I wish I could take photographs of this place.
I wish I could somewhat, someway record this. To arrest this, exactly as it is.
As simple as it may sound, life is good when you are doing what you want to do and life is suffocating when you are forced to live a life that does not suit you.
This moment, which captures and encloses an entire lifestyle, this choice of living, is where I belong.
But for how long I can postpone I do not know. It doesn’t seem fair. As if all this is still temporary, even though years have gone by… This feels like home. But I will always be an outsider. Even if I am inside of all this.
I fear, the only thing I do really fear of, is that I am wrong, in my thinking, that one can survive unaided. A quest for company? Far from it. It is the fear that what I want to do, will ultimately be my own downfall.
Solace, is beautiful.
To be alone, is for me the greatest luxury. To admire the wise manners of nature, how there is a balance within cruelty and purity. Justice. The magnitude of accepting life as it is and not some double-coated illusion. To be content within ones self.
Relaxed, at ease, light, yet anchored. Grounded yet flowing. And I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Flow. Occurrences, instances, all these fragments that put-together, constitute the moving picture of a lifetime.
Life is all about flow..
Some things you control, some far from it. It all comes and goes. The good days and the bad come, and go.. and when the wave washes away all that’s left is the small shaped stones and shells, slowly morphing into sand.
That’s all that’s left, I suppose.
Multi-coloured pixel sand, in numerous variations..
Sometimes we are a shore, hosting different shells. Friends. On occasion, a big chunky shell washes up in your shore and throws you out of balance. I think that is called Love. Initially.
And shells can stay in between sand for ages you know. They become part of the scenery. They co-exist, in what seems eternal, as the waves wash in and out, shaping them, together.
But every now and then a shell wants to be more, or less even. For which reason, I have yet not fully understood… other than.. ambition?
This, and many other, have led me to the assumption, that one is better off alone, to be engraving his course, collecting along the way, moving towards something / somewhere (where one finds substance), where one finds peace.
Surely there are moments better shared. And this is why we have family and this is why we have acquaintances and this is why we are intrigued to meet and get close to people (in any way), even though we are not lacking anything.
And somewhere along the way we lose hope. In people.
You see, I see, that animals have respect for one another. There are some ground rules, never to be disregarded. They are a given.
Humans on the other hand, even though are bestowed with the gift of social conscience, we chose to look past it and feed other “virtues” (needs, traumas, fucked up mental knots) which are washed up in the most random of situations.
Why bother with human contact, either friendship or any form of social exchange, if the world has become one big clinic of psychotherapy where you say Hello and in response you get a paragraph of emotional trauma, blame, guilt and anger. It’s best you follow your own path, course-correcting along the way, feeling lighter, more assertive, more composed, as you grow.
Then times change and your ever-eager, ever-curious self wants to discover more, to feed, to move further.
So you end up being in need of assistance, some other complex assortment of characteristics to observe, share, attempt to approach – in variation of ways – surely.
Dare I sound as idle and naive as to be thankful to have lived so many diverse moments, sharing silence, sharing the sun, where comfort and this shared unity is present.
But where passion is, then so is line of error and sooner or later one of the two will fall out of line.
Out of line, out of order.. Dysfunctional. Insufficient. Problematic. One finds ways towards decline. As if it is interlaced in human instinct to disappoint one another. As if we find pleasure when things turn sour. (or not. But then again, why did you let it go so far? Why do you care, even? Do you choose a life less lifeless? Or do you rather hurt as much as you love?) Where does the pleasure end and pain begins?
And this is a never ending circle. One does to another, another to another, and we end up with broken telephone lines, tangled into ill-communication.
Baggage. Passed from one journey to the next….
If there could be an animation describing this exchange then Imagine the common lighter. No one recalls buying one, yet you end up having someone else’s.. People get into relationships – in a healthy mental state – and at some point in life, during one of these serious relationships, someone imposes their whims and turns your head inside out (we all make a mistakes, become victims of wrong judgment, we live – we learn) and so the next person, which is in a healthy mental state, ends up paying for what the previous person did. Ghosts from the past do not allow someone to be unbiased.. and so on and so forth.. paying it forward. This circle of excess luggage has to stop and people need to recover, mend themselves before sailing into another adventure..
It is all so functional. So automatic. So absolute. A self-fulfilling process?
I refuse to accept so.
Man can be a creature of creativity, of greatness. Surely these self-destructive tycoons, weigh him down into the pitfall of his gloom, his own worst enemy. But all it takes is a crumb of self respect (usually down there at rock bottom) and a pinch of determination, to break the cycle. To be self-sufficient. To mend all broken links and stitch the skin back together. Until it heals.
Even if one heals, and is on his lonesome track, he tends to care for others, Since man is both an independent as well as an interdependent being.. And others might be lighter (in conscience) or heavier (residue of pain), further ahead, or left behind, others closer, others further, adding to one’s life, but nonetheless holding them back. Even if you get rid of your own baggage, you are forced and weighed by the other person’s luggage.
Trying, to take a step back, to see the bigger picture, to see the show behind the curtains, is a never ending battle. Even if achieved, each person sees what they chose to see.
Consequently this adds variation, interpretation, spice.
But it is far more fulfilling, as well as tempting, to communicate with some, on the same level of understanding, boldness, bluntness and raw elegance. When one puts down a piece of the puzzle and the other one knows which piece to put next to it, instead of simply turning their sachet upside down and laying all of their mixed unmatched odd pieces, on the floor.
These statements are real. And have led me to the bleak conclusion, that I can not be with anyone, truly, for I value life too much. For I appreciate the sea too much. For I enjoy wilderness too much. And everything else would always come second..
No person could ever survive, for I remain compulsive even if terribly composed. Compulsive.. Impulsive.. For I give, not to be given to, not to be thanked, but to be silently and internally, secretly even, appreciated.
I find no point in endless discussions about change. Change is something that happens, not talked about. If you accept you accept for what is, and not for what it isn’t. If lucky enough, you get to see a side of man which is private, tender, unguarded. And then, there, is the final trial. The test of all tests. To play with the cards you have been dealt, no hidden aces. You know yourself, you know them all. You are the vicar and the victim, in one instance. The judge and the accused. There.. you either win, or lose it all.
Why jeopardize one’s fearless flight, one’s perfect composure, to become disarrayed?
Why not choose to glide through life in ice-skates, seeing people, catching glimpses, forever moving, ever changing, enriching.. Living.