Why am I like this?

If you expect something from me, I will automatically care.

So when you tell me you were waiting all night for my message, I will feel bad for falling asleep. Even though I owe you nothing, barely know you, have all the right to sleep whenever I want or need to (especially seeing as I struggle with falling asleep). So I should be happy I dozed off so relatively easily. But, you showed you cared and that it bothered you. You articulated expectation, you were disappointed by something I did (or didn’t) that had no real direct correlation or connection to you. I will still care, feel bad, guilty, inclined to fix it or make it up to you. Did I mention I barely know you?

Why am I like this? (and seemingly only I in this whole wild world) Because I know how it feels to care and not be cared about, to grow attached a little too quickly and cultivate rapidly expanding expectations based on a needle point sized probability of reality. I have been mistreated, dismissed, disappointed, led on, kept in the dark, lied to and cheated on so much and many times. Still I will always (regrettedly to my own ego and self loving properties) believe in the best of people, hope and pray for the best in their lives, give another chance each time the former expires, let people cross lines I’ve chalked down in blood, keep giving more of myself even when I clearly receive nothing in return, pretend I’m okay with what happens while I’m dying inside. Why? Why am I like this?

I am care. The very definition of sensitivity. In both its light as also dark magic. Now I only have to learn how to apply this all to myself. And as I tred the silver silk line that is this process, I slip every other step, back into familiar default patterns. Two steps ahead, always followed by one backwards. Still moving forward, though, through constant setbacks. Crawling through layers, scratched by the cracking of surfaces I break through and rise up from, ready to fall all the way back for the slightest sign of care from anyone who’s willing to show it. Not out of desperation for attention, rather despair for the acknowledgment and existence of unconditional love. Not because of weakness, but from the urge to mean to others what I wish I could mean to myself.

Now I will

My heart is too widely open
I could be crouched down with a blade pressed to my skin
But if someone would then and there need me, I’d forget all the hate and hurt, just for them, temporarily
To have it waiting for me when I return to myself

I will still, help, love, care
Even if I can’t do any of those for myself
My heart is too widely open
But the love flows one way
Because I don’t know how to receive
I’m not blaming anyone else
It’s not self pity either

Just a reality I either have to get used to
Or find a way to change
But what makes me think, that after 15 years of trying
Now I will succeed?

Self Sabotage – thoughts on thoughts

Stop sabotaging yourself by being too open and honest about personal details that outsiders don’t need to know about. Keep some of your mystery (it has a purpose) & emphasize the reality you want to be.

Some people feel urged to tell everyone their deepest secrets, as to distribute the weight of the load on their shoulders, so it becomes less heavy for themselves to carry alone. However understandable, it might not actually seem harmful to share certain things with others, even just the people close to you.
They might not be the ones that cause the harm from the information they receive, though. You might be causing disruptions in yourself through what you choose to deliver.

When you speak out for your insecurities or doubt (or any other thought / emotion), they become real. Expressing and addressing anything that circulates through you emotionally, verbally, mentally and consciously, will establish itself within you as much as you put it out there.
There is nothing wrong with recognizing & acknowledging self awareness or conducting & applying self reflection, but realize that whatever you think about, whatever you build with thoughts, you grant power of existence. By speaking out for them, you give them a voice. The connection between what lives within and what lives in reality is made by your thoughts and actions alone.

Will you satisfy the need for destruction through negative spirals that wrap themselves around you as you let them loose from your own mind?
Will you circle yourself in uplifting spirited inspiration that strengthens your belief system and broadens your perspectives?

Whatever you put out in the world, will manifest itself within you first and foremost. Make sure it’s something worthy, lasting & positive.
Make waves that help move forward.

Part of a Life

found on pinterestimage found on pinterest


I often go for walks outside by myself. Sit nearby the water and watch the sun play its shine on the ripples, painting its art on the moving surface. For me to just tune out of my own life and zone in the world around me.

During those walks, I run into all kinds of people. Some going for a walk just as me, with their partner, family, friends, or alone, walking their dog or going for a jog.

