Rupture

There I drew the line delicately between the rags of an unfinished sympathy for the past and the unexpected surprises of the living present. I tend to leave my weaknesses and impotence behind. The lies I used to wear to appease my sleep will soon vanish and I will survive the threatening insomnia as long as it lasts. This not a defeat or an overthrow, it is a detachment. Not a punishment but an improvement. The sense of abandonment kills me but I think of the upcoming achievements. Therefore, I made an agreement and an assignment to abolish my bafflement.

It is certainly an amusement to burst the bubbles of my disappointments. The process of entombment and atonement. This change provides an excitement inspired by a source of illusions and wonderment. My rupture experiment is a field of recruitment of new elements to follow. It is for the past to swallow. The paragraph you are reading now is a witness and a part of my process. In addition to the gift offered by the mind that has the ability to forget, time shall make me forget.

The Nothing

Sometimes you sink into this deep vacuum of obsessions, trying to reach or achieve your dreams that you completely forget about the sweetness of doing nothing. 

When you think of all the inventors and artists that triumphed in history only after at least fifty years of their death… They have worked hard and focused on only one thing for years, trying to make it as perfect as they can. Shrunk in their loneliness, going mad over and over while trying to survive to people’s judgement, they never gave up unless health problems or death came on their way. 

Many names may flash now before your eyes. You would think of Gandhi, Marie Currie or Nelson Mandela… I’m thinking of Joseph Plateau, obsessed with light and movements, he kept fixing the sun for 25 seconds every day until he lost his eyesight. 

Thank you for your hard work.

Consider the words I wrote before as a eulogy and now think:

Was it worth the try? Should we base our lives upon some concrete purposes like they did? Are we as keen as them for changes? 

In this hectic life, I have a dream like you all do. But do I know what a dream means though? It must be that moment when I dwell between the bounded waters where life starts, tiresome ignites and the nothing resides. It is when my eyes go blind and my mind gains sight, when I see no difference between sunlight and moonlight. Only now I have the right to lay in the quiet, in a world all white that seems incomplete without you by my side. The sweet nothing is truly hard to find in a life where obsessions are tight, itching you like the needles of the pines. 

And we are never satisfied, even when we get to enjoy the nothing I was talking about. We then want to get back to the hectic life. So what is our existence all about?

Habit

Monday morning. Where else would I be if not in my office?

As usual, I’m caught up by a hundred of emails I would receive during the day. Same claims, same requests, same problems and updates. After years and years spent in this position, the answer to all those little matters is mechanically the same.   Even the phone ring bell seems to be set instinctively to stimulate my very feeble concentration every five minutes for pleasant and unpleasant conversations. Although these little details pass unnoticed.

 Later on I came to realize that I’ve made some new imaginary friends such as little headaches, sweet eyes pain and then the twins boredom and tiresome. Looking up to the window glass I saw their reflections and somehow I felt this terrible need to tell them this:

“When undertaking the same path, hither and thither, following the same pattern even if I wish to loiter somewhere else...  I am wrapped unconsciously in a fallacy that I have learnt to reckon because it’s what I do normally.

I want him there with me, he who have power over me. There where I’ve come to see, the sweetest part of me, away from thee consuming me. I need to be for once a refugee. I want to disagree and for once fly freely as a bee around the nature that is asleep to me. Be overseas and around the trees, overwhelmed by the lack of boundaries. I would throw away the burden of dust I’ve been carrying with me.  And if death is meant to be, please let him die after me for he doesn't know how precious he is to me.” 

Back to my emails, something weird now runs through me. A little joy within breaking the routine. 

PS: Credit for the picture goes to a sweet friend of mine: KY

Places

Frequently and for many abstract reasons, some places embrace you tightly and never let go of your mind. These spaces elicit your innate emotions and disturb the serenity of your meditation, especially when you are dwelling between the rumination from the past and the worry of the future. There is one “place” where my heart freezes. The most dreadful and joyful moments of my life are mingled there. Somehow, I had to experiment all kinds of grief and happiness in that triangle that I’m drowning in an ocean of confusion whether to consider it as a warm place or a tomb.

Moreover life’s lanes are inevitable and in a manner of speaking, you’re meant to be picked out of the crowd.  At first you’re within then you’re without.  When this happens, give in.

Dear readers, this is nothing but a glimpse produced by the labour of my feeble memory. I’m not trying to discourage you but inside, you all know that as a fact. Afterwards what does control your emotions mostly: your heart or your brain? Again, give in.

Now and just in brief, lend yourself a moment to meditate about your creepy “place”. Stop reading.

Back to my poor words, tragic and yet in ground of absolute joy, you’re here, there and somehow everywhere. Caught by these important “places” of yours, unknown to me, you ought to be in a state of inertia or floating overseas. Therefore if you’re alone or in a crowd, within or without, remember: just give in.

Hurt

Here goes the pressure again. The air is squeezing my most sensitive muscle. Should I worry most about the lack of breathing or the blinding thoughts? My hands are shaking and my tears are burning. The fear is running through my skull. The more I dig to understand, the more I get hurt. 

In the midst of this tumultuous state, I reach the edge of agitation. Roaming in the room, wailing and howling. Impulses are streaming down my veins, bewildering me and driving me nuts. How long will it take? 

The more I dig to understand, the more I get hurt. 

This overwhelming sadness, what for? My incapacity of love wouldn't be the answer. Neither my loneliess nor the strangness of my character. It is not a fruit of the past or the present. It's not the shadow of my mistakes or the consequence of my sins. It's not because of my weakness and it's not my fault. 

Still the more I dig to understand, the more I hurt. 

