I got as far as 6 - I think these may be plenty for me.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thoughts of Christmas, pass
What, I started to say - I didn't mean to, it slipped out. It was not something I thought I'd hear anyone say aloud.
Why - are you sure - do you really want to?
Yes, its what I want, it will bring me peace and thats what I want, to get away from all of this.
It will stop everything for you I said, its not peace its just nothing. The lack of peace will continue, all of it will continue, its only that bit of life that we call you that will stop.
Its what I want, not to see the lack of peace, the pain, not to feel the pain for it to stop calling me in the night and in the day.
Well, if its what you want I said then its your choice. If you'd come to me to talk you out of it I might have tried - I don't suppose its actually a cry for help is it? do you want me to listen and care and talk you out of it do you?
No, I don't want you to talk me out of it, I want you to want it for me - I know you are listening and caring and its the difference between the caring in the middle of me and the pain in the middle of me that helps me know I need peace. Its because I see it all, I've stood back and seen things for how they are. This is the choice I want and I know that, deep inside, in the love for me that you hold, that you want it too.
And, as we kept talking we agreed, I'd talked myself into it. It was just the when and the how - at least, alone, I wouldn't get into any bother.
With my now enthusiastic agreement we would be at peace.
And now, as then, it was both love and hate and the beauty in my heart that stopped me. I loved you so dearly and hated you for stopping me being at peace as you were. Tears, they never stop, peace never comes, time changes everything but time itself and today, like everyday is my last. That is the door, all is as it is -
Happy Christmas once again.
Why - are you sure - do you really want to?
Yes, its what I want, it will bring me peace and thats what I want, to get away from all of this.
It will stop everything for you I said, its not peace its just nothing. The lack of peace will continue, all of it will continue, its only that bit of life that we call you that will stop.
Its what I want, not to see the lack of peace, the pain, not to feel the pain for it to stop calling me in the night and in the day.
Well, if its what you want I said then its your choice. If you'd come to me to talk you out of it I might have tried - I don't suppose its actually a cry for help is it? do you want me to listen and care and talk you out of it do you?
No, I don't want you to talk me out of it, I want you to want it for me - I know you are listening and caring and its the difference between the caring in the middle of me and the pain in the middle of me that helps me know I need peace. Its because I see it all, I've stood back and seen things for how they are. This is the choice I want and I know that, deep inside, in the love for me that you hold, that you want it too.
And, as we kept talking we agreed, I'd talked myself into it. It was just the when and the how - at least, alone, I wouldn't get into any bother.
With my now enthusiastic agreement we would be at peace.
And now, as then, it was both love and hate and the beauty in my heart that stopped me. I loved you so dearly and hated you for stopping me being at peace as you were. Tears, they never stop, peace never comes, time changes everything but time itself and today, like everyday is my last. That is the door, all is as it is -
Happy Christmas once again.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Moral turpitude
I intend to fuck with moral turpitude. I will vilely and with beastly intentions over-feed it.
I intend to lick it with a spitty tongue and make it feel quite sick while I tell the moral majority that their friend, moral turpitude likes picking its nose and eating its own snotter.
I think, moral turpitude, that you have met your match for I am really quite nasty....
I intend to lick it with a spitty tongue and make it feel quite sick while I tell the moral majority that their friend, moral turpitude likes picking its nose and eating its own snotter.
I think, moral turpitude, that you have met your match for I am really quite nasty....
I'm not sure I understand anything but for the one certainty that I hold dear - there is no meaning; there just is.
In the night, freezing under the stars we and everything just are - the joy of falling, endlessly with no hope as hope is not needed, just be.
Rain lashing my face - my ears are hurting - smile and laugh, its what there is - be it.
In the night, freezing under the stars we and everything just are - the joy of falling, endlessly with no hope as hope is not needed, just be.
Rain lashing my face - my ears are hurting - smile and laugh, its what there is - be it.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
A state
I entered a state, post reality - though that is irrelevant.
Time just sat around me - hot, airless and the ticking of two clocks and the breathing of four people. Don't search for meaning; thats just what was happening.
Decay was happening and seemed, to me, to be palpable and, like time, happening at a sensory level - it just was and it was very clear and unusually apparent.
I felt myself fight it, struggle and fidget. The smell was of carpets and old chairs, dust, feet, books.
I didn't taste it, I kind of know already what that taste is - thats a wee pre-judgement I will allow myself - I've tasted old furnishings before and a few times is enough for me and a few times too many for most people (I've paid my dues to that particular curiosity).
Sometimes now is quite unpleasant and it contrasts nicely with the mostly pleasant.
Time just sat around me - hot, airless and the ticking of two clocks and the breathing of four people. Don't search for meaning; thats just what was happening.
Decay was happening and seemed, to me, to be palpable and, like time, happening at a sensory level - it just was and it was very clear and unusually apparent.