Then sometimes I see people walking, of whom I get the idea, that this is the first time they resurfaced to the real world again, after a period of solitary hibernation. Maybe because I can identify, maybe it’s just personal projection and recognition, maybe not.

They seem anxious in both an excited and fearful way, super self conscious and clearly exploring the outside beyond their bubble, as if just fallen from the nest. They are not together, not composed, not centered.
Not at all that I claim to be any one of those things, but perhaps from my own experience in that situation, I recognize these restless beings roaming for another purpose, seeking the restfulness, aiming for that point where their life will tilt back over to a more positive direction.
They are not walking away from their responsibilities, they are again meeting the reality beyond themselves and reaching back to the notion of better times ahead.

I am, seemingly more than others, aware of my surroundings, but not only that. I like to see people. Not just look at them, or observe and judge, place them in the proper position of my mental picture, but see them and their story behind the posture.
There is a name for this: sonder. The awareness that every soul you come across has a whole universe hidden behind their daily facade. A whole life of ups & downs, of cries, screams, tears, smiles, heartaches, disease, sorrow, loss, love, hurt, intentions, desires, mistakes, fantasies, knowledge, wisdom, emotions.

It’s fascinating to me, not only to see and think about, analyse and even feel it in their presence. But alone the thought, that I, as an outsider to them, will never be part of theirs as they will never be of mine.
Although it could be.. when worlds collide, split open and intervene with each other. On a daily basis, it doesn’t always happen like that, though. We sit and stare, as do they. We observe and care, maybe also on their part. But we will never know.. For the simple reason that I prefer to respect people in their being, as I would appreciate the same from their side.

While sometimes.. it is so pleasant to meet, someone who has maybe the same empathic feelers, to see and notice my little bubble, but they are in touch deeply enough with a realization that peeking through that bubble, will first of all not break my bubble, nor will it break or bother me.
Sometimes I just sit in my happy pensive solitude, observing the reality of reality and the reality of other’s reality, and then there is just this one friendly man, walking his old yet playful dog, and he asks me with sincere interest: “how is your game going?”, meaning my obsessive preoccupation and busy typing on my phone. I look up, take my earphones out, my sunglasses off, smile at him and tell him: “I’m not playing a game, I’m writing..” …BOOM… Worlds have collided, bubbles burst open, a conversation has commenced. Just like that.

We may live alone, but we are never alone. No matter how we enjoy and cherish our solitude, knowing others still find us worthy for their interest or might just need to connect with someone to break through their own solitude, is such a rewarding feeling of being alive : )
Being part of a life, not just my own.

The same changes…

Is there any such thing as “the same” ?

Do we see the same image after blinking with our eyes ? No of course not, in the nano second that my eyelid closed and reopened, a leaf may have fallen from the flowers in front of me, an ant may have crawled 2cm further in the grass. Even if nothing visibly moves, everything is still in motion. The world still turns, it doesn’t pause. I am a nano second ahead in time, the moment is not which it was when I chose to close my eyes.

Do we ever meet the same person ? No of course not. The person I saw yesterday may stand before me today again, but in the meantime this person has gone through several cognitive processes and experienced various emotions and situations. It might be too much to say that this person has changed to the core, but things have been added to or subtracted from this person’s being.

Am I ever the same person ? What is stated above about other people, counts for myself also. Who I am, what I know and want, might be slightly altered since yesterday, although maybe not significantly. Just as easily, something lifechanging could have occured, in just the past 5 seconds. Even when I’m not (yet) aware of it.

For anything to remain consistent in existence, there would have to be some way to put the here and now on hold. Because something is only what it is, in the exact moment and place that it is. A second later, a centimeter further and the entire situation is altered, resulting in a modification of the object itself in essence as well.

For anything to be released of this consistency, be free of the here and now clausule, it needs to change.

What causes an object to go from static to dynamic, from standing still to start moving? Technically speaking, the answer could be very elaborate and over-detailed. If you skip back through all the processes preceding the first step in the chain, you’ll get to it being just this tiny little thing, that stands at the begin of it all: the urge to will.

