a friend told me to stop thinking. and just feel and enjoy the moment.
for some times, it works.
for other times, when i feel nothing for it, and i think nothing of it, would i be nothing to it? and conversely, will it become nothing to me?
ah, nothingness. a buddhist tenet. sometimes, i thought i would be a buddhist monk. renounce the ties of earthly pleasures, and release myself of guilt and pain. and many a times, thought it might actually be worth it. afterall, i just run away from the first sight of danger, of threat. i just run away. and after the run, i will for a brief period forget what happened, and be left with deep breaths, a sweaty body and an adrenaline rush.
ah running. that's what i do. every sun, tues and thurs, at least. i run in the sun, i run in the rain. i run with people, i run alone. i run when i am happy, i run when i am sad. i run when i am healthy, i run when my knee hurts. i run, i run, i run. is life a race? where i just have to keep running? when can i stop? take a break? when i halt this cycle of neverending step after step after step? can i? should i? can i swim instead?
that's what it sometimes is. a bore. a cycle. the same thing again and again and again. the pleasures, the hurting, the highs, the agony. of being there, of being somewhere else. of being chosen, of being left behind. of proving, of more proving. of caring, of neglecting. of remembering, of forgetting. of abandonment, of slavish obedience. of loyalty, of blindness. of doing it for whom, and of doing it for what.
in my groggy mind of tiredness, i carry a burden. a burden of burdens. one i have only heaped upon myself. in my weary body of weaknesses, i dig a grave. a deep grave of burrowed minutes and hours and days and months. in this grave, i shall fall in with the weight upon my back, descending into the mani-folds of forgotten time.
death. it shouldn't be something to be feared with all one's life. it would deter one from living. being alone. it shouldn't be a driving force for life. it would stop one from understand the self. anger. it shouldn't be a lasting emotion. it would only blind oneself to moment one should live fully in.
have i spoken too rhetorically? too metaphorically? only because i am not thinking. just feeling. and here, let my feelings flow and translate into words of cryptic riddles. as i rest silently by myself, on my bed of passing time, calmly waiting for death.
oh. time to dry the clothes again.
for some times, it works.
for other times, when i feel nothing for it, and i think nothing of it, would i be nothing to it? and conversely, will it become nothing to me?
ah, nothingness. a buddhist tenet. sometimes, i thought i would be a buddhist monk. renounce the ties of earthly pleasures, and release myself of guilt and pain. and many a times, thought it might actually be worth it. afterall, i just run away from the first sight of danger, of threat. i just run away. and after the run, i will for a brief period forget what happened, and be left with deep breaths, a sweaty body and an adrenaline rush.
ah running. that's what i do. every sun, tues and thurs, at least. i run in the sun, i run in the rain. i run with people, i run alone. i run when i am happy, i run when i am sad. i run when i am healthy, i run when my knee hurts. i run, i run, i run. is life a race? where i just have to keep running? when can i stop? take a break? when i halt this cycle of neverending step after step after step? can i? should i? can i swim instead?
that's what it sometimes is. a bore. a cycle. the same thing again and again and again. the pleasures, the hurting, the highs, the agony. of being there, of being somewhere else. of being chosen, of being left behind. of proving, of more proving. of caring, of neglecting. of remembering, of forgetting. of abandonment, of slavish obedience. of loyalty, of blindness. of doing it for whom, and of doing it for what.
in my groggy mind of tiredness, i carry a burden. a burden of burdens. one i have only heaped upon myself. in my weary body of weaknesses, i dig a grave. a deep grave of burrowed minutes and hours and days and months. in this grave, i shall fall in with the weight upon my back, descending into the mani-folds of forgotten time.
death. it shouldn't be something to be feared with all one's life. it would deter one from living. being alone. it shouldn't be a driving force for life. it would stop one from understand the self. anger. it shouldn't be a lasting emotion. it would only blind oneself to moment one should live fully in.
have i spoken too rhetorically? too metaphorically? only because i am not thinking. just feeling. and here, let my feelings flow and translate into words of cryptic riddles. as i rest silently by myself, on my bed of passing time, calmly waiting for death.
oh. time to dry the clothes again.