Seasons

A walk around the city.

That desire that consumes you most likely between the changing of the seasons.

Some people are craving for the smell of the earth after a rainy day. Others

are amazed by the autumn leaves colour switching from green to red, purple or

whatsoever. Some sit on a bench to catch the flowers opening time-lapse. While most of the people are eager for the sun to lurch closer to the earth.

 These periods come and go like moths, diving from cold to warmth.

My favourite one lies in the transition from Winter to Spring. Therefore, I'd

like to consider a fifth season for my own pleasure and name it: Winsper-swing.

 No violins were set for "winsper-swing" but its silence lingers on, spilled with an earnest and familiar voice of the wind. Hereby, I'm admiring the amber-tainted skythrough my shades and as I gaze, I couldn't help myself from thinking about Baudelaire's "Brumes et pluies" when he expressed his love for seasons for enfolding his heart and mind entirely.

 Would it be too much to ask the time to freeze and let me dive eternally in the winsper-swing’s breeze? For this freedom and joy I rarely feel.

Alone and Together

 She has been for long waiting for this peculiar moment. Unexpected though, the friction between her mind and hear suddenly has vanished. She is not tired after a hectic day. Now she can be alone and together with her thoughts.  She doesn't have to think about people and interactions. Her most intimate conversations would take place in her subconsciousness where she could laugh about her silly jokes, think about her moments of embarrassment and make her dreams come true. Free from bounds and commitments,
from work and responsibilities and from the ghost of tiresome.

She doesn't have to be anything but herself.
 
The only thing that is grabbing her attention is the light in her attic, therefore she can't help herself from looking straight at it even if it hurts. She keeps staring as long as she can keep her eyes wide open. That is her source of inspiration. For other people, it can be nature, music, love.. hers is light. That symbol of truth and goodnessand her way out through the daily frictions.
 
Alone but together with her light she prefers to be.

Me and Darkness

Wishing things to remain childlike
As years pass by
When you feel like
Every ending is a begining backwards
When you understand that
Needing and getting become 2 different animals,
onward, I slog.

Soaked in the last few drops of sun
I became a friend of the darkness
So we shared black secrets
We had a lot in common
I kept putting on a face on my face to face then
That I'm the darkness.

I needed to be like the water
Unowned and undefinable
Have no color and no taste
Run free with no shades.
But I just faded away

And then suddenly,
I saw an azure ray
So I, the darknes, got closer and closer to it
I wraped it with my teeth
then the blue filled me from my head to my feet

Nature asleep

The nature to me is asleep, so I sat to see how calm and venerable "she" is, for I needed some tranquility. Though I was amazed by the sounds I've heard.
"She" was holding her elements tightly against her breast and as silent as they seemed to be, I was still able to hear those tiny tones responding each other.
Sometimes it sounded low and sometimes so loud leading my head to tumult.
I've then decided to focus on recognizing that notes using my little knowledge on music. It definitely was no do ré mi fa..
It was something beyond my understanding capacity. It had no sense but made harmony. Something strangely charming.
Never will I understand that echoes, coming from a nature that I thought "she" sleeps complacently and will sleep for ever.

Was that sound coming out of the meadows that were covered up by fluttering red leaves? That vast space I wanted to stroll like a confused bee coming out of the mouth of a hive. Was it the stream of the river that was flowing down perpetually? Was it the thing that has inspired Vivaldi?

Ambition

The lock fell down
Heavy as it is, it made a tiny sound
The gate is now wide open
The road seems to be infinite
I need to run or ride
I want to challenge the wind
Go by its opposite way
Make it feel me as I feel it
It won't push me backward

With all my ambition,
Education and absolution
I couldn't move..
Freedom is supposed to be strenght
I feel frail instead
Paralyzed, I watch the leaves swirling
In this powerful autumn, I'm sapless.

I can feel it.
Something cold and sweet is touching my feet
My little white dress is swaying around me
My hair is everywhere
My skin color is yellow, my nails are getting blue
My feet can't touch the ground anymore,
Oh, I've been pulled up
I'm going higher and it's unbelievable
Is it the wind or my head?
I'm reaching the unreachable


I'm flying vertically
I can't see the infinite road anymore but an infinite sky
For I thought there were only 7 skies
I'm flattered..
I'm about to discover all the mysteries
My eyes can't handle all this beauty
This calm, peace and pure colors
Yellow, blue, violet
A Van gogh canvas
A vaste velvet
I'm lost in a world of thoughts

Meditating:
I was so keen
and now after all I've seen
It doesn't matter what I've been
I died when I was eighteen
in the middle of a spring so green
and now I'm reigning here like a queen.

Rehab

Rehab of a broken soul translated by ongoing pleasure and passion.
Abstraction made by the presence of those little moments shared with the most precious people to you. The nearest ones to your heart. Those who are always there for you, worried and caring. People whose shoulder is a shelter for you when you're afraid of being alone on the darkest roads.
But then there's another fact: Serenity is rolling around one and only point: I.
"I" may sound selfish but it shouldn't. It is not only consisted of my mind which is the main
producer of my own serenity and moments of joy. "I" is a combination of body, spirit and heart that all they
have to do is to be gathered constantly on the opposite path of stress and sorrow.

Emptiness

   I may behave like other people do to conceal my feelings, even the slightest ones.
When the show is off, I try to gather the smithereens of my thoughts.
Nothing gets clear so I keep on walking in a distubing haze trying to find my way out.
However all my soul and mind could shout is the sound of emptiness.
Clearly I'm lost and dull and it's not a mystery, we all have a nothing box.
Thus I'll fill it up with my fragments of thoughts and I shall keep my show on.