The only problem with willing, is that it doesn’t like to be forced. If it’s not there, you can’t just summon it. The wanting should be there and clear before beginning any movement, not the other way around. Don’t make wanting something a goal on it’s own. Your will is the means towards a goal that can get you further. Because standing still, doesn’t happen in this reality.

27

Some things I have to admit…

I love that you are 27. Although there are so many people of that age, I love the exact fact and the only way you are 27, as I already love how you will be 28 in a few months.
You have your very own special way in every thing.. Breathing, thinking, moving, talking.. In all essence so pure and beautiful, so effortless and gracious.

I love how I met you, how our story developed. Like a blossom opening in shyness, but reflecting nature’s power in all its brightness.
The water from rain feeding its growth, the light from the sun securing its strength. That is how our love reflects the entire universe in us together.

I feel blessed in full awareness and am thankful in solid gratitude, for you and all you bring to my life.
Every piece of calmth and wisdom, strength and shelter, warmth and safety. Our complementing harmony ..supplementing in synergy ..self evident as synchronicity.

Above all, most importantly and sincere.. Care, Love, Trust ..braided together by communication without fear.

I adore your effect on me, I admire your entire being. You are what I envision paradise to be, the reality to all I’ve been dreaming.
So fascinating, how you captivate me. So gravitating, how you elevate me. Without any doubt, the surest thing to hold on to, the realest one to count on.

When all else fails, I know I will always have faith in us, and when all else falls apart, I know I will always have our love.

Motion.

We are all, always, looking for things that don’t exist.
Truth, reality, love..

Idealistic illusions are those concepts in my view.
They are idealistic because we strive for them, driven solely by hope and faith for some better way of living and deeper insight in life itself.
They are illusions in the sense that they don’t actually appear in life. Abstract as they are, they can only be formed in the mind.
Being mere concepts therefore.

There is no reasonable ground to presume that any such thing as truth, reality or love actually exist.
The ideas we have about them, are nothing but a balanced calculation between hopes and desires on one side, fear and uncertainty on the other.

As well like views on luck and happiness, these formless unstructured notions of how the world might be and how life may or may not be organized, are simply gradual layers related to one another in a mental conceptual landscape that fits the imagination as well as it can operate in practise.
These visions of things and how things are in opposition to how they appear, are necessary for us to survive.

In a whole new scale of levelling, survival of the most well-adapted is still only a filter to create and stimulate motion.

Motion holds abruptly if there is no space to move into. Growth, development, evolution, however it gets downgraded to normative terms: All is in motion, constantly.
And in the same moment, there is also only ever here and now. This contradiction alone, is to me sufficient enough to believe there is no such thing as reasonable ground to any thing.
No matter how advanced our science or techniques may become, we as humans will always contradict ourselves in our finding, because we eternally continue seeking for more, deeper, further.

But in the end, there is no ultimate substance, no earliest beginning, no inevitable ending. The deepest, highest, most final answer or solution or explanation is the illusion so idealistic to us, that it keeps us looking, that keeps stimulating us to move forward, thus keep evolving. Therefore it is manditory for us to survive, to always continue looking for sense to be made in this world and life.

There is only motion… Even time and space only exist relatively to one another. Only now or never, only here and nothing, are sure entities. The rest will remain a mystery, but lucid enough to keep us moving towards it.

No Name

All I hear are my own footsteps, as I’m walking alone, thinking to find him in these empty streets. He doesn’t have a name, he doesn’t need one. Any name would only compromise his clarity, undo his figure.
I’ve only seen him a few times now. First I thought he was just a figment of my imaginative dreams. I found out he was real, when I saw him doing something which dreams are unable to do: appearing in my wake reality.
From then on I was amazed by this appearance, knowing it to feed my desire to connect with him on some level of resemblance. I used to watch him from a far, and cling to those brief moments, to then later on imagine what kind of person he could be, what kind of thoughts we might share, what kind of things he does in life, what kind of purpose he has been chasing.

