselves, and therefore others, but we can’t help be but honest deceivers.

Let love reign

Please take these words, and cast them across a crimson sky. Let the whole world read what I have been led to see. There is no pain so great, nor fear too deep, that a breath of pure love cannot ease.

Allow love the day to seize. Let love reign, and be free.

Lyrics #10 – Nine by Sleeping at Last

Who am I
To say what any of this means?
I have been sleepwalking
Since I was fourteen.

Now as I write my song
I retrace my steps
Honestly, it’s easier
To let myself forget.

Still, I check my vital signs
Choked up, I realize
I’ve been less than half myself
For more than half my life.

Wake up
Fall in love again
Wage war on gravity
There’s so much
Worth fighting for
You’ll see.

Another domino falls
Either way.

It looks like empathy
To understand all sides
But I’m just trying to find myself
Through someone else’s eyes.

So show me what to do
To restart this heart of mine
How do I forgive myself
For losing so much time?

Wake up
Roll up your sleeves
There’s a chain reaction
In your heart
Muscle memory
Remembering who you are.

Stand up
And fall in love again and again and again
Wage war on gravity
There’s so much
Worth fighting for
You’ll see.

Another domino falls
And another domino falls.

A little at a time
I feel more alive
I let the scale tip and feel all of it
It’s uncomfortable but right.

We were born to try
To see each other through
To know and love ourselves and others well
Is the most difficult and meaningful
Work we’ll ever do.

Thought for food – 7

Trust is the silent energy fuelling any healthy relationship; you truly appreciate it once it is broken, for the silence is replaced with the screeching deafening noise of its fragmented and metastatic parts, circulating like screaming cancerous tumours through the withering and dying relationship, illustrating with crystal moral clarity the following truth: trust is the relationship and the relationship is trust. You risk it all if you take trust for granted; nurture and cultivate it as dearly and attentively as you would a developing child, for in effect, you will be nurturing and cultivating not only your relationship, guiding its development from birth to maturity, but, as any dedicated and caring parent knows, developing yourself as well.

The divine ape

There’s a pain that only I may know.

If it is common why do I feel so alone?

‘There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.’

Has this wisdom failed me, or have I chosen not to see?

The love of two bound souls…the curves of hips and naked backs…mouths agape in mirrored arches of ecstasy.

We are apes, dammit! So how can we seem so divine?

We long desperately for what we cannot have-

and what we have we fail to see.

The divine is all around and deep within-

A fluttering butterfly tracing sinuous curves across the naked sky,

pulls a string in the poet’s heart making melodious melodies of the mundane.

The sun rises as it sets:

Pain and joy; loneliness and companionship; light and dark; ecstasy and agony.

An ape so divine.

Why glimpse into the ether? – comment

In response to a recent query. I thought it worth sharing, as it highlights the motivation behind the seemingly tortuous mission to ‘know thyself’.


‘For me, I not only glimpse into the ether, I spend days, months, years, living within and breathing the ether. If by ether you mean the unknown, the fear and anxiety of your life, the world you dare not enter for it might be too terrifying, the truth too exacting. If by ether you mean the abyss. Why do I do this?

The uncovering and understanding of the deepest truths and realities about the cosmos and your place in it, is, I would argue, the source of everything worth holding on to, worth striving for. It is no mistake that one of the strongest and longest-lasting pearls of wisdom is ‘know thyself’. Knowing yourself requires you understand your relationship to reality, as part of who you are (indeed, perhaps all you are) is as a relational entity: you not only draw nourishment from water and molecules in food, warmth from the sun, oxygen from the air, but as an emotional and social creature you are defined by, and in relation to, others. In a very literal way you are the product of a web of causation stretching backwards through time and covering immense space and nodes of influence.