I felt myself fight it, struggle and fidget. The smell was of carpets and old chairs, dust, feet, books.
I didn't taste it, I kind of know already what that taste is - thats a wee pre-judgement I will allow myself - I've tasted old furnishings before and a few times is enough for me and a few times too many for most people (I've paid my dues to that particular curiosity).
Sometimes now is quite unpleasant and it contrasts nicely with the mostly pleasant.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Stories, metaphors and allegories.
Stories, metaphors and allegories satisfy
our craving to understand and create meaning while continually and inevitably
blurring our awareness of what is really happening.
We have story telling deeply ingrained in our culture. It stems from our greatest asset, our communication skills - speech.
Speech works through assigning symbols, words, to events, things, concepts and to our dreams. Other people need to have an understanding of the words that matches ours.
As others perception of reality is different to our own it can only be a partial mutual understanding. For many things and actions we use words where the meaning is closely shared - chair, dog, sleep, walk. Actually, do we mean a brisk walk to the station, a stroll through the park or perhaps the action of lifting one foot, tilting the body as the foot moves forwards, lowers, takes the body's weight as the other foot lifts, moves forwards and so on.
Meaning is changing and relative. What is happening is happening whether it is explained or not.
We seek comparisons though for more complex situations - the stuff of philosophy, ethics, science, faith, emotions and behaviour that is unexpected, not being met with a smile by an acquaintance, being shouted at by a stranger and so on.
In each situation we seek and we crave meaning. There may be meaning but it may not be needed by us. It doesn't matter why a stranger chooses to shout at us but we want to know why. Even if something that is just the result of a series of events that has not previously been in our awareness happens to us we seek a meaning - was it our bad luck? Birds eat, birds fly, birds shit and it lands on you. That is the explanation, its not luck.
In seeking meaning to explain (away) an event or feeling or a reality we use metaphors and stories as comparisons. We crave a simple link between actions by way of comparisons. The story of x gives us an insight into the thing y that is happening to us now.
We use comparisons in understanding our place in the universe, our changing position is time and space and the probabilities that flow through and around us. Just like that, creating a metaphor of "flow" - we want to see probability in our mind's eye as a flow, perhaps if we could just see it as a series of ever changing winds and currents that shape our progress through life.
But, its not like that. Science seeks and uses metaphor to reduce the sheer complexity of the detail of life and the cause and effect relationships that interplay with each other.
Reduce it to a manageable, palatable, series of linear events. There are causes and effects; some are very direct. Where though we blind ourselves to awareness is seeking to make sense of the world around us with comparative stories whose links to the situation to they seek to bring meaning to are stretched and creaking.
The very telling of the stories becomes religion and immersion in them becomes faith.
Rather than offering the meaning they satisfy a craving for both meaning and mystery. They say we are both small in the universe but that we are everything. Both of which are crap - we are collections of chemicals and processes that move about and process events. We are lots bigger than many things and lots smaller than many. We are made of molecules, we run chemical/biological processes, we are born, live, reproduce, die, rot turning continually from molecules into a coalescence of "us" and back into a separation of molecules.
The stories, the explanations, the allegories are so often masking from us the ability we have to encounter the world as it is, for us, just now. Craving meaning is a route to endless hunger - as a man searching in a desert will always find, the belief that his god will guide him to food is crap. He is either near enough to food and going in the right direction or he will starve.
We have story telling deeply ingrained in our culture. It stems from our greatest asset, our communication skills - speech.
Speech works through assigning symbols, words, to events, things, concepts and to our dreams. Other people need to have an understanding of the words that matches ours.
As others perception of reality is different to our own it can only be a partial mutual understanding. For many things and actions we use words where the meaning is closely shared - chair, dog, sleep, walk. Actually, do we mean a brisk walk to the station, a stroll through the park or perhaps the action of lifting one foot, tilting the body as the foot moves forwards, lowers, takes the body's weight as the other foot lifts, moves forwards and so on.
Meaning is changing and relative. What is happening is happening whether it is explained or not.
We seek comparisons though for more complex situations - the stuff of philosophy, ethics, science, faith, emotions and behaviour that is unexpected, not being met with a smile by an acquaintance, being shouted at by a stranger and so on.
In each situation we seek and we crave meaning. There may be meaning but it may not be needed by us. It doesn't matter why a stranger chooses to shout at us but we want to know why. Even if something that is just the result of a series of events that has not previously been in our awareness happens to us we seek a meaning - was it our bad luck? Birds eat, birds fly, birds shit and it lands on you. That is the explanation, its not luck.
In seeking meaning to explain (away) an event or feeling or a reality we use metaphors and stories as comparisons. We crave a simple link between actions by way of comparisons. The story of x gives us an insight into the thing y that is happening to us now.
