Before believing was an imaginable reality, we started out in disbelieving what we now believe. But in time believing becomes a stagnant and stale journey because we forgot what we disbelieved about what we now believe. In the journey to reinvigorate belief in what we believe, we need to revisit “disbelief in what we believed,” in order to believe rightly.
Give me a heart made of stone
so I cannot feel, be pricked or pierced
So i don’t have to feel pain
pleading in the rain
Give me a heart like towering mountains
When i get hit I stand firm
and unmoved by words
because I could echo them back with the same kind of vengeance
Give me a heart that doesn’t pant
So i can run and not grow tired
and not stop for air because i have to
To outrun the maze this crazy life is into
and scoff at it catching up behind me
Give me a heart that’s unresponsive
in an explosion filled with truckloads of explosives
detonated to annihilate all sense of being
I come unscratched and unfazed
Alive but with a conscious sense of numbness
Give me all that, and i cease to be human
I cease to know a sense of injustice
like something is wrong
Give me all that, and I become less of a person
a walking zombie if you may
a lifeless plague of a being
Give me less pain i say,
I don’t understand it
why boomerang questions unanswered
Sturdy foundations seems like uneven surfaces
hope eludes and feels like no more than pretty fairy tales
A ‘happy ever after’ dilutes reality
like a mirage
it plays with the mind consumed with thirst
So give me…give me
give me less of a person
less of contemplated reason
but then again do i want this?
as surely as the sun comes up,
the night will come again,
life is sometimes a cycle of,
predictable rote scapes of hue.
the tension of positive perspectivism,
or dry insidious cynicalism,
are two arguments that play out two extremes,
but what predictable rote scapes of hue
might teach us,
is to a plane that trips,
a hopeful outlook of
walking in the shade.
paint on an empty canvas,
words on a blank sheet of paper,
is raw substance in need of emptiness,
a marriage creating,
a forever after.
you are immortalized,
to just be sweet,
for to open you to the realm of the real,
is to unleash,
why the tide swept us away,
to unravel what was to be kept concealed.
Why, sometimes, memories stay in the vicinity of our heads and never invited in the realm of the real.
We all have our misguided views of what we think is reality. Optimists looks only at the positives and tell you this is just a set back and things will get better soon. Pessimists tend to say, whose joking, there is no full proof plan and what if things never get better?
Both have their tendencies to create a reality based on extremes. But basing reality on extremes, one is bound to have holes in ones shallow conviction.
I think it’s better to be a realist. Capable of accepting that things can get better but not withholding the fact that any plan that is devised is full proof. We are all sometimes pawns or little people placed in a gigantic earth. We can wield strength, there is no doubt in that but just a slight alteration in the world, like disasters renders us weak and make us know that we are mortals after all.
Let us not just seek only blessing and denying that suffering will never befall us. For on this earth, we walk between these two tensions played in tandem. No one lives above these two realities played together. But even with that stated fact, there is point in depriving ourselves of anything good. The reality of pain and suffering and why they drive us to the wall is because we all desire something contrary. Sometimes the existence of these realities tell us that something is wrong.
But how ever you put it, reality is where both joy and pain is infused together. On the soils of earth, we don’t just walk on places that only project majestic beauty but also one that tells us that dark exteriors truthfully exist. To deny one is to live in a shell of our own making called imagination.
Fiction has the capacity to give a remake of our reality. Reinstalling hope as something attainable. Giving weakness and messed up life a chance to believe and attain a plateau that instills confidence and success. Fiction takes up our hopes and dreams and make them possible. Fiction has that capability to walk with us in our realities, connect with us because they share in our human themes of darkness, frailties, insignificance, missed chances, life that is broken, weakness and instill life in them by telling us that humility, passion, integrity, determination, belief, love, friendships, family are the qualities that we actually need.
But though we are warmed in the comfort of our seats as we capture these moments when we watch fiction on display, we come back to reality and feed ourselves with cynicism, disbelief, selfishness, hatred and pride. We go back living like how reality determines how life is supposed to be lived. We somehow forget values and qualities we were so attracted with in fictional tales that we live up qualities determined by self interests in the hope to rise above the rest.
In some ways I see this as a parody. I mean, why do we route for the insignificant character who in someways display weakness and everything that we despise in reality? Why do we want him or her to win or rise above his or her ailments and sufferings? What do we want the prideful, the bully, the prideful rich person, wicked men and women to fail? It is a common notion that we feel this way, but in our reality, we wouldn’t care lees of the unfortunate, or the weak, or the insignificant. In reality we want to be friends with the successful, the rich, the powerful. It’s such a parody really, to be fictional characters ourselves when we watch movies, or read books for that matter. We slay what we really believe and let these stories enrapture us for awhile. And after watching or reading them we take up our real beliefs and live life unchanged.
These are at best just scattered thoughts just thinking about reality and fiction. I don’t really intend them to be a well worked out theory or article or post on it. I’ll probably do something better once I’ve thought through what I’ve written here. Till then, if I ever get to develop something out of these thoughts and reflections I promise I’ll do a much better job. I find blogging as a good tool to store up ideas and put them on display, plus it helps me to discipline myself to write.
on the surface we smile, make faces
inside we die, our interior
marked as unseen graves.
This idea came from a comment i read on how pictures convey a shallow projection of how things really are in reality. Pictures are two dimensional and capture just the exterior projection we want to put forth. But it does not spell the whole truth of what is going on in reality. Pictures, though they convey realistic projections of how reality looks like stilled, it only does as much as that. Pictures are where we hide. They sometimes project a fictional life we wish we had in reality.
I just read this rather sad article about a woman, who was trapped in her burning car. Her condition could have been helped had the workers of a nearby petrol kiosk simply lent their fire extinguishers to a passerby who was on the scene of the mishap.
The desperate call of the passerby who wanted to help was met with a cold response to simply call the fire department for help.
It is a frustrating thing to read I have to say. Reading this made me think of the cycle of sin.
The manager of the petrol station mentioned stated “that the attendants’ reluctance may stem from a fear of being robbed, as this was a frequent problem in the past.”
Past mishaps of people crying wolf paved way for a cold response from the petrol kiosk workers. That somehow numbed their senses to the cries of real situations that warranted swift action.
It’s a cycle you see. One thing leads to another. Sin is a cycle and it is a cycle that leads to a cold-hearted outlook on being safe, regardless if the situation calls for it.