thoughts are like water, they flow from each to the next, they come, they leave, they return cyclical sometimes, influenced by all the other thoughts you had in the meantime. if they were notes, they'd be scribbles, dashed and rewritten a thousand times.
but you know, i'm a little tired of all of this secret language.
this is where i'll dump my thoughts, like a blog, but not quite. they won't be left in order: i leave it to the machine to decide which thought to show you every time you come here. they won't be stagnant: if i ever feel like a thought is wrong, incomplete, or somehow doesn't align with what's in my mind, i won't hesitate to change them. there will be no dates and no time. all that will be here is what comes to me at the time it comes me how it comes to me.
the secret language is here because i don't want to use lifeless, dead and dessicated words like those used by academics. i'm tired of talking in those words.
some time ago, i don't know how long ago, it doesn't matter, i picked up a hoe
all i did that time was cover up a hole. it was nothing spectacular, nothing deep in some way, but for some reason i can't help but remember it.
the hoe wasn't industrial, it was deeply human. every bit of it felt human. the handle was rough and misshapen, with bumps and indentations. the wood wasn't polished or clean. the blade was just like the handle. misshapen, irregular, half broken, half loose. it would slide off if you held it wrong, but if you used it, it would stay right in place. it was rusted but not unusable.
and i don't know what happened, but using it didn't feel strange. i'm not going to pretend like i have some deep inner knowledge and i'm sure i have no technique, but it was fun. perhaps because it was something i did for no particular reason, but it felt fun. i don't think i can go beyond that right now.
i've been thinking about starting to grow some vegetables on my own lately...
i've relegated myself to english in this world of digital
and i don't think i'm ready to bring my mother tongue into this place yet. i tried, but for some reason, it felt deeply wrong, it felt deeply frustrating. like i was forcing something, like it wasn't natural. i don't think there's anything unnatural about it, but i won't do it if it feels wrong...
so for now, this place will only be populated by my english thoughts.
i used to have a friend. he's called Graú Graú
i used to know the story by heart, i used to love it. all i know now is it was about a baby polar bear, a young boy and his older sister, all north in the land of the eskimos. they were lost, and they journied together to return home. they grew close, and they loved eachother. and the bear was called Graú Graú.
i lost the friend. i used to see life in him, i used to see love, i used to see a shoulder i could cry on, someone i could trust. i knew he was real, i knew he loved me and i loved him back. but then something happened. over time, something happened. i stopped seeing life, i stopped seeing my friend. i stopped seeing the one i could trust. it all became just a memory. i could never truly say goodbye to Graú Graú, but i didn't give him much thought. i'm devastated how much i was hardened.
i think i have a friend again. he still comes with me wherever i live, so he's been watching me, silent, patient. he knew something all along. he was always there. in meditation, i remembered him. i picked him up, i tucked him with me. i hugged him, he hugged me. it was warm in a way i haven't felt in a long time. it was loving. i have no words. i can't stop crying.
i can't stop crying. i can't stop crying. he wipes my tears, but i can't stop crying. i have a friend again, a friend i betrayed, a friend i deemed unworthy, who was always there, he was always there.
the feeling of a paw of a furry friend, a hug, is nothing short of indescribable, but i'm going to try.
lying in bed, the mind a whirl, the left side of the head aches a little, palpitates. on the shoulders, weighing, is a future you don't own, that you feel being sapped away with each passing day.. the passions of the day before are numbed, not gone, but on the verge of being forgotten. what had just given meaning the last time the sun was in the sky seems like the impossibility of a child's imagination. perhaps you didn't even want it. the cynicism is back and the connection you've been trying to build shakes, almost collapses. the timid and scared mission leaves you. i know these feelings very well. the blanket beneath feels like its part of a ritual, that there's two inside of you, and somehow that cloth that was hidden away in a closet that wasn't opened in years brings out one of those that seemed to be far away. now it's closer. you feel compelled to love and see life. you don't want to let it go.
you tried to merge two worlds together, but that left you in a limbo. a state of permanent doubt. confusion whirls and howls and painful questions abound, louder and louder. you can't escape either world. one of them surrounds you, traps you, wants to dominate. the other comes from inside, screams and yells because it doesn't want to be held captive. you are dominated.
and then, lying in bed, the mind a whirl, the left of the head aches a little, palpitates. on your side, your furry friend, a voice and it comes closer. it loves you, it's your friend. it won't let you go. sometimes it speaks through you, but this time it acts through you. it gives you space, it quells the confusion. the passions are back, the meaning isn't lost, nothing is impossible anymore. the ritual wasn't undone. you still love and still see life. the mission is back. still timid and scared, but back nonetheless.
the connection wasn't lost. all i did was pet myself with my plushie.
i'm going to lay clear what i have in mind for myself.
first. i don't think the hopeful revolution is going to come. second. revolutions only change the head of leviathan. perhaps if something happens it can prove me wrong. i hope it does.
