A poetic return

Some things can only be fixed after acquiring god-like power, but after acquiring god-like power most of these things will no longer matter.

An old friend of mine once asked me if I was in love with any one.  I remember riding passenger in her car after I had stopped in to see her at her work and embarrassed her.  Immediately a name and a face came to mind, and I said that I supposed that I was.  It didn’t occur to me at the time, but my friend knew who it was that I was talking about.  It occurred to me briefly at the time, but I did not fully realize what it was that I was experiencing until years later.  I was in love, but it was not with a person.  It was not even a specific idea.  It was with wonder.  My friend probably proceeded to give me some good advice, as she always did; I forget.

Flash forward, and I had reached a turning point.  I realized that we all choose our own enemies, not the other way around.  My friend had finally given me some bad advice, and I knew it.  I could either forge my own life as I saw fit, or I could lead the one set by others, letting the essence of others define me.  Reason told me to choose the former, and wonder told me to choose the latter.  I wanted to do the dramatic thing and live the romantic life- not just one of romantic love.  I acknowledged that the girl who had become the face of my wonder had no good reason to be what I wanted, and I stepped forward with the thought discarded.  I fought for the guise of my wonder, conquering each of her demons for her and with her without a moment’s hesitation, but in the end I uncovered the truth as effortlessly as though it were meant to be.  It wasn’t until I had her that I could let her go and face the truth: wonder comes from within.  Wonder is a filter that we habitually place between us and our environment, given circumstances that the habit responds to.  In this way, wonder can come from any thing, any where.  The trick is to expand your filter.

I never saw my old friend again after that, and the guise I’ve met in passing on rare occasion.  We don’t seem to find words for each other, and then it’s over.  I miss them, but I like to remember them the way that they were.  They are perfect that way.

I do not have fond memories of my childhood.  In stead, the memories that trigger in me the greatest nostalgia are from the time when I began to develop my identity.  I was fourteen.  I remember much of it vividly.  Every thing before that is a blur of video games, books, crafts, action figures, nu-metal, and debilitating social anxiety.  The beginning of recognizing who I wanted to be branded the gothic metal and the industrial that I was listening to at the time, those whom I was close to at the time, a few movies that I watched then, the autumn, and many items that influenced my writing at the time with this certain dark nostalgia.  It was a time of being jaded and being obsessed.  It was a time of seemingly unlimited creativity and zero limitation.  It was a time when, despite feeling jaded toward humanity, I could find wonder in the lonely dark of night.  It was a time of contradictory superstition and faith.  It was a different time.

I used to think that I could help people, during those early years, during those ‘autumns’, but I was ill-equipped.  I really only wanted to force them to see my world, so that I could have some one to share it with.  I wanted to be understood.  Now that I may be capable of helping people, I am hesitant.  Go figure.  I used to see weakness in people and either reject them for it or deny that they had it, depending on how desperately I wanted them to see my world.  I hated weakness.  I now see that …

 

~You can assist those who are weak, sympathize, empathize, be kind, but never encourage weakness.  Always encourage will, motivation, and discipline in stead.  These are the foundations of purpose, of meaning.  All intelligent life, regardless of affliction, can harbor, hone, and perfect discipline.  Luckily for the whole of intelligent life, discipline is the most important skill.~

 

We are all weak.  It is just a question of when we show it, and how well we cope with it.  We are all weak.  Strength of will is as much an attitude as it is a trait.  I feel that fulfilling the greater part of my purpose, sharing my creation, and becoming a leader of sorts will eradicate my weakness.  This is impossible.  It will make it more bearable in stead.

I want to share my creations with people.  I want to positively impact their lives.  I want them to be positively impacted by my thoughts and emotions.  I want people to sympathize with my mind’s world, by a specific, uncommon use of the word.  Do I only wish to make the world more romantic?  Which is more important to me, truth or wonder?  Must it be both, as I balance logic and emotion?  Is it really a goal to better others, or is it so that I can share my self with others and feel bonded?  It used to only be the latter.  Now I am not sure.  All acts are selfish, though not all from a self-absorbed state of mind, and yet I am not sure.  I also want every one to know how almost every song by Beseech makes me feel this certain way, to feel this feeling, and know why.  Is that self-absorbed?  Probably.  It’s a beautiful feeling, though.

It’s the bittersweet fondness of memories of times that you are glad have passed.  It is the feeling of unrequited love from a creature of fantasy that can’t understand your words, and she feels sorry for you.  It is written all over her perfectly symmetrical, snow white face.  It is the sound of unanswered prayers.  It is the smell of crisp autumn leaves.  How does that smell make you feel?  To me, it smells like a waste land of forgotten dreams.  To me, it smells like home.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in The Dream Quadrant and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s