[continued from Ships & lighthouses after interruption and a bit random] * If loss is delusion because possession is delusion (at least of some abstract "things" like time) ... what about the abrasiveness of interpersonal pain? The jarring headache of mismatch, miscommunication, my old friend the glass wall (whether it's autism, depression, emigration, queerness or … Continue reading Interpersonal pain, Frankl’s dread of ageing, and Momo
Shattering shapes of a rigid shell In the end it is nothing more than that To make room for the flow Which is moister, closer to the ground. More humble, unassuming, which hugs the Earth. Knowing how to break fluently And dispose of the scaffolding of thought and plan Quickly To partake in the quicksilver … Continue reading Normalising heartbreak, handling the water.
I crossed this border once again. The mythic border, across the river in the mist in the mornings, heading towards the sunrise, when i was a very small child. it's ingrained in my brain, perception and heart even though there is no border here anymore. Even the Syrians can apparently pass. No one controlled me. … Continue reading Iron Curtain 2018. (Wherein I cross my childhood border and revisit spiritual remnants of the Berlin wall.)
You've left me to the wolves. You didn't even know they exist, or that you were doing it. They are far more terrifying than anything you have ever seen. If you had seen them, i would know that by the marks on your soul. I saw more than you. . You didnt see the bright … Continue reading A cryptic and paradoxical text on soul reintegration
I still want all the glittering things. I want to adorn myself with feathers Of travels Knowledge Status Connection. . I still feel i am nothing If i am just a human being. . I still know very little Of how to provide for the actual human needs of a human being In this type … Continue reading Glittering things and human needs
The center axis Elusive . Even though i left the latest totalitarian regime behind at age four I still believe Integrity is punishable by death By loss By a burning sensation on my skin That seems to be peeling it off Leaving behind naked bones Which are not quite sure how to move In the … Continue reading Integrity
It's time to harvest the fruit that grew on the dung In fact, thats largely still buried beneath and within it. 33 years of dung that i could classify as fakeness an hell As stepping away from the soul and self-obliterating That i could throw away But then i would have no foundation. So the … Continue reading Dung