Carelessness of a boundary-free mind

What is life? What are we doing here? Who are we? Where are we going? Why is life this way? Why, what, who, where, when, how, why. Neverending questions to the endless soul. Us humans can be such curious creatures. Always asking, always wanting to know more, more about the world, life, universe, anything and everything. They come like waves in the sea of our minds, crashing, turning, twisting us around so we can try and seek an answer.

I used to be a question too. At some point maybe I was a who, other times I was what, or why, or... really, I've been all and I've been none. There was something soothing about it, probably the certainty that I existed. You can never be sure of that, but if someone is asking questions about you, you must be real for sure, something stable in this shifting reality we live in. That 'never knowing for sure', well, it can be pretty terrifying; that everything one ever associated with the SELF may be naught but an illusion. But truth is, if I'm allowed to speak of the truth as I see it, there's no need for confirmation. One is.

Nothing at this moment belongs to me and I am the owner of the world. I can see the colors shifting. I can see the world around me, but it's alien to me. It's at this point that nothing matters. People, those I sometime knew, are strangers to me now. I don't really know who I am anymore, either, or if I am at all, so there's nothing unsettling about it. I, I, I... what does that mean? What am I? I acknowledge that there is a 'me' somewhere, but I don't think it belongs to this body. I think, now, that this 'me' is bigger than that, and it's trying to get out.

"Where's my love?" Katie asks through the speakers, drunk and in a haze, a question that this one I share my space with has asked one too many times, a question never to be asked again. It doesn't matter anyway. Katie keeps singing 'lilac wine'. Takes this brain back to a time when it thought life would be harder than this, when it believed everything had an expiration date. When 'I' needed answers for it all. It has all taken a V turn since then, maybe growing up did its part, and a full blown dissociation syndrome has helped too. Nothing can end, I realized. Not when nothing can start. Ends, starts, all a disturbance of the mind, our way to try and figure out a world in shades of color when the paint is all the same. There was a moment in time when there was huge light that we created, and somewhere that remains. I need no more than that. 

You and I, we used to be the same, and I think we still are, I don't know for sure, I don't care. My soul speaks for my brain this time, and it says we are made of the same stardust, you with your bodyless voice and me with my voiceless body. Who needs voice when the eyes speak? Who needs a body when the soul can soar free?

Someone wonders if I'm ok. Of course I am. I have no real questions anymore, I seek no answers, I need none. Nothing bad can happen, because whatever happens is for the best, whether it keeps this body awake one night or not. I feel crazy, perhaps, in this meatsuit that's not mine anymore, breathing life and floating across the sky. I don't really know what I might have said that might have given the impression that I'm not fine. On the contrary, the fighting is over and the sun has come out again, to cast a light across the wounded and the healing, and a new cycle is bound to arrive. For the fight was within and not outside.

So who am I? Outside the battle, outside a body, outside the world and the universe, I am. There's no question of who, because I am me and I am you and I am everything in between. Bright burst of light or pure darkness, pure void. There's nothing to me but the eternal soul and that is the universe in itself, and everything beyond, and nothing. I am contradiction, I am terrifying. I am terrified. I am a whisper.

We humans can be wretched creatures, but not without hope.

More than anything, there's filth. Filthy words, filthy stares, filthy scents and filth, filth, filth. It's all rotten to the very core, so much so that anyone wanting to save it would find himself wanting. Short of cutting off the roots and planting a new seed, there's naught to be done. It smells like stale air and stale promises, moldy like bread under the rain. And there's so much that was promised. Life, love, changes for the better, security, a family maybe, a home. All gone, all broken by a windy gust.

I used to believe we'd share the world, but now we try to rip it from each other's mouth -that is, when we don't try and rip each other's throat-, and soon there will be nothing left but ashes to share. And yet, I, ever the believer, want to create a space of peace in all this whirlwind that surrounds us, because still there are reasons why my heart skips a beat, there are things that make me swoon, even in the backseat of an old bus, even alone. I planted my roses and hoped against hope that they would grow roots strong. Am I mistaken for thinking there's still a chance we can be happy? Am I foolish?

Ray in the window

Platonic kiss, in my dream. I've never seen you shine so bright. Your hands, chaste, keep a distance from my face. I watched it happen, thinking of big trees and minestrone, as I hugged you close. I can't shake the feeling that I would love your scent around me.

I like that we can be in the moon together yet never touch. I like the way veiled comments can be tossed around and we can share loving words, while never admitting to our feelings. I like it because it's rare, because it's true.

Under

So this was your idea. Did you think I'd sit tight and say yes? I don't need a reminder of what this has become, of how obvious it is, your space in my bed. I place a pillow to fill the room that your skin won't take. And I'm becoming increasingly aware of how, whenever I get somewhere you make me take two steps back. Of how my shadow, my lion, my mirror, I'm you and you're me, but that can't work out anymore. I never doubted that me is what this is, but maybe it's time to find a new meaning. Come home? It's been a long time.

Night headaches.

Stars. Tightly wound together by the silver thread of nothingness. I'm beautiful under them, with them. Silent, burning, far from here. Leaning towards the notion that there's such a thing as too much. All the right reasons sometimes take you to the wrong path, though it may seem nonsensical. Not that I'm walking it, but maybe I'm eager to. Maybe I want to go down the lane of the easy, detached individuals. Thinking maybe I will say no this time.