You can be ignorant. You may truly believe falsehoods and build them into your narratives. The universe doesn’t literally demand you know the truth. However, knowledge and wisdom is the source of everything and anything worth tapping into. Why? Because the universe might not literally care, but if you live your life blind to a deeper understanding you will run into problem after problem after problem. Or so my experience has taught me. Problems with relationships. Problems with self-confidence. Problems at work or in society. You will thrash and point the finger everywhere, absolutely everywhere, other than at yourself. But once you wipe that slate clean, be willing to start afresh, be dedicated to writing a new narrative for yourself, one whose plot better reflects the true nature of reality and your place in it, many of your problems will disappear, your confidence will grow, your relationships will strengthen, you will know when to stay or when to move on, you will stop blaming others (and yourself) and accept not only the cards that have been dealt you (I, for example, have serious anxiety issues, ones for which I routinely blamed the universe), but you will also find ways to work on the things that are in your power to change. Nobody can ask anything more of you, and you will find you are actually beginning to live a meaningful life.

And why not simply ignore and bury terrible truths? I say: there is no wisdom in wilful ignorance. In fact, I find the notion a paradox. Once the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, there is no putting it back in. People try! Alcohol, drugs, running away, escape escape escape! But once the cat is out it will always find you. In bed late at night. In those moments of clarity when you look at yourself in the mirror. When you reflect on your life and realize it is dripping away and you have wasted most of it and the blame and pointing finger no longer saves you. When the universe no longer holds you up. And, for many people I imagine, the cat comes back on their deathbeds, stalking like a phantom the recesses of consciousness until the dark shadow fully envelops the mind. Don’t let that happen! Don’t die without ever knowing yourself and truly living!

Once you glimpse into the ether it is already too late! As in the Wizard of Oz, a peek behind the curtain is all that’s needed to shatter the fantasy. But as you peer ever deeper into the ether, you, like Dorothy’s companions, will find your courage, your strength, your wisdom, and, like Dorothy, your life.’

Thought for food – 4

Each path a life; the worn and barely used alike. The majority of your fellow travellers rarely, if ever, escape their guiding illusions, their paths crisscrossing the world, forming wide corridors and highways of frenzied activity, leading nowhere. They may have tread many more an empty mile than you, but in your stubbornness and reluctance to step off the curb, in your relentless pursuit of self-awareness, you have actually made the longer journey.

Epitaph

There she lay. Clearly at peace. Unburdened of 93 years of life. A warrior; strong, resolute, stubborn, beautiful. Were those eyes to suddenly open, it wouldn’t have surprised me. Were she to beat death, it would simply draw from me a knowing smile.

In life there are two options: to crawl into the past and die there, or to boldly journey, head high, through the perpetual present.

Nanny: her example transcends her death.

Aphorisms – 3

Woe the moment a material purchase becomes the highlight of your year.

Dissociation

Stop that grasping,

and just let it go.

I don’t exist,

and never have.

This body, this mind,

these cells of bone, muscle, nerves and skin.

I am an illusion,

emerging from a neural network,

unifying through gross abstraction,

these multiple, interacting, embedded parts.

I am and I am not.

I am here, but I am elsewhere.

I feel anger, but simultaneous joy; pessimism and optimism; strength and weakness. I am both heavy and light.

These are no mere metaphors,

turns of phrase,

figures of speech.

In no way am I speaking in analogy; it is not as if I don’t exist; it is not as if I am multiple yet one; it is not as if I speak to myself across infinitesimal chasms in my mind.

‘I’ and ‘me’ and ‘myself’, as descriptors, do not suffice.

There exists no single point, no central hub, no captain’s chair, where I take the helm and direct the show. But instead, there is system and sub-system feeding into itself and into the other; system within system of inter-networked biochemistry and electrical spikes. The sense, the illusion of self emerging from this near infinite complexity and potential.

Stop that grasping, that clinging, that clutching, that hoarding;

Stop that pining, that longing, that needing, that demanding;

Stop that storytelling, that narrating, that ascribing, that moralizing;

and let the illusion go.

Words do not suffice.

Let it go.

 

Lyrics #3 – Goner – by Twenty One Pilots

Check song out here.
Goner
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you
Though I’m weak
Beaten down
I’ll slip away
Into the sound
The ghost of you
Is close to me
I’m inside out
You’re underneath
I’ve got two faces
Blurry’s the one I’m not
I’ve got two faces
Blurry’s the one I’m not
I need your help to
Take him out
I need your help to
Take him out
Though I’m weak
And beaten down
I’ll slip away
Into the sound
The ghost of you
Is close to me
I’m inside out
You’re underneath
Though I’m weak
And beaten down
I’ll slip away
Into the sound
The ghost of you
Is close to me
I’m inside out
You’re underneath
Don’t let me be gone
Don’t let me be gone
Don’t let me be gone
Don’t let me be gone
Don’t let me be!
Don’t let me be!
Ah
Yeah
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I’m a goner
Somebody catch my breath
I wanna be known by you
I wanna be known by you

How to end a conversation before it begins

‘How are you?’ ‘How are you?’ she said.

