Capricious

61 - Primavera

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers."
- Morgan Scott Peck

There I was, feeling as if I understood how things worked, who I was, what my life was going to be. Then something happens, not quite sure what, slowly and then all at once, everything I know exploding like a hurricane. And there my dreams lay scattered, even as I come to realise they may not have been dreams after all, but only a temporary mirage, a beautiful yet impractical illusion I had invented to hide behind. Now I find myself left to thread together what remains, creating an uncertain future with some new understanding, under the intense weight of obligation, and the deceptive promise of riches. The weaknesses and mistakes of my past still haunting me, the game now too intricate to know how to play, the cards I have won of too many suits, I hold no flush. Now I must decide the very nature of my future in one fell swoop, yet unsure what path to choose as my vision lies obscured, mood collapsing just to be sane once more, I'm falling back into oblivion.

I'm lost within my life, I feel it all going to waste, I am worth nothing to no one. Feeling weak, useless, without purpose. I can't articulate anything effectively, coming across as an embarrassment to be forgoed unless in desperation. Everything I see, everything I know, everything I understand, it's all worth nothing unless I can make it into something. But perhaps I'm not as talented as I believed, perhaps all I see isn't real. Broken from the world, drowning in purple rain.

Nothing is ever black and white, there's always an entire spectrum of grey in between.

Torn left and right, between a centre I cannot find. Torn so between my heart and mind, between art and knowledge, between love and wealth, between struggle and ease, between rebellion and slavery, between friends and family, between the unknown and the known, between living and existing.

There has to be a middle ground for everything, too far left and all is left to waste, too far right and all becomes too foul, the centre is where perfection lies, like infinity it cannot exist, but perfection is merely a path into the future, a balance between two opposing forces, that is the secret of life. The problem is there is no way to reach the centre from the left, or from the right, when both forces are at play. It is the extremes that propel us forward, where the endless indulgence of one side causes the other to rise up, overtaking at a higher plateau. To reach the centre from the left we must go all the way right, to reach the centre from the right we must go all the way left, such is the paradox of life, for only in our darkest hours, arise our brightest moments.

I didn't realise because who does, feelings deep always take the stage, but I think I might just be happy. Connecting, sharing, maturing with another person, closer than anyone before just in how our lives are lived, how our thoughts interact. It's nice, cosy, to forget the dark past and other lonely paths, all that bring me down, easier than lovers past. Always something else to be doing, forgoing routine to adapt to our affair, warming more to the idea of us, an experience like no other, a validation to my existence, all worries evaporating away. I think I might just be happy.

An inner conflict that consumes. A physical attraction, an instinctual desire, of all you're not, feelings develop towards. A mental attraction, an emotional stability, intellectually stimulating, feelings toward you. All relative to how you consider yourself, all relative to how they consider you. Attraction is a game, a process followed, chasing experience to become admired, until there is nothing left.

Just living as I go, with her. My first relationship that actually makes sense. I let her explore the art forms of my mind, in pictures, photos and writing, in everything I am and every way I think, I let her discover me, and in doing so realise there's more of myself to share than I ever thought existed. Lying in bed all day, loving our world of work and play, hacking away at every insecurity she finds, as I sustain every illusion she desires. Lives coinciding more and more, throwing in the customs devised by those more bound than we, opening us up to more and more and more, and from such all my rules of confinement fade away, free to let my creative mind make the most of every chance. But in madness I can hardly control my responsibility beyond passion, all meaning fading away, for I am only living, I've lost the will to exist.

An entire new way of living, an attachment of compromise that feels not like I've lost, she is mirroring me, drawing me out, every shade of my wild mind. Before I was falling inwards, now I'm shining outwards; not growing out, but perhaps growing in, settling with my life, it feels so much easier now, wasting less to darkness, dropping chains to live faster than ever before.

A few scares of being consumed by the shadows on each side, with any saving grace far from mind, any retreat barred from logic, tumbling through a spontaneous bluff, among the debris left by those more gregarious than I.

Then out of the abyss I emerge, sights set, I know what I'm doing, and all drops into place so faultlessly. Productivity growing under my scheme, in place to set sights while being sustained by my mind's ear, it begins to feel so right, so simple. Finding myself on the same level as players of the great game of envy, the grip of my restraints loosen, flying with a confidence high, that this could all work out after all.

We all want to be special, we all want to be the hero, we all want to be remembered, we all want to be immortal.

Time is collapsing, caverns of gold deemed worthless after all, my mind a shocking mess, swimming between too many shores. I exhaust myself, the touch and stare of love a smothering of irritation, ghosts playing with my heart as I lay weak, for against reason I am forced to transform my mind. I let the confusion pass, fade into a safe place, slowly come to grips with what I must do, discovering bridges and collecting plastic trophies. I shut my eyes, let the fire take hold, consuming this cramping confusion, burning with the desire to defeat the hypocrisy of my persecutors, it sets up my battle and sets me free, to rise above and counter with a barrage of aimless fruit, if that's what it must take. I will endure, take it all in a stride, I have the strength to go further than those who might blindly surrender, mark me at your peril, I shall become everything.

These divisions of power, captained by those born not grown, whose interest it is not to evolve, but to break away from the rest, leaving chaos in their wake; and all we can do is swing between liars, a misdirection of anger, as we let our future be destroyed, all for the profit of a few. The more we know, and the more we grow, the more we ignore, and the more we deplore. Lost in distraction.

As I wander through this world, I feel as if I'm on another wavelength, all others detached from me, all others an echo, I am more my mind than anything else, a blinded ghost zombieing by.