I was born to be a follower,
No,
responsibility is not a skill to be trained or maintained
so shift blame
from my shoulders, help me stave off this boulder
of burden.
If the doors open I'll surely walk in, but I need a leader for this process to begin.
And it's not just any leader that's worthy to follow,
any pill that i'll swallow, or any party we'll all go
to support.
Suppose this individual with influence infinite should be in it to win it,
not spin it to emit half-truths of bull spit with the goal of opressing all who submit.
Not just any who will lead is worthy to follow.
But yet, with the path well worn do I continue to trace tracks set before me.
With a naive joy do I embrace the same ploy,
cause to lead isn't in me, and I've got to follow somebody.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Wheel Keeps Spinning
The sky contains more joy than I'll know.
Or at least, it feels that way sometimes. As if off in the distance there's this untapped location stowing away all the happiness I'm short of experiencing, and to attend this place would be to experience freedom from frustration and sorrow. I don't want to run from worry, I want to face it head on. Yet, to face it with the confidence I know I'll one day be capable of mustering seems like the poetic thing to await. Yet, there is no barrier between the dissatisfaction I feel now and the joyous emotion of this future place. I am the only thing in my way, and I am crippling myself with the distant goal by ever placing it several feet beyond my reach.
It's the image of a hamster on a running wheel that best characterizes this position we find ourselves in. Always working, sometimes pushing extra hard, as if the effort we put in on that wheel will bring us any closer to this joy. Maybe running is your passion, and an end in itself, but if you're spinning the wheel with the hopes that one day something changes, it's time to get off it and step on more solid ground. Why is it that we accept where we are, and sit around with hope that something will alter our condition if we just wait for it. I'm not saying we should be without hope. Rather, we should engage in hope, let it be an active position and allow ourselves to seek out fulfillment rather than wait for it to come to us.
When I die, I want to die a happy man. Would I be disappointed if I died tomorrow? Yes, probably. Why? Because there's so much stuff I haven't done yet. Not because I'm not a happy man, but because there are all these other goals unspoken yet fully entrenched in my being. If you gave me twenty four hours to live, I'd reflect deeply and use that time for great things. I'd die tired. And yet, here I sit, perfectly aware that my time is limited, and perfectly content to stockpile my energy as I spin the wheel and wait for signs of impending danger. Even though I'm aware of this predicament, it's a tough first step to take.
Or at least, it feels that way sometimes. As if off in the distance there's this untapped location stowing away all the happiness I'm short of experiencing, and to attend this place would be to experience freedom from frustration and sorrow. I don't want to run from worry, I want to face it head on. Yet, to face it with the confidence I know I'll one day be capable of mustering seems like the poetic thing to await. Yet, there is no barrier between the dissatisfaction I feel now and the joyous emotion of this future place. I am the only thing in my way, and I am crippling myself with the distant goal by ever placing it several feet beyond my reach.
It's the image of a hamster on a running wheel that best characterizes this position we find ourselves in. Always working, sometimes pushing extra hard, as if the effort we put in on that wheel will bring us any closer to this joy. Maybe running is your passion, and an end in itself, but if you're spinning the wheel with the hopes that one day something changes, it's time to get off it and step on more solid ground. Why is it that we accept where we are, and sit around with hope that something will alter our condition if we just wait for it. I'm not saying we should be without hope. Rather, we should engage in hope, let it be an active position and allow ourselves to seek out fulfillment rather than wait for it to come to us.
When I die, I want to die a happy man. Would I be disappointed if I died tomorrow? Yes, probably. Why? Because there's so much stuff I haven't done yet. Not because I'm not a happy man, but because there are all these other goals unspoken yet fully entrenched in my being. If you gave me twenty four hours to live, I'd reflect deeply and use that time for great things. I'd die tired. And yet, here I sit, perfectly aware that my time is limited, and perfectly content to stockpile my energy as I spin the wheel and wait for signs of impending danger. Even though I'm aware of this predicament, it's a tough first step to take.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Poemish
My heart breaks at a distance for the cries of injustice.
With apathy does it receive hurt and cringe at emotional distress.
Like the hurt of a phantom limb, its mourning for the loss of unity and wholeness
undercuts my understanding of the purpose original design.
Like the reception of an estranged child, its comprehension not prepared
for the overflow of tears and overwhelming reception of someone else's pain.
Characterizing the problems of nature in terms of
Synthetic simile, I force myself to grasp at the concept of empathy.
Coming up empty, I straddle the gap between trenches of compassion and indifference,
striving to discover a place amongst the fallen.
The obligation of support and audacity of ignorance contrasting both sides,
I remain struggling with the call to love as I love myself.
In light, a love of self is that of reflection.
Channeling the grace of agape into self-worth, I begin to comprehend.
Yet, beneath the dark clouds of the fallen world, rays of light are distorted.
In darkness, I see no part worthy of love.
It is within this existence, torn between ignorance and support,
that I desire to share the burden of heartache, and reject the objective lense for true understanding.
With apathy does it receive hurt and cringe at emotional distress.
Like the hurt of a phantom limb, its mourning for the loss of unity and wholeness
undercuts my understanding of the purpose original design.
Like the reception of an estranged child, its comprehension not prepared
for the overflow of tears and overwhelming reception of someone else's pain.
Characterizing the problems of nature in terms of
Synthetic simile, I force myself to grasp at the concept of empathy.
Coming up empty, I straddle the gap between trenches of compassion and indifference,
striving to discover a place amongst the fallen.
The obligation of support and audacity of ignorance contrasting both sides,
I remain struggling with the call to love as I love myself.
In light, a love of self is that of reflection.
Channeling the grace of agape into self-worth, I begin to comprehend.
