I found my fate below my feet. So I continue to tread gently. Sobering up from the intoxication of seeking. My light has never been lost and need not to be sought. I’m breaking the walls I built to cover the real me. Coated with anxiously raised endurance and strengths. All the layers of fallacy. My true nature has always been fragile. Yet I’m toughened by life’s impermanence. Holding on to the very meaning of life. Embracing all sufferings and hardships. Without losing sight of my creative and truer self.
"For more than 500 years, pottery in Japan has found a new lease of life through kintsugi, the traditional Japanese art form of sealing cracks with lacquer and gold powder. This technique of repair embodies the wabi-sabi aesthetic, which embraces the beauty in imperfection."
there are songs in the anger of the waves upon the rocks and the tearing of the wind through the long grass in the plotting of the clouds gathering low in the sky and in the droplets whispering upon the page
When I look into my reflection I stare at every imperfection I appear broken, even shattered All of me in bits and pieces scattered From the lack of understanding and compassion These human instincts were once in fashion Unfortunately greediness, laziness and corruption got hold Our society became bitter and cold Where we have this need to conform Too afraid to practice a passionate art form Instead we are this predictable bleak gray Just waiting to die and decay
So I say... **** THAT! I'm living my life, my way!
this oriental rose textured with occidental precision desperately seeks perfection in all things worldly
nature’s true signature wreaks havoc instead: in the rocks of the grand canyon in a mole on a cheek in the dried but fallen leaves of autumn even in the scribbling of our children
embrace wabi-sabi where wafting moments of melancholy transform to sheer joy in the subtle realization that coexistence with incompleteness the proven path to release one from the chaining bonds of perfection
“You are treading on thin ice” the impatient tones of my father arrive at my ear as glistening I liberate my treasure prized away from the dark-cold pond, the ice raised distorts my sight to comprehend an impatient God
“Look boys, this is the land of God” you praise the valley carved from glacial ice you are filled with the beauty of the sight four sons in crescent around their Father breaths misting the air, turn away along the ridge above the fields, which are glistening
Are memories always like this? Glistening where everything is theatre and God? Now I feel the urge to look away there is truth in the distorting ice Father which held tightly fractures, to reveal you in plain sight
That day you praised the sight with prayers not glistening but all sour odour and “our Father” If you conceived a greater God you never told him to the boy who lifted the ice- to those who raised their arms in prayer you looked away
We are left to find a way in life, there is no seer and no foresight only earth and dirt and ice but in this barren tundra glistening scraped out with our bare hands is God God the Father
Now I stand at that same pond a father my son treads its edge and turns away I am no longer in his world, but looking over it his God And what of my sight? Is it glistening? I feel an unease as he raises his own comprehending ice
To all Fathers with their fading sight- Don’t turn away from all that’s glistening An impatient God turns to ice
They call you judgmental yet frown upon you when you are not exactly like them They try to pick apart any possible reason for an action you take, a mistake that you make Then boil it down to their own perfect little answer Their expectations they hold for others can be grueling with how many hurricanes run through your head, though they claim not to ask for much To act as if they can see right through you can sometimes be their favorite way to pass time, though of course they don’t know half of it The strong vibes of arrogance and judging glances they shoot behind your back are enough to suffocate you, but you choose to hold it together with a smile Until the weakness returns, where you break down and shake You try to place words together in your mouth, your poems, in your eyes, your soul, anything.. but the largest part of you screaming out remains silent To expect to be fully understood by another is foolish For their selfishness and their narrow way of thinking are evidently highly prominent And far too many complications are forever involved The attempts to silent your mind unfortunately prove to be futile A cigarette, one drink after the other take away the gnawing pain that will eternally make its presence known Moments of happiness turn dark as ash ever so quickly To laugh at oneself, to lose one’s mind is hauntingly easy enough In a world where no one truly knows your name.