Wednesday, November 10, 2010
On the edge
I sit there watching TV... or that's what you would assume. I am in fact just watching the reflection of my hand holding the remote control device for the past half an hour in the shadowy spots of the screen. I was watching the news but the news ended some time ago. What was it about? how different from yesterday? or last year? or the last century? war and peace. The formula that enslaves us but the words that we dare not name. I was thinking: everyone is afraid of war but peace frightens me to death. I know how to cope with war but I have no clue how to function in peace. You are maybe more at risk in wars but less alert in peace. The worst of all is living on the edge of either of the two. You don't dare to grab your weapon lest you are misunderstood or leave it behind lest you are shot in the back. You are that PC that someone had given a zillion instructions in no time each undoing the previous one and then redoing it until it lost track of what it is supposed to be doing. Confusion creates dysfunction. Between that and war, I definitely choose war. Just grab a hatchet and smash the PC and the TV to pieces and watch it fall apart, a reflection of your own soul.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
In quietness I sit in the stillest room watching the dust particles floating trough the sunbeam; the particles seek nothing, are unsought, and yet they are in the moment in the deepest sense. They are entrenched in the present, so much that for them each present is eternal, unending, and experienced from the inside as a body feeling its own heartbeat, the flow of blood through its veins, and the delicate and most gentle warmth in the palms and fingers and red cheeks. I place a snow flake upon my skin and feel its coolness dissipating underneath my skin and melting; I place a single drop of wine in my mouth and close my eyes as the taste descends down to my darkest marrows, gleaming in crimson light; I feel the wind breeze when among the trees and I am carried as a butterfly in the garden of spring. Time is there and its movement is felt most acutely, albeit most softly: it is the leaf swaying in the wind and it is the shade of the mountain dancing to a most slow tune which notes are crafted by the golden sun. As the tree nurtures itself through soil, air, and sun, and as it grows from the inside, pulsing gently as it goes, so I nurture myself and grow too. All the levels and layers of my being are at harmony and I am in each level and layer.
ReplyDeleteAll the elements are at war, and war and flux are unending, and the wave that spreads from existence's heart reverberates me too into small ripples, yet the deep stillness of the moment cloaks my spirit in unfathomable peace. As the river dissipates coolness into the air, so I dissipate my body’s warmth and sense each moment in its infinity. I am no longer at war with my own self; I am as a crystal and pure stream.
A whole lot has been going on through my mind and body lately. I read your passage and it triggered this outburst. It was quite lovely...
You are welcome!
ReplyDelete