In a floating transitional state, waiting for the cosmos to give me the sign. Where are my legs? And gravity?

In a hyper-(ir)rational state. Am I sure of my arithmetic? Who says the world is logical? Logic to prove logic seems, well, ill-logical.

I am tense. But that is not my tension. My muscles vibrate with anxious intent. But they are not controlled by me. My hair is thick (yet thinning on top). But that hair crowns another man’s scalp.


Through the windows of the eyes, in the place where a soul might be, staring back in the mirror, something unborn, non-existent, flickers. Possessing a living host, it digs a tiny hollow, one fingernail scraping at a time. Piece by agonizing piece it widens its enclosure, allowing fresh air and light to fill the concave spaces around it.

As the cocoon about shudders and frets and lurches this way and that, the weightless non-entity bounces and spins freely in padded enclosures, thick organic walls of muscle and bone, pliable, absorbing the shocks of a chaotic existence.


‘How are you?’ ‘How are you?’ she said.

‘Oh, me, well I’m fine,’ would have been the reply, the sound carried reflexively up the throat, rolling over the tongue, out the lying mouth.

A colossal misunderstanding, and we both must be excused. In this universe the laws of arithmetic don’t always hold; but how could she have known? And I am tired of lies.

‘Oh, me, well I don’t exist. But thanks for asking.’

Ego metamorphosis

Trapped in this skin,

A developed presence trying to break free,

From the lower back, up along the edges of the spine, over and around the middle of the head: a pulling, wrenching pressure.

Something long dormant has awoken,

Cracking the thick, drying skin,

Snapping the taught sinew and corded muscle,

Breaking brittle bone, relieving tension.

Emerging, curled up, soft and rumpled folds;

A new body, a fresh wisdom and refined ego, stretching and extending, filling this old space with something new, hungry and invigorated.

The fortress nursery

I am a play-acting leader wandering aimlessly,

Trudging up and down each ridge and valley,

Marching headstrong on twisted paths unknowing;

Eager to say ‘Here is the way, follow me.’

 

I set off young, ill-equipped, and eagerly,

To a distant snow-capped peak I aimed to journey,

Heavy burdensome pack filled to overflowing;

Doubt, inexperience, arrogant insecurity.

 

In each palm five tiny digits clasped firmly,

My delightful, loving, innocent responsibility,

Yet cradled deep within another growing;

Swaddled in armoured layers deceptively.

 

I now know I am the king of a fortress nursery,

Revealed to me by their lips curled mockingly,

To veiled contempt, through muffled laughter owing;

They all scorn the child I refused to see.

 

Now too great the burden’s intensity,

A suffocating pack and no hands free,

Foundation’s cracked, there is no more going;

Deep within a child cries desperately.

 

In this storm of clear and urgent necessity,

Heed those mocking faces – growth requires honesty –

King’s garments stripped as the tempest continues blowing;

I, reborn and naked before you, stand awkwardly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way stooped a little woman

On the way stooped a little woman. The path now paved with symmetric stone. There she stood with grey hair flowing, watching dancing shadows on her hand. On the way grew blades of grass. A symbol of life between the cracks.

For ever, for none, the shadows danced; of swaying leaves, and wisps of hair; of branches and blades of grass.

The shadows danced.

Of ancient walks, and cracking hands, and death. Death of a lovely girl, who once walked this path. Alone. When the grass was always green, and young, and free. When the skin of the earth was fresh, and vibrated with harmonious chords through her body.

Now – death. And cold. And smiling lips of sagging flesh.

Slowly, carefully, she kneels down and plucks a blade. Stabs it deeply into her cracked chest. Upon her bloodless palm shadows change: the green knife catching the gentle breeze.