i'm observing
myself kneeling by the grave.
all kinds of emotions are running through my mind
like an agitated crowd
reacting to the reality of loss.
i'm watching them:
the desire to remember forever
the pride at the thought of loyalty
the protectiveness towards anything that reminds me of him
...
i'm thinking,
it's all so funny. it doesn't matter
yet my brain works on programs that make funny decisions about what matters
and how.
i want to cradle his glasses in my hands
protect his possessions with my very body.
i want to wrap myself in what used to be his
- still is. and that's giving me comfort
a delusion he's not really gone.
my mind is playing those games. pretending the reality is different than it is,
adding its own meaning to things
and telling me i'm a good guy for protecting what it deems worthy.
we're puppets of our funny minds playing mind games with themselves.
he's dead. he's not here anymore. it doesn't matter.
but the funny brain pretends like it's wrong to think that and berates me for it with the emotion of guilt.
what's that for? who shall i apologize to? and what FOR, really? for mere thinking?
for being aware of the objective reality
outside of my subjective experience of it - my inner reality generated by my funny brain?
brains are funny.
i let mine play its game, whatever it's for
and keep watching
myself experiencing
the emotions
the thoughts.
.
.
.
it's all so weird
if you just take a moment
to step out of it
and observe it from a more distanced view. not caught up anymore in that circus.
.
.
.
#20.8.23, opublikowany 24.8.23
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I love that realisation. It doesn't translate into anything practical (I suppose), but it's still fun to have.
CZYTASZ
heart beats
Poetry~ poezje itp ~ w gruncie rzeczy, jesteśmy worami mięsa, kości, i flaków. ale w tym worze mieści się mózg, a mózg to wciąż niezbadana złożoność, która z prostego wora potrafi uczynić święty graal. the heart beats/heartbeats/heartbeat: serce bije, ser...
