Midnight Musings

If I understood the complexities of life then as I do now, I would know one thing. That not understanding is a hell of a lot better than the opposite. To be void and unknowing of the world around, to feel like it’s a treasure to discover and still having the will to desire, it’s like a dream within a dream within an idea of what will only ever be a dream. Making the reality even that more frustrating and maddening. That the dream within a dream within an idea of what will only ever be a dream, was really a true memory of you within the past that will never again be present. A memory that never began as just a dream. A feeling as pure and true as a thousand heavenly angels but you will never again be able to grasp or retain or hold onto even with a fist of iron and clay.

That reality, that mist of complexity that rose around it as the understanding of it set in, works as a wall of pure molten metal, frozen at the core, unyielding and unbending and unbreaking. It reflects and it refracts and it distorts and it laughs, creating illusions and false fortunes and words and sounds.

You touch it, you caress it, you punch it, but you can’t break it. It bleeds you, it bruises you, it stings you, it ruins you. But as mist comes, mist must go. And soon, before you know, the world is once again filled with roses colored in gold.

While Away

I was inside out and my

lavender fields

were blooming

The rains were charged with

emotions untethered

and the puddles

formed windows to

the soul,

disappearing into mud,

disappearing into

flowers.

Time turning itself inside out over and over.

Whether I’m here or while

I’m away.

I’m weathering

into myself.

Rotting away while I age everyday. All words are meaningless but I keep trying to write them anyway. I feel, if I could capture it, wrap my fingers around it, hold it, caress it, tell it, beg it probably, to stay then maybe it might. But it won’t. It won’t even put up a good fight. It just slips through my fingers as smooth as sand made for a castle. No one may tame it, for they can never control it. A man made construct to give it bounds in our reality is as real as a hog surfing a large log to the shady earth moon.

Everything is spinning, but the world isn’t moving. The heavens sing a little song as they dance up above us and pretend like they’re having fun. There’s a fresh wind on my face, I close my eyes. I inhale. And then I sit there and wonder. There’s fur growing on the sides of my brain, it may be melting, making me slowly insane. Bubbly and gooey, I feel it oozing with every tilt and every stomp from every spot and so I laugh and I dance like the angels who watch me by peeking from the sky. I allow it all to rumble, take my brain, give it back, bake it into a cake, it’ll all work in some magical way.

The magnificence of my insignificance is indeed a reason to rejoice. I am not tethered to any rules, not bound to any cycle, luckier than the angels with no will but all power. Perhaps questioning was a curse and I have to learn to simply be, for time is slipping by and all I’m able to do is:

I sit here and I wonder

Do tortoises feel this way? 🐢💭

1. Your thoughts don’t feel coherent, they feel fast paced and weird

2. Everything you’ve ever known feels off… almost wrong

3. Impulsive, impulsive, impulsive!

4. Craving change, but nothing satisfies the craving

5. You can feel that something is missing, and it makes you feel funny because it feels as if you should know what’s missing but you can’t put your finger on it

6. You read and watch movies to stimulate more ideas and fantasies of living a life as insane and interesting

7. It feels as if your soul is searching for its missing piece

There are moments

I can sit in forever

Sentient and understanding

This is bliss

Can we just look a little while more

I’ve been baptized grateful

I feel God in my chest

trying to lift up my soul

Holy Spirit risen before me

Sunrise over the Valley.

To think, to ponder, to wonder. Go sit under a tree and just look up at the leaves. Does it make you feel anything? I used to think the world was made for me, so much that has already happened, I felt in a way that there was a point, made this way for me to grow.

Basic, isn’t it? The most mundane and simplest of all human beliefs, the constant in our life, the remaining factor when you remove thousands of years of history, we always think that it is all about “me.”

Mix all the colors, mush them together, a thick funky brown. That mud you just made has been lodged in my brain, formless, mindless, a sludge of goo that was meant to turn me into you.