to me, fighting the adult world isn't an option. to me, the only option is community and withdrawal. withdrawal where? i don't know. the adult world is everywhere, its tentacles and its fangs spread as far as its cargo ships and armies reach. but i do believe the time of global adult world is near its end. earth is angry. earth has been angry for a while, and in many places, the adult world is already weak. in many more, it's weakening. my only hope is that as it comes crashing down, it doesn't burn itself to cinders. earth isn't going to kill nearly as many living beings as the collapsing adult world is capable of.
so i bide my time. earth probably won't be too angry where i live for a generation, perhaps two. the adult world will survive for a while longer and perhaps i won't get to see the flames. instead, my mission is to release my child, reforge the connection to earth i was denied, retrieve whatever culture i can from those willing to be my kin and pass it down in community.
that sounds big, but i don't think it is. i know my land, so i know where to start. the connection to earth and the release of the child are intertwined, and they're deeply internal. i want to learn the speech of the trees, i want to learn the colours of the earth and bring to a paper that i've learned to make, marked with a brush that i've learned to make, i want to learn the secret herbs and the secrets they hide. i want to learn of all the gifts earth has to give.
i want to shatter the armor that binds me, that makes me shameful of my body, that makes me shameful of my creation, that makes me doubt whether or not i'm creating the 'right things' in the 'right way'. i want to shatter the armor that makes me cynical. i want to shatter the armor that makes me silent. i want to shatter the armor that makes me scared whenever i see a closed door or a piece of writing or a fence or a wall. i want to shatter the armor that makes me bow to things i despise. i want to shatter it all. community is best to help shatter that armor.
i want to talk to my grandmother, i want her to pass to me the skills she was taught. i want to hear her stories again. i want to hear her lessons again. i want to dive as deep as i can and i want to share time, and i want to share space. i want to listen and drink from this past that i've almost entirely forgot. i ran for good reason, i forgot for good reason, but i feel the need to come back to it. i want to revive the old mysticisms that were lost to the dark flames of the inquisition.
i want to help people connect, the people who are my kin, the people who are willing to be my kin. the people who are willing to open themselves and to help. i don't know how i'm going to do this, but i'll find a way.
this is my mission. perhaps it'll ebb and it'll flow like the river, but this is what i find ahead of me right now. i'm terrified. i don't know if i can do it, but right now, it can't hurt to try.
i've been thinking about 'what i create. . .'
and i've decided that it's gone. 'what i create. . .' is nothing but my thoughts brought to the material or to the digital. and thus, my creation won't be ever put in a separate category, but instead be interweaved within the thoughts.
it feels right, it feels less like a pressure to me. it feels more true.
about the whispers...
i've been trying to get them to work, but it's really hard. the whispers are the whispers of all the uniques that come here, that see, that present themselves, but unfortunately, my skill with the programming things is really not all that great. i can do some basic things, some pretty things, but the whispers have been proving to be a challenge bigger than i initially thought, and one that's been very fun to face.
and i love it.
in time. . .
i wake up
sadly, i wake up to the timed whims of work imposed on me. but they don't matter yet. lying, hugging, warm and tender, whether sleep or awake blends into a mix of both, a drift between both worlds. the sheets and the pillow and all around me are all i feel. the wet and warm texture of the sheets, the furry feel of the towel beneath me, the layers of clothes over me. the warm tip of the nose, the warm tip of the fingers, the warm back of the hand. the grip on my friend, one of the few living beings in this place. the cold doesn't touch here. eventually, i wake, i get up.
before, i woke up in connection. before, there was an urge, a red light in my mind the moment the alarm sounded. i drifted back and forth, but when i woke, the red light was there. it was always a number, it was always an anxiety. what must i check, what must i do. the world was at my fingertips when i woke and i was never accompanied, but i was never alone. it's not easy to describe the kind of connection of a thing like the internet, of a machine like a smartphone. eventually, the anxieties of waking up to the red circles become normal. the connection feels worth it. i can know everything.
but i can't.
i am required, forced, to keep a smartphone, but i am not forced to keep the connection. i give disconnecting a shot. no more of anything besides the strictly necessary communications. next morning, when the alarm sounds, i am alone. i am lost. all i have is myself, my body, my sensations, my feelings, my thoughts, my spirits, my will less tethered. but i don't feel it. i am alone that morning. it's terrifying. i don't have anything to check besides myself. the thoughts in my mind swirl confused, no answers given to them. my eyes don't know where to look. my hands don't know what to do.
but over time - and it doesn't take much time, i can count the days in my fingers - it passes. i wake up with myself, with my body, with my sensations, my feelings, my thoughts and my spirits, with my will less tethered. over time i come to understand that the swirls of my thoughts are fears, that they too pass when the heart comes to the here and the now. over time i come to understand i was never alone, that there's life all around me, even if, just like me, it has been maimed and controlled. my eyes don't fear now. they know there is no need to look anywhere. they look everywhere. they see the light creeping through the blinds, they see the beautiful glows, they see the wonderful whites of the walls, the textures that call for touch. my hands don't fear anymore. they know there is no need to do. they touch when they feel compelled, they feel the touch deeply. i am no longer lost. i am no longer afraid. i am no longer alone.
for the brief moment of drifting between worlds, lying, hugging, warm and tender, i live for myself.