Peace is Self Control

I am alone. And I am happy. Reminds me of a Cat Stevens song. I have been alone before but I always desired something else. Someone else. The peace that this solitude has brought is empowering. Unbelievable. Do i dare believe it. My will is invincible. Like the love a father has for his son. Unwavering. 

As soon as you desire something it owns you. Conjurer of wicked ways. I’m on a rocking chair staring at the horizon watching the sunset. People don’t bother to look, can’t see it due to the conjecture in their minds or simply rely too much on pain as a muse allowing the beauty right in front of them to be seen as a hindrance. They shield their eyes from the glare of the sun.

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I can see the beauty through self control. Discipline is my diamond. Presence is my cherished mood. I can see clearly now the rain has gone… Desire is the rain. Standing firm in true belief and not to be shaken. Years ago I started a journey. To relinquish the indulgence that festered in my soul. That harnessed my spirit. That allowed venom to spring from the fountain of my heart.

Have i really vanquished the sinister demon dressed in red? With a poisonous smile and wretched, hollow, deathly insides. Luring me with a flickering gaze powerful enough to summon momentum akin to sunlight.

Battle scars are quick reminders. And freedom says nothing about memories. Can you walk again? With me hand in hand. Mind in Body. A sexual exorcism. A phoenix rising from the ashes.

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More intelligent reasons why one might seek solitude, he (Budda) said, included because one’s wants are modest (appicchataṃ), for contentment (santuṭṭhiṃ), so as to examine oneself (sallekhṃ), out of an appreciation for aloneness (pavivekaṃ) and because it can be helpful for spiritual growth (aṭṭhitam, A.III,219). Buddha said: ‘Monks, apply yourself to solitude. One who does so will see things as they are.’ http://www.buddhisma2z.com/content.php?id=493#sthash.hGTS5r2n.dpuf

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http://namoamitabha.ws/LifeOfShakyamuniBuddhaWithPictures.html

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Reading my eulogy – Writing my obituary

I’m saying goodbye

to the lonely eyes

that have captured

the colours on my wall for too many a tear.

I’m tasting lucid rain

spinning and drowning in fame

while i hold your hand

’till you tire and hold mine again when i’m old and feared

But i’m saying goodbye

to wanton thoughts

the pain of desire

can lay rested in the corpse of many tears

I have seen the makeshift emotion spread across your face

The falsity reeks and I can’t see you anymore.

Just hold my hand until i’m old, wise and childish

Because i’m saying goodbye to you my old friend

The path is clear, austere in direction, 

I’ll make sure you can hold my hand

Until i have to let go, but i won’t want to

I promise you that.

hand

 

 

Welcome to mid life crisis

I’ve just arrived here to the capital of midlife crisis, a place visited by many, advertised a lot but I couldn’t find any positive reviews. The trip took over 30 years and I enjoyed most parts of it, just not the sequences where i’m sitting down.  It’s hot in places it shouldn’t be and vacant where it should be filled. As much as it makes me feel uncomfortable, the spectrum of this new unknown has left me feeling sickly coy. I role this jewel in my hands i dare not look at, like a scared Gollum, it’s just too bright. I think no one knows what i hold and I giggle at my selfish insight.

I have asked myself  improbable questions and if I discover the answers it will be subject to change, criticism and critique forever. Forever being defined by about forty years, give or take. Unless my soul attaches itself to another entity to be reborn. I’m not counting on it but i like the notion.

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Now presenting the ‘mid’ in the motion picture ‘mid-life’ starring a man on his first day in the same world.

Who Am I?  What Defines Me? Why Am I Here?

I am a product of parental manufacture. A unique result of reproduction. I am branded. I am defined by my parents and their personalities and behaviours.

I am a product of western environment. A spoiled, ruthless quest at satisfaction. I am the victim. I am defined by my residence, bank account and clothes i choose to wear.

I am here to reproduce.

Conformity

Now what.

Is anyone’s self description accurate? Or just clouded by the arrogant or detrimental smoke swallowing a self perceived class in society?

We are defined by others through our actions. We define ourselves by our thoughts. Who i am changes pending my mood. Who they think i am changes pending my behaviour.

Curiosity is a cruel trick replayed at every instance, but why? Maybe the jester can see us and laughs constantly at our obsessions. I would.

What legacy do i want to leave? Normally they last about three generations, i do not know my great grandfather’s name or what he stood for. I want to leave a good legacy. A legacy my son is proud of.

I have checked in at this hotel i have never seen and stayed at one thousand times before. Inner peace is being advertised on television and i regret not booking that trip instead. I hope i’m not here very long, I enjoy aspects of this trip, but i find myself sitting down a lot.

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I am happy to have this trick up my sleeve. It is helping define myself… or maybe it isn’t.

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RTD

But I like the dark…

Why do we like the dark? I like it because any such status or accomplishment is stripped away and i can  feel who i am. I am alone. I compare it to the womb. I am comfortable here

Some people are afraid of the dark. It is with us for half our lives, i believe it should be embraced. The dark leads to insight. There is no stimulation there. My dark is silent.

I understand the correlation between the dark and malevolence. I don’t want to leave. Here i am safe. Here i can see you but you cannot see me. Here i am in control. Here the voices won’t touch me. Not my voice, but yours.

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There is a spell in the words we speak. Twisted and splintered in each syllable and verb. If someone you admire compliments you it can resonate like sunburn. If they choose the malevolent path, it can leave you retching from the pit of your stomach, like food poisoning. We can poison each other. We are all conjurers of sound and message. I can understand your message even if i choose not to hear it. I will hear it if I am still attached. Attached to this life.

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But I like the dark. I would spend hours waiting in a cupboard for my mother to find me. I would put things in front of me and test her intuition when she opened the doors. At a very young age i was in control when I was there. This is what my mind has become. My life takes place here. There.

 

Tomorrow. Only Tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow. See you tomorrow.

salif

 

Old Friend

Hello my old friend,

 

You have raped and pillaged in far away lands and now you’ve returned to me. Was it an illusion that lead me here, rolling the same thoughts through my mind like a man spilling a coin over his fingers, to balance on his thumb and watch it cascade down his knuckles again.

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I have murderous hands. Like pythons they constrict sharply. I want to give you the burial you deserve. But I’m saddened by the probable reality that you will rest with me.  Until my heart stops it’s echo through my chest. I will carry you as a scarred cloak, only putting you on when a threat exists. That could constrict my heart.

 

And herein lies the problem. The threat has always existed. The threat was never there.  Do we not care what people think? I would love a different answer. But the torturous thoughts did not spawn from my environment alone. And guilt quickly follows the guilty. Like a dog.

 

I desire isolation. I dream of it. I have a choice. I have backed myself into life’s corner. Not my own. I am not happy here. The one’s i unconsciously worry about are nothing to me. They are people i do not respect. It is their behaviour. I am not respected. That is due to having a personality. You cannot deny success. It is midnight.  I feel like i have to pick a fight to regain lost ground.

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Is it that i doubt myself. Or maybe their behaviour inspires me to do so. To question who i am. It is. If i choose not to question myself and increase my level of honesty and it’s delivery. I will not play their game. I will play mine.

 

This is my test. It truly only matters what my son thinks. Whether i care about what they think doesn’t matter. After everything i have achieved. If I do not question myself then my life is my own. Don’t waiver.

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