Breath of IT

Each time I am staring at a blank surface I wonder, what is it now?

Can I tap into another Form without copying my previous work? It is as if I am trying to erase my own memory for a few moments to try and understand in a different light. All the time.

Imagine an old gramophone, needle stuck in a groove, loopy, same passage over and over.

Forgotten.


Like a rat in a cage, or a dog chasing its own tail. It’s never enough. Never enough.

Fragments of thoughts and sensations enter through a small crack. Whispers.

Why are you running?

What are you chasing?

“Freedom, I suppose.”

The absurdity of my words hit me hard, as if bouncing off a neutral surface, somewhere on the verges of my own wit.

“What kind of freedom are you chasing?”

It doen’t make sense anymore.

Freedom exists in naturalness, in being spontaneous.

Which is fueled by curiosity.

A curiosity that is born out of a willingness to take risks and pay for them too.

(at least, this is one way to put it)

“Be careful though, you might get caught.”

The rat sliently shifts in its cage, a feeling of discomfort growing within.

“Nobody must see”.

They will see. They will know.

Whomever watches, knows.

Those who watch will appreciate verity from a place far beyond comprehension.

It is a kind of inner recognition.

Inner-outer recognition.

It rouses in a faint gloom, awoken by a breeze, then a murmur.

Slowly increasing in magnitude, sound grows ever more obvious.

It goes on for a while, streching into a blare until it becomes unbearable.

“Gotta run.” -the intention is to escape.

Feels like there is no hope though, no way out.

All limits of common sense have been exceeded.

All logical explanations have been exhausted.

Either way I look at it, I see fear masked by idealism and a false sense of justice and fellowship.

There must be another way!

We cannot keep spinning the same wheels. Not anymore.

The gramphone suddenly stops spinning and an awkward silence fills the room.

A silence without borders.

A silence that consumes any modulation.

Hold it now, just hold it.

Don’t kill time, be patient.

With patience comes rebirth in a very natural way.

With that comes intricacy and progress, and that is,

Novelty (that fulfills a longing for originality).

You gotta have a little trust.

Things always work out - or better say,

Maybe you work them out.

Figure it.

Take your time.

Do it at a level that cannot be dismissed anymore.

Find the common denominator and act it out.

Connect the dots.

“Connection.”

And constant action that may seem repetitive, still, one step ahead of you.

So but, if it is one step ahead of me, always,

I cannot keep chasing it.

I will never reach it.

I can observe it though, and go along.

Create!

This is how we collect fragment of ourselves.

A career, I thought. A position. A salary, a safe move. Settling down in an environment that will provide me with everything I need,

Provided I fulfilled my duties without questioning its accuracy and integrity.

But a wheel has stopped working and a cry for reality has been released.

-I know this is a tall tale;

Tell me, this;

This is not the way you presented it!

It doesn’t make sense.

“If I look closer, I think I can fit through those bars.”

A soft stir, a masterful performance,

and a shadow finally creeps out of the scene and out,

Out into a new world.

The sweet flavor of fantasy!

It tastes like a kind of freedom no one can spoil.

It’s there, pure,

It exists at the fringes of a monotnous mind.

It diligently fabricates infinite variations.

Anything, really,

Anything that may or may not be feasible.

Solutions to meet hard times and make the most out of

Any circumstance.

“But without this playing with fantasy no creative work has ever yet come to birth.

The debt we owe to the play of imagination is incalculable.”*

 (this, along with synthesis, and development)

Study. Discipline.

But above all, I am the dreamer, and you are my dream.

I can see you in my mind’s eye and for a fraction of a second, you make sense.

All of this makes sense and,

Everything is perfect just the way it is.

It’s not about the world, it’s about you.

There are so many things to consider and for that, we need capacity.

Guilt occupies a portion of our lives that is far too great.

We need to make more space.

Starting from scratch, or,

Reflecting upon the world with a dinamic approach.

But there is nothing new, everything has, does, and will exist all the time just as is,

Re-arranging and

Re-adjusting data, repeatedly.

“But then, where is the Novelty I have worshipped?”

It is in the manner continuity and rebirth plays out,

a stream of beigness flowing through cycles.

Division plays a great part. It’s the same particle dividing into eternity,

Taking shape of whatever is necessary.

But anyways. How is this of any help?

Maybe it is useful in recognizing patterns and cycles

and accepting any outcome as being a result of those patterns.

It is still, a question of resonance, of harmony and disharmony,

Crescendo and diminuendo.

Like a giant breath.

Beyond this is an intricate maze of textures, matter and movement.

And beyond this,

I don’t know.


*C. G. Jung, The Problem of Types in the History of Classical and Medieval Thought, Chapter I