Yet, beneath the dark clouds of the fallen world, rays of light are distorted.
In darkness, I see no part worthy of love.
It is within this existence, torn between ignorance and support,
that I desire to share the burden of heartache, and reject the objective lense for true understanding.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Ramble ramble...
When will the time come that sees me appreciating what I have? When will it be time to sacrifice my desires for those of the people around me? When will it become a reality that can no longer be overlooked or delayed? What will it take for me to realize that urgency is not some distant concept but something that can be lived out everyday?
I wish I had these answers. It's easy to say that the reason I struggle in the world is the world, and that I'd do much better if I was isolated away from the pressures and distractions of society. I'm not sure how truthful this all is, but it sure is easy to say. I suppose this is my problem with running away, as I've yet to see the destination where troubles aren't permitted, and ran past exhaustion is search of a solution. I know I'm supposed to struggle, I know I'd much rather be on the end of adversity than that of simplicity. Yet, it'd be nice to have a balance.
Despite these rantings, I think fulfillment is found not in what one does for the self, but what can be done for others. While not exactly profound, it's something that I need to be reminded of. I'm bored in an existence that fails to branch beyond the thoughts of my mind. Excitement is in the unpredictability of interaction.
It'd take loss, by the way...one realizes wasted potential after the opportune moment has passed. To look back not with memories but regrets is the sentence for idle behaviour. I like to think I live without regrets, but sure wish I had more memories.
I wish I had these answers. It's easy to say that the reason I struggle in the world is the world, and that I'd do much better if I was isolated away from the pressures and distractions of society. I'm not sure how truthful this all is, but it sure is easy to say. I suppose this is my problem with running away, as I've yet to see the destination where troubles aren't permitted, and ran past exhaustion is search of a solution. I know I'm supposed to struggle, I know I'd much rather be on the end of adversity than that of simplicity. Yet, it'd be nice to have a balance.
Despite these rantings, I think fulfillment is found not in what one does for the self, but what can be done for others. While not exactly profound, it's something that I need to be reminded of. I'm bored in an existence that fails to branch beyond the thoughts of my mind. Excitement is in the unpredictability of interaction.
It'd take loss, by the way...one realizes wasted potential after the opportune moment has passed. To look back not with memories but regrets is the sentence for idle behaviour. I like to think I live without regrets, but sure wish I had more memories.
Imperfection...
Our love is imperfect,
It's messy, unplanned, unfinished, and slightly off-centre. It may be constant, but its presence is subverted and hidden by obligation and routine. We fight for every inch of ground only to realize we're standing on eachother's toes. We argue so deeply that we drown ourselves in trivial confusions. We overshare, and leave things unsaid. We grow too close, and then counterbalance by placing great distances between us. We are on the process of perfection, aware of our distant proximity from any semblance of it in our lives. Yet, as you remind me, beauty can be found in the asymmetrical.
Our eyes are drawn not to the things which are mirror images, but those which stand apart. My most vivid mental images are incomparable to the true beauty of the world. I'm incapible of envisioning anything truly unique, something representing natural beauty. I can recreate what I've already seen, but there is no capturing the essence of a sight by simply reproducing it in my mind. We're always looking at what we think is beautiful, but never questioning the lack of fulfillment we experience. Always wanting more, growing tired of those things which our minds have grasped, we require more than we're capable of providing for ourselves.
And so, when I realize just how imperfect our love is, it's with these things in mind that I can find joy. Though our love is not an ideal, though we're not the manifestation of perfection, I am satisfied. Not satisfied as in "that sandwich was satisfying." No, satisfied as in I need not look further for happiness. I need not look upon the perfection in others with envy or yearning. I am imperfect, I am in love, and though I'd love to be perfect in my submission, I am incapable of perfect love. I am capable of admitting my shortcomings, I am capable of accepting my faults and I am certainly capable of trying to overcome. I work every day to better myself not with the hopes of perfecting our love, I work with the hopes that we both need not look any further. I work to give you the love you deserve. Even when you don't see me, I work to capture and hold on to your beauty for the moments where our imperfection is showing.
It's messy, unplanned, unfinished, and slightly off-centre. It may be constant, but its presence is subverted and hidden by obligation and routine. We fight for every inch of ground only to realize we're standing on eachother's toes. We argue so deeply that we drown ourselves in trivial confusions. We overshare, and leave things unsaid. We grow too close, and then counterbalance by placing great distances between us. We are on the process of perfection, aware of our distant proximity from any semblance of it in our lives. Yet, as you remind me, beauty can be found in the asymmetrical.
Our eyes are drawn not to the things which are mirror images, but those which stand apart. My most vivid mental images are incomparable to the true beauty of the world. I'm incapible of envisioning anything truly unique, something representing natural beauty. I can recreate what I've already seen, but there is no capturing the essence of a sight by simply reproducing it in my mind. We're always looking at what we think is beautiful, but never questioning the lack of fulfillment we experience. Always wanting more, growing tired of those things which our minds have grasped, we require more than we're capable of providing for ourselves.
And so, when I realize just how imperfect our love is, it's with these things in mind that I can find joy. Though our love is not an ideal, though we're not the manifestation of perfection, I am satisfied. Not satisfied as in "that sandwich was satisfying." No, satisfied as in I need not look further for happiness. I need not look upon the perfection in others with envy or yearning. I am imperfect, I am in love, and though I'd love to be perfect in my submission, I am incapable of perfect love. I am capable of admitting my shortcomings, I am capable of accepting my faults and I am certainly capable of trying to overcome. I work every day to better myself not with the hopes of perfecting our love, I work with the hopes that we both need not look any further. I work to give you the love you deserve. Even when you don't see me, I work to capture and hold on to your beauty for the moments where our imperfection is showing.
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