It

We push it away, shove it down so that nobody can see it. It’s not there if I don’t look at it. But like the refuse we refuse to expel it festers and rots. And soon enough you cannot deny its presence any longer. You have no choice but to rip it out from the walls that you’ve entombed it in. Rip it out, piece by piece. Until you're left face to face with only you and it. Face it. Or forever let it remain. Face it, or build your home on top of unsteady ground and pray that one day it won’t collapse. 

Don't ask me. You know what it is.

Entropy of Meaning

We are all products of dysfunction.

Symbiosis congealed from the very essence of entropy; of order broken by intransigent chaos.

Existence manifested from improbability.

To find meaning is to find substance in a vacuum.

To summon faith within the shadow of nihilism.

So my friend, it is necessary to weigh your thoughts upon the brevity of life, to be a reticent seeker of reason, of hope.

For in the end solipsism reigns and your journey is your own.

I am what I am

 

I am what I am

We hear it all the time. Oh, I just have an anxious personality. I’m just an angry person. It’s not my fault, I was just born that way.

We accept this as reality, a softly spoken lie grafted into our psyche, telling ourselves this is just who we are. Unalterable. Just me. We embrace it, like we would our hair color or the hue of our skin. I am what I am. And if that keeps the world at bay, then so be it, I’ll remain, a martyr to my own perception.

You are not alone.

We all “believe” these truths as such. But you are not what the world has fashioned you to be. We all experience anger. Fear. Anxiety. Shame. Loneliness. Regret. Sadness. We have all bore witness to the power they appear to hold. But unlike those feelings, you will outlast.

Only you can decide if they will become you.

For the tendrils of those emotions run fathoms deep, rooted in the bedrock of your mind. Bound to those pivotal moments when life convinced you that you were what you were.

Stop.

I am what I am.

Stop.

You are who you want to be.

I am a happy person. Do I feel anger? Of course. Do I feel despair? Of course. I am human. It’s those feelings that help us communicate. But I realize they are just feelings. They are not who I am.

I am what I chose to be.


 

 

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Nothing to see but everything to feel.
Find where your burdens lay and let them give rise to cause.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Close your eyes and just listen.
Behold that infinite space within, created unbound, yet placed within walls.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Match pace with the here and now.
It's all that we have, this moment upon eternity's chest.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Find peace in the stillness of self.
For you are but the essence of life and death.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Often my loudest thoughts arise from serenity.
They break the surface of tepid waters to alters ones perception.
S c a t t e r e d ripples that shake eternity.
For light won't glisten without imperfections.

Clenched teeth. Eyes ablaze with tempered thoughts, the stillness bares the silence like a crimson cloak. One breathe, slow and steady, fills the room with an uneasy chord, plucked from an over-torqued wire, spun steel wound into the core. The dull thrum begins to settle into the silence like black into night, never to vanish, only to remain unseen. For physics tells us that nothing ever goes away, and that the substance of the void commands the entire universe. 

Nothing is ever nothing.