One day I saw him in those empty streets, and for a short single second, I could swear, he glanced back at me ..for a moment.
For an instant we locked and connected and a rush of crushing waves flew through my body. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.
Locked away in a prison of my own makings, bars built of cognition, walls of emotional intellect. That is how I remain after I’ve been with or around him. It feels as though he tries to reach out to me, in attempt to gain access, seeking my response. Whenever he moves, it seems towards me. Whenever he speaks, it might be for my ears to hear. His eyes made to register my presence, every movement, any visible appearance. His hands designed to hold me in an embrace of sustaining grace.

Knowing whether it should be like that, I never will.
But faith does certain things to people. Faith which descended from my observation, the plausible interaction, our relation. Though not to be mistaken with ‘relationship’. Any bound or connection, even that which exist only from frequency or contiguity, can be called or referred to as a relation. Only thing necessary to construct a relation is at least one common factor, one feature that is alike.

As cause and consequence follow each other up like shackles of the same chain, so do we repeatedly approximate one another by time or distance. Like leafs in a twirl of spinning wind, we keep each other in eternal rotation. An endless game to play.

The ability to write…

Periods of time gone by, I only find myself now in the right place and time and most importantly in the position of ability to …write.
It’s hard to specify what makes it possible for me to write. What are the necessary factors that play a part in the proces of writing.

First of all, a certain sense of peace and rest, calmth and emptiness. Creativity and inspiration get killed by an overflow of information. Both visual as auditive noise can murder the flow of a thinker, a writer. Anything breaking the chain of concentration has to be diminished and eliminated in order to keep steady a stable progress.

It often occurs that one finds him- or herself in the right place and time and even ability to write a piece. The concentration flow has been sacredly kept save and isolated from any interference or ‘contra flow’. The creativity and inspiration seem close at hand, but somehow remain unreachable. Writers call it ‘writersblock’, although this term can also refer to not having any creativity or inspiration or whatsoever at all. I call this ‘flow lock’. All the right features are in place, the mental space filled with nothing but emptiness, calmth covers the senses. A river of creative cognition and intellectual inspiration is running through the mind rapidly. Until it hits a barrier, a large iron watergate. You can feel the creativity and inspiration bubble up and burst into the gate. But there seems no way to let it loose. Like a mime player, in an imaginary box. An enraged lion in a golden cage. A dancer whose legs got amputated. It feels like a handicap, a disability. Failure.

Failure means, making an attempt that turns out to be or become unsuccesful. Failure does not have to be taken negatively. Failure can be seen as the road to success: after falling off your bike a hundred times, the hundred-and-first time you manage to stay on it! Failure can also be seen as a process of learning: the experience you gain through the many failures you make, can be or become useful for other purposes. Generally, people link failure to a feeling of guilt. They somehow feel bad because they weren’t succesful. They thought they should or could have done better.

I think this sad ‘shoulda coulda woulda’ story is nothing but an excuse to the easy way out. Failure is the first step towards success. Without failure, success would not exist as it would not be distinguised as such. Without failure, every attempt, every action, every plan would be a success, because failure would simply not exist. And to be honest, not every attempt, action and plan is worth a success. Failure is necessary to learn, to grow, to be humble and greatful, to stay grounded and keep relativating. Seeing things in the right order and perspective clears the road to success. Practising and improving yourself continuously is the one purpose of failure.

Not being able to write, makes me able to write. The imaginary box, the golden cage, the iron gates and the amputated legs make me search myself thouroughly. It makes me investigate my mental skills, put them to the test and stretch their limits. The disability makes me ambitious. Ambitious to be able, be stable, be capable of doing what I want. Putting my creativity to product, injecting my inspiration into a project. Making dreams come to life, by keeping dreams alive inside. Reality begins and ends in the mind.

One can mentally kill or give birth to, neglect or nurse, destroy and destruct or enjoy and conduct any thing. And any thing mentally can be put to reality, through writing alone. Writing makes any idea, any concept, any lingering figment or thought a concrete thing. To read or learn, wonder about or teach. Language by itself, is the key to reality. And the writer…
The writer is the goldsmith that forged the key.