Skip to main content

Featured

Scrambled cities: If you're not gonna do the work(on your soul), then you might as well work til you die

 There are two tiers in normal life. Those who are survive and those who thrive.  But nothing is a mistake in life: Nothing comes by chance. You have to prepare for it.  If you thought life was about making money and beating out the Jones's, you've lost already.  Life is: Desire for connection. All unhealthy competition is isolating. We live in an isolated-enough world already. This connection comes from a surprising place: Self-acceptance. A lot of us need to go back to the classroom. A lot of us need to take a silent breather and check in with what we need. This takes serious work. It's the real work. It relies on respect for others and self-respect.  A lot of people in the self-help community try to push the self aside: Manning up is the only side of it they see. But there are certain non-negotiables in this life. Certain things we can't cheat ourselves out of. We are not a piece of meat being acted on.    However, this is where God comes in. Some o...
Post a Comment
Read more

Life above the surface.

Hopelessness always presents itself as an open door
But entering it only delays the journey. I was stuck
Under currents that made me deaf, and did not expect
Ever to awake. But here I am. And my true self is not
Answerable to even the most professional of doubters.

Here I am. Held above the surface by my own resolve
The way poets and romantics of old had once done.
Who in their right minds would see me differently?
Yet Saturday, I was a maniac carting his own corpse.
A spiritless machine who doubts his lifeblood dreams.

Life in the open streets will not care for my name,
Perhaps. But life does not reject me either. I had always seen
The sour way that others look as an open rejection letter.
Yet, maybe this is only society in rejection of itself.
Hope is never lost as long as one is available to see it.

I talked to a hairdresser on Saturday, who opened her
Whole being to scrutiny. Did I feel guilty for being closed?
Of course. Even afterwards. There was a glow about her
That admitted me to dine with her like a heavenly disciple
even while her friends looked on. But this little journey

Had to end, like all good things. And I even cried
After leaving the place, to know how I must once again
Venture into the world that cared not for my soul nor
Even believed that it could communicate with another.

Postmodernism kills
All good things, but we are not machines.

Comments

Post a Comment