(via christiecw)
Dear Me: Part Two
You’ve come so far in such a short period of time. There are times that you’ve just felt like giving up was the only thing left to do, but (for the most part) you’ve stuck to your guns, and you have no clue how proud of you i am for being able to do that. I will always be proud of you being yourself at all times. Since our last letter, about two years ago, you have made enormous improvements to your character and personality, without sacrificing who you are in the process. You are special, and don’t ever forget that you are loved.
I just read a letter that I wrote to my future self from August 2008 when I was in Africa doing volunteer work. the first thing I saw when I opened up the letter was just an incredibly thought-provoking quote. It goes, “In the midst of worldly comings and goings, I observe how all endings become beginnings.” Besides making one think, this quote, by Lao-Tzu, describes how everything in life is cyclic and repetitive and inspired me to write yet another sort of narrative about how it applies to my life and so on…
This quote, this phrase, is probably one of the most meaningful reminders that everything will be okay. I really ought to get a huge print of it made to put in my dorm. Much too often do I mistake all of my unhappy endings for bad endings. In reality, just about every dead-end that I have come across has just forced me to find another way forward.
Life isn’t a paved road or a neat path, but rather a virgin forest. It is our choice to rape and destroy it, alienating and distancing its existence from ourselves, or to make love to and cherish it, embracing every moment and looking forward to every next moment to come.
I realize that I’m an idealist. While on my travels, I will often find a little paradise. I mean, at this paradise, there were so many things to meet almost all my needs. Whenever I stumbled upon one, I would forget that I was even traveling in the first place and would simply stop. I felt as if my travels were over. Like myself, the waters in my pond were stagnant and the beauty of it proved to be all glitter and dust.
My little paradise was no different than any other that anyone else had frequented. I just felt so ready to take a break and settle. And instead of traveling for the sake of traveling… instead, I just traveled in search of the same sorts of pleasures. I forgot why I had been given feet in the first place. Why?
At the time, I couldn’t recognize the actual fruits of my journey. All of the experiences that I had gone through helped me to grow. I was born in the middle of this forest. I was born in medias res. I had no say in the matter, but I realized as I grew that I had every choice of where I went at that point and every point thereafter. Every direction that I turned, whether I chose a path that had formerly been taken or followed my own intuition, was and still is my choice.
And though my travels aren’t cyclic in the traditional sense, every step I leave behind is another that I’ve taken forward. As long as I am still walking towards growth, maturity, honesty and intelligence, my surroundings will reflect the positive progress that I have made thus far. No, they will never be my definition of ideal, but I also won’t forget that I have the ability to negatively and positively impact my environment. It is my decision to weed out the bad.
Ultimately, when I feel like I have reached my destination (one of hopefully many), I hope that I will still have fellow travelers and am able to meet many more on my journey.
In my current journey, I am just leaving another paradise. Yet again, I fooled myself into thinking that rest is something that I wanted or was able to find comfort in. My soul is so weak… I tricked myself, but moving forward and living—actually living—are what makes one’s soul stronger. I’ve learned that I’m not the only one on a journey. No, I have plenty of companions and, I mean, this forest really is full of people traveling. Some have stopped for whatever reason. Some are in between.
This forest is so large, and the number of opportunities therein, vast. And among all the business of all the nymphs and naiads, my little soul just needs to realize one thing: just because I’ve left this oasis doesn’t mean I’ll starve or suffer. In reality, there’s sustenance, there’s love, all around. Just be open to it.
“In the midst of worldly comings and goings, I observe how all endings become beginnings.” - Lao-Tzu
Autopsy’s Revenge
We would enjoy the sunset
in our windowless prison
beneath dead sheets
Walls hallowed out,
he makes more incisions
our hearts never beat
Rustling rusted bodies
bright lights above us
disturb our peace
Your scalpel strikes
a certain nerve, but
we don’t feel a thing
Sweat drop from
furrowed brow and
you slouched in seat
Shadow from behind
and one gloved hand
“not one peep”
To the car
off the pier and
into the sea
Your work is child’s play
it kills you inside to try to find
what has killed me
assurance
if the heavens had set a limit
if the heavens had set a goal
some unspeakable barrier
or an unmentionable toll
that to be passed must be paid
or face the fear of falling down
we wouldn’t be able to rise
like plants growing from the ground
and we started off as little seeds
our roots grew into a shaken earth
we walked in the footsteps of our fathers
and the heavens rained down on us
yes, we felt all the motions
and drowned in all our problems
but when we broke ground and looked around
then we knew that we could solve them
we still have so much room to grow
and we have to grow our own branches and leaves
our roots have to become independent from yours
because we have to become our own trees
so we can prove to you that
there is no toll and there is no barrier
and we’ll make our tip-tops reach the heavens
and scream, “No! We won’t even stop here.”
and when we look inside, we’ll see
rings imprinted upon our memory
the love you’ve all shown to your baby trees
will always be here for the world to see
sequitur
i want a taste of death tonight,
my lungs are filled with smoke and
someone’s standing in the corner
(there’s always someone there),
but i’m alone in my room “sleeping”
and i curl under the covers while
there’s a symphony playing outside.
most people would see it as asymphonic,
but i can see the conductor standing
outside of my bedroom window.
he shoots glances at the trees to sway,
“move your roots and the leaves will follow!”
and he urges the clouds to pour it all out
so they send hail and make their thunder.
and while the raindrops make their own beat
a tepid pitter-patter of sorts, they too!
they too are playing the same piece, and
the conductor knows this and notices me.
“this is only a practice, son.” they go on.
but i can’t get over the fact that i’m even here.
the man in the corner is timid and quiet,
but he’s just like me. he is me just watching,
waiting for the coup de grâce, for the final strike
for the lightning to come down upon me.
but, alas, most of us know no such fortune.
stuck in this room with the ghosts of ourselves
lungs filled with smoke, veins filled with blood.
waiting to spill out onto our clean bed sheets.