We use comparisons in understanding our place in the universe, our changing position is time and space and the probabilities that flow through and around us. Just like that, creating a metaphor of "flow" - we want to see probability in our mind's eye as a flow, perhaps if we could just see it as a series of ever changing winds and currents that shape our progress through life.
But, its not like that. Science seeks and uses metaphor to reduce the sheer complexity of the detail of life and the cause and effect relationships that interplay with each other.
Reduce it to a manageable, palatable, series of linear events. There are causes and effects; some are very direct. Where though we blind ourselves to awareness is seeking to make sense of the world around us with comparative stories whose links to the situation to they seek to bring meaning to are stretched and creaking.
The very telling of the stories becomes religion and immersion in them becomes faith.
Rather than offering the meaning they satisfy a craving for both meaning and mystery. They say we are both small in the universe but that we are everything. Both of which are crap - we are collections of chemicals and processes that move about and process events. We are lots bigger than many things and lots smaller than many. We are made of molecules, we run chemical/biological processes, we are born, live, reproduce, die, rot turning continually from molecules into a coalescence of "us" and back into a separation of molecules.
The stories, the explanations, the allegories are so often masking from us the ability we have to encounter the world as it is, for us, just now. Craving meaning is a route to endless hunger - as a man searching in a desert will always find, the belief that his god will guide him to food is crap. He is either near enough to food and going in the right direction or he will starve.
Rocks
You can turnover every rock looking for enlightenment.
But you already have it, its you and the rocks.
But you already have it, its you and the rocks.
Dimensions
If we look at it through a pin hole its simple. Its a point of light. Or on a piece of paper, its a story. Or we add a third dimension its all around us. Or time, we can travel through it, back and forth growing knowledge. Or add chance, and see how the actions of all other events move through that time and space. Complex, simply.
Clean pants
I threw myself under the wheels of a bus for a moment of instant enlightenment. I knew in that instant that I was right, not wearing clean underpants was unimportant in the scheme of things..
When we have perfect minds why do we drink, take drugs or dwell in selfendulgence.
When walking through a life of growing perfection, bliss dawning, a wise woman came to a beautiful, still, silent pool. Its mirror calm surface reflected the sky and the snowy peaks all around.
She sat on a sun warmed rock for an hour and chucked in a stone, and then another one.
When walking through a life of growing perfection, bliss dawning, a wise woman came to a beautiful, still, silent pool. Its mirror calm surface reflected the sky and the snowy peaks all around.
She sat on a sun warmed rock for an hour and chucked in a stone, and then another one.
Fools awakening
The fool woke up for an instant.
At the instant of waking he knew the true meaning of everything. Now i know why everything happens, why we are here, why all and everything that has, is and will ever be needs to be as it is.
Now i can die happy, and he did just that over several years just as he might have done anyway.
Once a fool...
At the instant of waking he knew the true meaning of everything. Now i know why everything happens, why we are here, why all and everything that has, is and will ever be needs to be as it is.
Now i can die happy, and he did just that over several years just as he might have done anyway.
Once a fool...
Friday, September 16, 2011
Flowers
When I was young, very young, there were flowers all around, I guess - I didnt notice them
When I was older I moved to London and there was concreate and brick and filth all around and I noticed in the cracks in the paving small flowers and, with the sight of them, my heart filled with joy
And then I moved and there were flowers and plants all around and, with the presence of them, I feel my heart fill with joy
I see the paving slabs now with no flowers and the joy is the same
And now, so often, I shut my eyes and just notice all that is there and I realise that my heart is already filled with joy - the flowers and the stories and the music are the twinkles on the top.
When I was older I moved to London and there was concreate and brick and filth all around and I noticed in the cracks in the paving small flowers and, with the sight of them, my heart filled with joy
And then I moved and there were flowers and plants all around and, with the presence of them, I feel my heart fill with joy
I see the paving slabs now with no flowers and the joy is the same
And now, so often, I shut my eyes and just notice all that is there and I realise that my heart is already filled with joy - the flowers and the stories and the music are the twinkles on the top.
Truth - I did'nt think so, honestly
On truth - where can it be and why seek it.
Truth is what we perceive it to be - largely. We feel that we know certain things to be true, the presence of the Earth beneath our feet, the wind blowing through the trees.
It entertains us to debate whether these truths are true or not. Other than entertainment and mental stimulation I'm not sure of their value (thats a question, not a statement, probably).
Why do we seek truth? I do believe (paradoxically, as a belief that truth cannot exist, must always be... Mustnt it?) that truth is what we construct it to be. We each have responsibility for our own truth - our log of the good and bad that we do. We are not though solely responsible.
We are social beings - mostly. We try to influence each other and we are influenced. We like to fit in and we don't like those we define as outsiders - ultimately, there will be people who behave in such a way that even the most open and engaging person will consider to be an "outsider" - such as enthusiastic murderers, rapists, etc.
