So funny you, humans, are.
Praying for help
terrified of having to change any of your ways.
Praying for change,
for a miracle,
a mystical intervention
and then holding with your
palms, teeth and feet
prefering to die before
shifting the way you see.
There are undiscovered lands
of joy and abundance
waiting for each one of you
if only you trusted a bit more
and controlled a bit less,
listened a bit more
and talked a bit less,
WERE a bit more
and DID a bit less.
Each one of your prayers
The question then is:
are you ready to
hear the answer?
are you willing
to let it all crush down
what you’ve put years into building
from the place of no heart
and act upon the call
that cannot be explained
it does not need?
are you ready to face the fear
that arrises as you’re about to
step on the path without
destination in sight
while the soul rejoices
and mind panically pulls you
to at least consider other choices?
You have the answers.
Your prayers have been heard.
Release the reins and watch with
how much ease and grace
The wall was covered with circles, drawn by the hand of a child.
Wobbly and insecure circles sprouting in the greasiness of a thick pencil against the illuminating whiteness of the background, yet circles all the same - no doubt about that.
Anyone could see it, but they didn’t agree.
They told her to look better or, better yet, not to believe what she sees, but to switch on that creased thing located in the top of her body and try to think her way out of it.
“It is important”, they said and seemed very worried ‘cause no one can live knowing that those were circles. That much they knew.
So, she thought and forced her eyeballs to conform to the imposed vision of non-circular nature of the images on the wall. Her eyes were burning under the pressure of injecting the illusion, but she was determined to succeed and see what others see and get help in the way that they can offer her help, because… who could help her with circles if no one sees them as circles?
She looked around to see how others did it and adopted some of their tools, putting them to use diligently and devotedly, like she did everything in her life. Vision started to blur and circles lost their sharpness and even though she never lost sense of their presence, she could not see them anymore and she started to dance to this new rhythm of chaotic abstraction that follows some linear thread and everyone is facing the same direction, in eternal waiting of the arrival to the place of the unknown name.
Their waiting is not calm or enjoyable, though. It is nervous and fidgety. It doesn’t allow you to stay present with the scene you are performing, rather you are already on to the next one with the upper part of your body while the lower part is still trying to catch up, never succeeding in that mission. It is as if you are constantly scattered between two different timelines, terrified of them meeting at the same point, as if you could ruin your pace by doing so. Cut in that manner, you never breathe to your full lungs’ capacity, but only halfway - which is of the benefit to the game and surviving longer in it.
What would happen if you pulled in double of the amount in a single breath? How would that suddenly ingested space affect the happenings within? Would you be able to deal with the rise in the temperature, the heating of the lymph, the rush of clarity passing over the blazingly dull blurriness of your deadly comfort that leads you no place at all and you know it?
You know it, my dear.
Don’t breathe in, then.
Continue to dance to the rhythm you don’t even like, performing the steps you avoid evaluating, ‘cause if you did that would mean facing the tragedy of the time lost in doing something that was deprived of any meaning, beauty or pleasure whatsoever and embarking on the quest of finding self-forgiveness for accepting the deception of those things on the walls not being circles, when you very well knew they were.
Or breathe in - it is already too late.
Let that strike of clarity cut through your perception and multiply it until you see it all from as many angles as you can and feel the terror pumping through your veins as the hardiness of the soil underneath your feet withers away and you find yourself groundless and clueless, ‘cause nobody here teaches you how to fly. Of course you think about flying - the forced movement is the only movement that you know.
But, how about floating? Can you do that?
You cannot learn it, but you can let go of everything that you learned and make it happen. You can strip away all of the tension, density and resistance, release the grip to the fragmented aspect of perception that kept you anchored and dizzy on your journey to No Land.
Those still forming the part of the crew will raise their heads in disbelief and judgment, seeing you departing in the air, giving up on the game you played together for so long, feeling deceived and abandoned. What they’ll also see is that it is possible, that there IS another way. Even if it doesn’t occur immediately, the seed will not miss the hole. Then it is upon the gardener if they will allow it to sprout and blossom or dig it out and burn it in the fireplace.
It is not your job to go around convincing people that those were circles.
You know it for yourself and that is enough.
You can leave your legs to rest, they jumped in the place for a long time.
You can allow yourself to feel the sweetness of the realisation that the road led to nowhere and that the starting point is the finishing one at the same time and all those in between.
There’s nowhere to go, honey.
Those WERE circles, indeed.