Thoughts Arise

Each individual of our species understands one concept unlike no other; the concept of their ‘self’. We can perceive our experiences only in relation to this self. And most of us don’t try to look past the petty, self centered little world that our perceptions build up. In my case it is not narrow perceptions that make my world self centered; my world literally does revolve around me. I wake up alone, I eat alone. I spend days without saying more than a few words, sitting in a room with a door no one knocks on in months. I don’t like it this way. In fact it gnaws on my nerves so that when someone I find interesting does happen to walk into my world, the refreshing scent that they bring into it collapses my senses into a singular desire that threatens to degenerate into obsession. Perhaps what I want from a relationship is a bit too much to ask unless fate and time themselves are agreeable in fulfilling it. But desire never does listen to reason or prudence. When the inaniti

I meet someone new. I know this person does not know of anything or anyone from my past. I look at the person and find her interesting; sufficiently pleasant to overcome the prejudices that dictate my behavior. I admit; for me the first impression of a person is solely their looks. We are both in a place with unfamiliar people and so I initiate the process that aims to form friends from strangers. I find my interest reciprocated; the reason however is unknown to me. I seek her companionship; partially from interest in the person she is, and partly to satisfy the desire to engrave an expression of my self upon her. I hope the reasons for her amicable response also include, at least some part, of the former of my reasons; an interest in knowing me. Actions speak better than words, but our situation only gives us the device of words. And so through words we set out to understand each other; whether through the desire to do so, or through the unconscious process of our minds that paints up

Why were you so polite to the fast food waitress who gave you that sour smile? Why did you give way to the well dressed man in a hurry, who wasn’t going anywhere? Why did you offer your seat on the bus to the lady who wasn’t that old? We are polite to our public image, we give way to our personal space, and we give our seats to our conscience. The more I see, the more I become convinced that I can never find what I so yearn for; I can never find that one person that submits to me, unquestioningly, completely, and accepts the submission of my being to them; pure, without judgment. We, as persons, are too selfish. Where is the selfless leader that does not care for power? Where is the lover who does not love for the way love makes him feel? Where is the saint that prays to God without ever begging for personal salvation? The universe is just about one person; your self. I am convinced that if a hell exists, no one will be able to overcome their fear for their own well being, and protest

I was walking along an overpass when the bus I should have caught came by. As I debated the chances of catching it if I started running, against the knock my ego would take if I failed, and the weakness of my lungs from the recent asthma attack, the chance to catch it was gone. But then instead of the usual curses against god and everything holy came something else. Some dam was breached within my mind and bitter recriminations began to flow forth... The asthma attack that I should have seen coming and prevented…taking up this job when I should have gone back home…the isolation that my taciturn nature has brought…flashes of memories of the countless moments that could have been so much more… I bellowed at the sky but a voice taunted that I wouldn’t even do that if there were people around. Then the bus came. I was on time; it was the last bus that had been late. A second chance. It had been a long time since I smiled as spontaneously as I did then. The breach was closed, the dam strong

If we have an image of God it’s usually that of a wise old bearded man. But I imagine God as a child. A child that yearns for attention, for praise…who takes special care of the toys who please him; promises them a place on his top shelve. And for those that dare to displease him, or think some other nonexistent entity superior to him, there is not the simple fate of being discarded. There is pain and torture like only a child wreaks on toys that have fallen from his grace. God demands things and leaves it to us to think of a reason. The trials and sacrifices, the praise and remembrance, to me, resemble the sadism and the egoism that spoilt boys exhibit. Maybe he exists, maybe he is all powerful, but is he most just, is he most merciful? Is he what he says he is? Even if we have a prophet who could not have lied of what he saw, even if we have a book that could not have been produced by a man, how can we know if the source is what it claims to be? We can imagine countless scenarios; al

I feel the life draining out of me. The spiral of the dying swan as it falls. But my cry is nothing like the swan song. It’s pathetic. I am just sitting, watching as these leeches suck away my life. Into that mindless 9 to 6 routine…day after day…to earn paper that buys things we don’t have time to enjoy…things that are over priced anyway…things I’m not even sure I want. Soon I will be one of the undead that rule this world. I want to walk another path. (I’m interning during my vacations; I can see the future my 'life' holds ever so clearly)

