Thoughts Arise

Consider that when you die, you do not cease to exist. Instead your mental abilities and your sensory perceptions mutate. They transform in such a way that every memory, every moment of your life, becomes clearer to you than when you were alive, or even when you were actually living those moments. Is it hard to imagine your memories becoming more lucid than the actual experiences you have had while being alive? Generally memories tend to be less complete or detailed than the actual experiences, but there have been cases in which epileptic patients have claimed that in seizures they have relived past experiences with profound clarity, accurate to the minutest detail. So if the hyper activation of a few cells in the brain can cause such an effect, it shouldn’t be too hard to imagine one reliving his entire life through the memories possessed upon his death. In this supposed spiritual existence the lucidity of memory would be followed by a heightening of sentiments. We would exper...

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)