Thursday, September 27, 2012
Ego non
Sometimes, you hurt the people you want to protect the most.
That's what the title of this post refers to.
Ego non. Not I. Even if all others do, not I. Or at least, that's my wish.
Need to stop reading sad books (and I need a .txt copy of 且珍行). All these thoughts are getting a little too depressing. I need to find stories that are of a lighter sort and not, well, emotionally draining.
It's been a while since I've actually meditated, so, I need to meditate.
I need to clear my heart to open my mind. I need to accept to let go. And above all, I need to calm the sound of my breathing and just, hear peace. I don't think anyone who hasn't done meditation can understand how to "hear peace", but you can. Or at least, I think so.
I also need to do calligraphy. And play the piano. And paint. And draw. And just submerge myself in something personal. Something close enough to my heart that I can do it and find myself in it. I feel like I've lost myself somewhere along the way.
But the problem is, I don't know where.
You know, sometimes we say we feel lost. But I personally think it's different from what I'm feeling now. This sort of loss feel more personal. It's not as obvious (even to myself), but now that I reflect on it, I feel empty. Hollow. Devoid of purpose and meaning.
Why am I here? Why do I live? If I am truly here, and if all of us do come into this world to make a difference, why am I failing at that? Why am I hurting others? Why am I not feeling any of that pain myself?
Please just let me be able to put my heart and my soul into not hurting the people I care for. Please let my eyes be open. Please don't let me fall prey to ignorance.
Please just let me find myself again.
...
Recently wrote a poem. I think it should have been better, but I just like the feel of it.
Sincerely stifling, Autumn
Pieces of red sky
Falling, falling.
Drifting down in sheets and layers
To smother us in a blanket
Made from the tresses of trees.
And those massive kings,
They have lost their crowns
Of vermilion lifeblood.
I realise, I do not write happy poems. Well so I do write happy-ish poems, but not happy-happy, more of fake happiness or a happiness borne of wildness and ferociousness and with a touch of the painful.
Perhaps I need to rethink my priorities.
Posted at 8:29 PM