The wind fresh from the rain…the silence of the late hours…the numbness of my mind from the hours of strain…I feel the tempting caress of sleep… Yet in all these days, when nothing has been able to inspire me to write, in this moment I find the words so easy to find. Then it wasn’t my mind that was failing me… I want a moment alone…in this world but away from it…just a moment where I don’t have to deal with it. About anything. This feeling right now is so close to that. These veils of sleep that flutter before my eyes…bring to me rapture in the loss of sensations…and inspiration in the fading of consciousness…

I sit at the edge of my seat. Everyone just walks by, careful to look past me, trying to deny my existence in their world. Maybe they notice me but they just want to get off the bus first. A girl’s eyes meet mine. I get that feeling I always get when someone looks me in the eye. The search for something in my eyes…the questioning for something I don’t understand…and I find myself asking the same of her eyes even though I don’t know what it is. Her eyes affirm my existence, mine hers; our individual universes collapse into one…I feel her 'self'…I feel more aware of my 'self'. She stops for me. I smile my gratitude. She smiles back. I feel like I haven’t connected with a person more intensely the entire day. Our universes separate and I mumble thanks as I join the queue, my voice low to prevent me form encroaching upon the worlds of those that are trying to disregard my existence. What do we see when we look into someone’s eyes? Why do we feel more aware of ourselves…

Hold your hand out…look at the lines in your palm. Look at the one on the left; they say those show the destiny you are born with. Look at the ones on the right; those are the ones that change with your life. Notice the differences… Ball up your fist. Take a deep breath and concentrate…bring up all the resentment, all the negative feelings…concentrate and tighten your grip. Imagine the darkness at the centre of your palm and clench harder, till your nails dig into your skin and the knuckles are ready to burst through. Steady your fist and let go…use only the power in your arm and strike the wall as hard as you can. Do not let your fear of pain inhibit you…concentrate on the impurities in your soul and make them flow through this punch. As you strike do not let your mind recoil at the impact, don’t let pain be the only thing you feel. When the pain races through to your brain accept it and feel it, and then feel what follows. Feel the centre of your fist loosen, feel the pai

Synonyms? I don’t think so. Heaven comes with an opposite; hell. Heaven comes with a price; the torture of the less pious amongst us. Heaven comes with some religion; some kind of dogma that must be followed to attain it. But paradise; that is a destination I lust for. And there is no shame in lusting for it either; no regret of ‘sins’, no betrayal of my less pious companions, just an idea that can make me smile, even though it is too utopian to firmly believe in, too ethereal to leave proof of its existence in this world. But why would I deserve it, the pro-heaven proponents might ask. I don’t know really, but each one of us has an idea of our paradise. Each one of us has the urge to search for it, even though we do not really understand it, or even have complete faith in it. We see it as the place we could truly call home. And that might be enough to justify, that at the end of our journey, we all get there.

I have wondered about this quite a few times whilst taking a shower; do we really need shampoo. Did more men go bald when there wasn’t any such thing as shampoo? Did none of the girls have the silky beautiful hair they show in shampoo ads? I don’t think so. It’s just another self imposed ‘necessity’ that reveals its true nature when you see people using shampoo on their dogs. All that the Homo sapiens needed to live was made abundant in this earth. But of all the creatures that inhabit this planet, we were the only ones to want more. We chose to build a world in which we had to rely on things that were once not necessary, in which we had to impose limits that should not exist. Does that make humans the most intelligent of the living things on this planet? Did we lose something in this mindless pursuit of cutting ourselves further and further from the true nature of this world? And now this alien world that we have built presents a bitter dilemma to us all. None of us is needed in it. W

Growing up things were always changing. I remember so much that was different in me back then, I remember so many ways in which I changed and then changed again. But there were some changes that brought sorrow. There was breaking of bonds, brutal imposition of new feelings, a sudden loss of people I felt so near to me. Those things that were so new and precious, as a child I did not know they could be reformed, maybe made stronger, that there could be others. There were more changes, and there were more scars. In the end I started to hate change in itself; even if it meant something better, brought me closer to what I wanted. I resent change now, even though I grow more depressed and more frustrated with my current state each day. I want change, yet I detest it. Maybe that is why I find it so hard to place my first step in the direction I want. Maybe that is why I can’t even sense the direction I want. I watched something that touched on existentialism. My world is my own; it is insepa