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jei_darkmoon
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Interests: reading, music, cooking, philosophy, dance, goth, politics, headbanging, poetry, writing, astronomy, teddy bears, meditation, human rights, theater, cats
Occupation: student
Message: message me
Member Since:
6/12/2006
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| " the emptiness, some people have caught on to...but the hopelessness, it takes guts for you to see it..."
If all roads lead nowhere, then where am I standing?
I chide myself for thinking such adolescent thoughts.Yet the clock ticks past midnight, and I have not yet been able to rest my head. Is there a person who can remain truly happy and truly aware at the same time? Perhaps happiness really does require an amount of ignorance, intentional or otherwise. Yet happiness is so...human. It seems the most gullible and fragile of experiences, but somehow a master of its own art. It is as if it tickles the tip of your senses, inducing you to believe you have seen or felt it, but with a graceful elusiveness, then slips away. It leaves you wondering if you had truly felt it at all. And it leaves you wondering if you had truly believed it at all.
The engaging of such thoughts left me in an empty place. When I began to recognize hopelessness in my emptiness, it was almost too late for me to turn back. Did I create happy thoughts before, to simply create a viable state of mind? Did I attempt to conjure meaning simply because without it, I could not survive? It was devastating to encounter the thought that all the meaning I'd created might have been an illusion holding up my ability to live. Yet I wanted to amount to more than a survival mechanism. Still, feelings could no longer be trusted to mirror reality. Beliefs were no longer founded in a truth, they shimmered as if in the melting heat of a dying illusion.
I stumbled in the muddled pool of the deconstructed mind. Questioning everything I knew procured in me a vast plain of emptiness.
But now I ponder, if I can believe in emptiness, why can I not believe in happiness?
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| I dreamt of cotton fields once. I touched the tall, strong stalks as their wispy clouds swayed gently in the wind.
I could taste the warm, earthy scent of the fields in the air. My toes curled into the rich, dark soil and a smile lifted my face to the sky.
And just like that I was taken away. I was drifting rapidly, the fields were rolling beneath me, my feet were flying, and my arms clung at the empty air.
I've never returned since then.
I've been thinking about my dream. Maybe I have too much time today.
I'm sitting by a window. Watching. And waiting. For what, I do not know. I almost feel as if I am on the brink of some unknowable edge, as if I am dancing on the tip of a sword.
The evening has set in, and I can't see far ahead. Yet, I find some familiar comfort in the dusky skies. Though they obscure my vision, they seem to warm my insides. I don't want to ponder my life today. Maybe I can see only as far into the evening as I need to.
The warmth is making me sleepy. I guess I'll go to bed tonight. After all, I never know when I might return.
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| To think that to voice a question would have such repercussions. It is a wonder, no doubt.
It was as a pond that lay calm and still, without hint of a disturbance. Ripples part its unmoving surface, however, if the pond expands.
Expansion. Throughout history, it has raised vehement opposition. This environment, accordingly, seems to require that a person first acquire permission should he or she seek expansion of the mind. This uniformity, this unchanging conformity, would all be shaken by the roots should its adherents start to question.Yet why is the expansion of the mind so greatly feared? It has been the only way the human race achieved the heights of civilization, and it is the only way it will continue to do so. Sometimes growing causes ripples. Ripples that might be uncomfortable. But to live, all things must grow. All things must expand.
All knowledge begins with a question. I consider the taking away of the right to question, above all, most insufferable. The day I woke up was the day I realized this environment was not just an environment, it was my environment. I can and should assert participation in its construction.
I do not wish to blindly accept the terms of my environment without wondering who set them and how they came to be. A rigid system must change, even as the humans who belong to it change. It must be fluid, even as we are. While there is much talk of adapting to the environment, we have failed to see who we are as its architects.
If you are not growing, then you are dying. So speak.
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I suppose I just had nothing else to say.
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| It is strange. It is strange when the world collapses and you remain standing. Are human beings resilient creatures? Do we try too hard to be?
I woke up this morning feeling desolate. My mind is still numb from grappling with reality.
I don't want to drop out of school. My education was my life. I can't have my life taken away, can I? But what life do I speak of anyway? I do wonder. I browsed through my old writings the other day. What interesting beliefs I once possessed. I took such pride in , such awe of, the pursuits of human curiosity. Now I find myself questioning every belief I once had, every sense of self, all over again. Is purpose truly relevant to existence? It's like a great rainstorm has overcome my mind, rearranging, separating, discarding, and reassigning.
What life indeed do I speak of? Is it truly my own? Can I even define that? If humans are so dependent on situational causes, is there really anything in our identity that comes from within? Why is the sense of self so wrapped around the external environment? I feel as if my life is being taken away because I identified myself so inextricably with a situationa. My education. My life. What's wrong here? At the same time, if you take away everything external that I associate with, you take away my justifications, my reinforcements, my models. Is that all that I am made of? I feel as if, as a human being, I should amount to more. I don't know where I get that from though. I'm not sure anymore where anything comes from.
I built myself into a world so entangled in truths, and meanings, purposes, and definitions. Factors like finances seemed so petty in comparison. Now it is as if I have awoken into a harsh, and unforgiving morning light. I had not attained a self apart from my external circumstances, but was inescapably strung around it all along. 'Petty', outward situations had defined who I was all this while. More devastating is that it defines largely as well who I could be. Has my consciousness been so dull? This state of mind is...an abandoned, dismal place to be. Perhaps inevitable circumstances really are inevitable. Aside from our circumstances, who can we be? It's so natural to pride ourselves in our perceived ability to dominate our environments. Now I question this pride. I question the consciousness I have possessed this entire time.
I just wonder....
Who am I besides the self that I justify to my environment?
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