We embrace belonging and that means embodying the beliefs of those around us. In relation to them we are insiders rather than outsiders.
The truth is that which we have grown into since the day we were born. We are, in my view, responsible for challenging what is and is not true but many people don't have, or do not realise they have, the capacity to challenge what they believe.
And, why would they? What is the motivation for challenging what is, so it seems, true? A truth that pits people against each other, allows guilt and fear to eat away at our hearts, to justify the destruction of other living things.
Truth, like love, is a loaded term. Other than those bleeding obvious things, its is relative. It can be "bad" when it leads to wrong - like a false truth that leads to racism or sexism. Or, shall I say, good...
A good truth - its not a single thing, its contextual and relative too - it is where we are now, in this moment. Its who we love, who we don't notice, who we hate.... And its probably not why we hold those views (the details are so often irrelevant) but more the impact of them on our emotions.
The truth for me is awareness of what is going on around and within me - and also, I have little doubt, in and around you and everyone else.
So, why think about truth? Truth is so often a lie - we know all things change but it suits our need to belong to accept untruths, lies, as reality.
So, truth is reality - the things that are actually happening when we strip out the crap... No, of course not, the truth is whatever it happens to be at the moment... there is no cause and effect with right and wrong.
Truth is what we perceive it to be - largely. We feel that we know certain things to be true, the presence of the Earth beneath our feet, the wind blowing through the trees.
It entertains us to debate whether these truths are true or not. Other than entertainment and mental stimulation I'm not sure of their value (thats a question, not a statement, probably).
Why do we seek truth? I do believe (paradoxically, as a belief that truth cannot exist, must always be... Mustnt it?) that truth is what we construct it to be. We each have responsibility for our own truth - our log of the good and bad that we do. We are not though solely responsible.
We are social beings - mostly. We try to influence each other and we are influenced. We like to fit in and we don't like those we define as outsiders - ultimately, there will be people who behave in such a way that even the most open and engaging person will consider to be an "outsider" - such as enthusiastic murderers, rapists, etc.
We embrace belonging and that means embodying the beliefs of those around us. In relation to them we are insiders rather than outsiders.
The truth is that which we have grown into since the day we were born. We are, in my view, responsible for challenging what is and is not true but many people don't have, or do not realise they have, the capacity to challenge what they believe.
And, why would they? What is the motivation for challenging what is, so it seems, true? A truth that pits people against each other, allows guilt and fear to eat away at our hearts, to justify the destruction of other living things.
Truth, like love, is a loaded term. Other than those bleeding obvious things, its is relative. It can be "bad" when it leads to wrong - like a false truth that leads to racism or sexism. Or, shall I say, good...
A good truth - its not a single thing, its contextual and relative too - it is where we are now, in this moment. Its who we love, who we don't notice, who we hate.... And its probably not why we hold those views (the details are so often irrelevant) but more the impact of them on our emotions.
The truth for me is awareness of what is going on around and within me - and also, I have little doubt, in and around you and everyone else.
So, why think about truth? Truth is so often a lie - we know all things change but it suits our need to belong to accept untruths, lies, as reality.
So, truth is reality - the things that are actually happening when we strip out the crap... No, of course not, the truth is whatever it happens to be at the moment... there is no cause and effect with right and wrong.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Rhythm
Rhythm, the speed at which we tick.
Most people keep a fairly steady pace, fast as children, slower as adults, slower still as they age and then stopping.
They tick at their own rate and, as their hearts are still new, find themselves attracted to those with different rhythms to their own - new dances.
But, as they spend time with each other, ticking, and need to depend or wait on one another, the miss-match between them jars.
They are fixed as they are at that stage of their life.
Their mates are too stressfully buzzing about or too slowly dragging them down.
Dancing to 2 or 3 rhythms is too hard and people grow tired of their lover's tiresome steps.
Some of us have clocks that shift and drift with the wind and time and waves
We do the rhythm of the waltz or polka and some of us just love to tango
- some of us just love to can-can and do the fucking pogo!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Wet With Words
The words I say are not true, always (and never) remember that.
They are an impression of me
You may interpret them as having me-meaning
My words appear to fall in patterns and from these rhythms and tones you find meaning
You may believe there is purpose in what I say
But when a rain drop falls and splashes onto the ground what does it matter to the cloud that dropped it?
If we believe the clouds, the weather, the whole of life, has meaning we might seek to know that meaning and perhaps to find it, or create it where there seem to be gaps - there are gaps.
But it, and us, and especially me, just exist.
The cloud drops the rain with no meaning
And yet in ponds and rivers and in the sea life plays out and we talk and talk about its meaning
Words, like water, mean every bit and every little as everything I say.
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