They say the most magical thing about being human is our consciousness, our ability to think and to choose, to weaponize and to abuse. To laugh and to create, to demolish and to demonstrate. It’s what makes us spin and makes us tick, it’s what makes us think we’re better than primitive primates.

How much better can we really be when we’ve created some of the worst tragedies. We’re all one in the same, me and you, and you and her, and he and she, and him and me. Nothing exists and yet here we are reaping the consequences of our most meticulously thought out actions. Every pure thought was ultimately turned by greed and used to feed our insatiable needs.

My head is swelling, I’m afraid it’ll explode. My body is to thick, to heavy, I can’t move. I feel aches in my feet as roots sprout and make their route underneath. A breeze passed by, my hair waved at the leaves, turns out they’re all just different versions of me.

But there is no me or I or you or her. There’s just A single me that makes the combination of we, and is free to be just about anything. All one in the same, so I smile at the trees, I wiggle my toes at the dirt, I hug the air that we all share, and I let my roots spread, intertwining with the rest of the world. Connecting us all so we could be as we always were. Open and free, all simply, one giant me.

Sometimes it seems like it’s all figured out, I’m becoming who I was planned to be, perhaps by me or some higher mystical power unknown to anyone. A systematic equation, I sometimes understand how we are all computations. Hard-wired to think and to drink. Nothing we do is so wildly out of the blue, there’s a sort of power in knowing we have no control. It’s all as it should be, the parts that are best and the continuing mess, it will all eventually unroll as it’s always been foretold.

But when the numbers don’t add up, and everything begins to crumble, each rock turned into a block which falls onto me with ease. Before I know it, I can’t stand up, there’s no wind in my lungs, no steam to make my dreams, I cobble and I wobble, I take my last breath, bracing myself for the weight of the world to crush the bones on my back and unglue in a way that will make it seem like it always flew, unbound, chainless. We are the masters of our own life and yet our efforts are wasted when against the will of the universe.

Which is right? Should we always try to fight? Is there even a point in trying to control our own lives? It comes and it goes, in life I know there will always be woes, but must we always be our greatest foes? Or is it just me, that for some reason, struggles to stand on my feet?

Burn bright, be a maniac out of sight. There’s no right, let your soul be your guiding light.

So much searching and yet everything is still hurting. Maybe we’re looking for something that isn’t here. Or maybe it’s super near. Not lost, instead it’s lodged, intertwined with our very being.

We are all born free. Then society starts making us believe that we have to find a certain key. The only free that we will ever be is the one that comes from financial security. No longer just made to simply wander and play, instead we’re manufactured, we come here with a couple of shackles.

I’ve always felt so lost. Aimless, directionless, a compass with no purpose. I keep trying to find the thing that will make this life feel like it’s mine. My molecules are like puddles of drool, spread so thin, I know I’ll disappear out of sight, swept into the sea of what we call normality. And so I write. I keep trying to find that light.

But maybe it’s a silly expedition. I wasn’t born with this need. It was implanted within me, after my conception, I was given a drive to find my life. The biggest lie in all of time, is that we need to find our inner mind.

I wonder what I could be when I gain the courage to retake the life that was given to me.

I’m a puddle of battery acid reflecting the star lit sky

I’m the sharpied dick on a wall built very high and might and lofty with respect

I’m the wind that blows this tiny speck ever on its axis

I’m going over 100mph without any practice and I’m a match that burns straight to your fingers, splintered edges and a musty smell that lingers, a bee’s little stinger and one little sting to bring me down dead

I’m the lady seeing red screaming her head off because life isn’t fair

I’m diamond eared Saturday affairs and Sunday pearls and an iron in my hair -

I’m all for the world or I don’t really care…

I’m the yellow pavement that lines the curb where little girls come to cry

I’m the man on the moon whispering oh my, oh my, oh my

I’m everything and everything is me

I’m in the letters, chained together, to spell the word for free.