In the past I’ve held the tacit belief that everyone should be like the person I intended to be: someone dedicated to the truth and oriented towards insights, someone emotionally motivated by the excitement of seeing [recurring] patterns and living a deadbeat lifestyle geared towards facilitating this seeing. I wanted to become the ’’transparent eyeball’’ and over the years—in keeping with this aim—everything I was doing turned out to be devoted to keeping a loose, en-lightened frequency of being in good repair—I ended up being a ’frequency holder’ of sorts, responsible for upkeeping, upregulating and bringing a subtler vibration of energy to bear on my dealings with others. Also, I’ve become obsessed with sharing the treasure of insights I’ve been graced to stumble upon by packaging them in neat wording. I believe in heart-felt wisdom that is borne of transparency and that results in efficacy of being. This is what drives me essentially. The fact that most of my life I’ve felt guilt-ridden about my half-hearted dealings with others as a consequence of this obsession is simply beyond absurd. At long last I realize that I need not take others’ tastes & preferences personally and that I am not responsible for justifying mine any more than others are responsible for justifying theirs. We differ. What makes me tick makes many diss me, and vice versa. We truly are a multifarious bunch in terms of style, rhythm, values, motivations, etc., and this is perfectly OK.
You say that you’re heartbroken over ’’moving on’’ because you’ve grown truly fond of the forms—the places, the faces—you’ve encountered. But let’s be honest: do you get as attached to plants too? Do you feel dejected when you see a blooming flower in April and think about the fleeting nature of your encounter?—Now, is this a silly comparison? Why? What is the extent of the difference? Isn’t it but all about forms? forms that you can appreciate for their unique flair or fail to do so. One thing’s for sure, we go easy on the plants because they cannot engage in our drama, but when it comes to people we turn into weird, needy little desperate Gollums clinging, grasping, claiming and demanding—no matter how passively—we proceed, in effect, to project the love that we are onto theirform—their peculiar face and their bodily rhythms, gestures, postures and style of engaging—because we expect them to be someone for us so we can get to be someone for them.
There are the faces around that we all are, faces, already fading, about to be forgotten faces, blooming, withering and vanishing sea waves of faces, my face and your face to be lost sooner or later we are to lose no matter how hard we try to save it on facebook, from humiliation and utter oblivion, always already fading from the face of the Earth, every single face you ever face faces to be replaced, by other faces, as our faces have replaced the faces flowering before us, under the sun, nothing special,
Do you see?
Do you see them now?
Do you feel the love you actually feel for all of them? The faces up the streets, in the shops, in the parks and on the trams. The faces at work and the faces at home. The faces from the past, opposite, behind and next to yours, the newborn faces. Out and about. Take a look. Variations on a theme. Beneath all these faces we all share the same essence. Underneath the myriad faces there is only one sameone there.
nothing stays, on the face of it
What remains, in the end, nothing else remains but awareness, of this moment, above and in front of all the toyful joys and the soulfull sorrows of the person who is losing everybody and everything, slowly and surely, all that it—as an I—has ever attained or missed and all that it has ever grown fond of and loved, sooner or later, falls away, and then the truth meets the truth… this heart is breaking and oozing gooey pain at the thought of my parents fading, at the thought of an ex and the countless unpursued prospects blending into the impersonal mass of the female flesh I’m so mesmerized by day by day: nothing remains that I could hold on to, nothing that I can grasp, nobody, noone, nothing to fixate on, nothing that fix(at)es, nothing that grounds me, nothing to write about really, all the writing blurs into noise, another iteration of the same old, same old, everything pixelates, with me in the middle of it all, alive, a heart, ready to burst, or stop, almost, for real, and it’s beating on, for it’s only the mind that is blown away by the overwhelm called truth
You get what you go with. You either go with what you think or you go with what you want. If you go with what you are thinking—which for the most part is fear-based anxiety and worries—that’s what you’ll end up enacting. If you go with what you want that’s what you’ll get.
The truth is what you want.
It’s simple, it’s felt. You either follow it or you rationalize and intellectualize your way around it. If you refuse your impulses, you suffer. Your impulses are the call of life to grow and evolve.
Life happens outside the thoughts in your head, it happens in the moment of engaging what you truly want.
We all have a different truth that is pulling us to want certain things. Our truth and our wants evolve—provided we step on their path. If we remain tethered to fear (our thoughts) we’ll stagnate and suffer and enact a reality of dis-ease and scarcity as the thinking mind operates on the logic of scarcity. Your truth on the other hand flows from a place of abundance.
You want freedom.
Freedom is to go with the pull of your truth without guilt over the consequences. Freedom is going with your truth even at the expense of others’ good opinion and at the expense of your agreeable self-image. You are free once you feel ready to let down and disappoint and break rapport with your self and others. Guilt or shame won’t move you any more, only move through you.
You are here to speak your truth. You are here to evolve.
imagine all the [insert your name in the plural here] of the world mingling in the middle of a gigantic square..
the more you strive to differentiate yourself
the more seamlessly you blend into the big bland of others
that is, the more you differ on the surface the less authentic you are
authenticity is the common denominator
that only the rare breed align with
and yet, alterity is the essence of life
the less you bother about differentiating yourself from the human mass the more you differ from others
there is this seeming paradox
of resisting less and less and slowly relaxing into and freely expressing who you already are
and resisting more and more and progressively detaching and pushing away from who you think you are