Nov 2014
The lights that were infinite,
dance across time and space, but they didn't also.
because when all you are is unconscious consciousness. Matter without form. Energy without inertia, time and space are not things that you can comprehend so you just are, and then you decided that you were apart from other things and so bodies happened, and well... here we all are...
And now a different body is in her freshman year of high school . She is not unlike the many other bodies that attend high school or have attended high school since high school existed so we shall not compare her to you or I or anyone else. Or romanticize her inner turmoil so that she is special and heroic. She is human. But we will feel what she feels. Because though it seems now she is separate, she is merely the pinky on the universe of unity and the strand of hair on the giant goddess that is all of existence. But I digress...
These souls have bodies now. And they line the halls like ghosts in purgatory. Some lucky ones have adorned themselves in precious things, and walk with bold and bouncing steps. Most of them however let their necks drop, their shoulders hunch, they drag their feet toward the next place to sit and let time die for an hour. Eyes dart nervously or stare off into distances that from the faces expression of mild distain is a distance of people that are neither interesting or pleasant.
And our little friend is lost. Lost in the trappings of an unnatural place. The need to be excepted, the fear of being rejected.
The pain of being in a place that doesn't value your gifts, but trains you to adapt your own thinking to please someone who doesn't care.
Sometimes our little friend is kind, and sometimes she is cruel. But she doesn't know what she wants. She knows that people send her videos on her phone saying she is ugly and taunt her even though they used to be friends. She talks about the friends she has behind their backs. They are boring she says.
The never have anything to say.
We are all thoses pieces of pain. Every decision is watermarked.
Balast and bait.
For every painful moment we nurse well into our 40's,
we cut a thousand bitter words into another.
Our quiet thoughts breed hate and envy.
Our callus hearts beat with the blood of our ancestors.
My ancestors are the oppressors and the oppressed.
Haunted chased Jews of Europe,
Haunting hunting Afrikaaners,
after black blood.
How do we grow, will it make a difference?
Of course it will.
Pull open the blinds and let in the light.
Smash down the doors, rip holes through the roof.
Shut off the grid and see the stars reflect in every surface...
Or just forget that you are apart from anything else,
take in the darkness, and the lights that were infinite.
dance across time and space, but they didn't also.
because when all you are is unconscious consciousness. Matter without form. Energy without inertia, time and space are not things that you can comprehend so you just are, and then you decided that you were apart from other things and so bodies happened, and well... here we all are...
And now a different body is in her freshman year of high school . She is not unlike the many other bodies that attend high school or have attended high school since high school existed so we shall not compare her to you or I or anyone else. Or romanticize her inner turmoil so that she is special and heroic. She is human. But we will feel what she feels. Because though it seems now she is separate, she is merely the pinky on the universe of unity and the strand of hair on the giant goddess that is all of existence. But I digress...
These souls have bodies now. And they line the halls like ghosts in purgatory. Some lucky ones have adorned themselves in precious things, and walk with bold and bouncing steps. Most of them however let their necks drop, their shoulders hunch, they drag their feet toward the next place to sit and let time die for an hour. Eyes dart nervously or stare off into distances that from the faces expression of mild distain is a distance of people that are neither interesting or pleasant.
And our little friend is lost. Lost in the trappings of an unnatural place. The need to be excepted, the fear of being rejected.
The pain of being in a place that doesn't value your gifts, but trains you to adapt your own thinking to please someone who doesn't care.
Sometimes our little friend is kind, and sometimes she is cruel. But she doesn't know what she wants. She knows that people send her videos on her phone saying she is ugly and taunt her even though they used to be friends. She talks about the friends she has behind their backs. They are boring she says.
The never have anything to say.
We are all thoses pieces of pain. Every decision is watermarked.
Balast and bait.
For every painful moment we nurse well into our 40's,
we cut a thousand bitter words into another.
Our quiet thoughts breed hate and envy.
Our callus hearts beat with the blood of our ancestors.
My ancestors are the oppressors and the oppressed.
Haunted chased Jews of Europe,
Haunting hunting Afrikaaners,
after black blood.
How do we grow, will it make a difference?
Of course it will.
Pull open the blinds and let in the light.
Smash down the doors, rip holes through the roof.
Shut off the grid and see the stars reflect in every surface...
Or just forget that you are apart from anything else,
take in the darkness, and the lights that were infinite.
