March 9, 2008
This is how it goes friend.
Everything is what it is. Nothing else.
Freedom is freedom.
Happiness is happiness.
Love is love.
Good is good.
Substitution and definition make the strongest suffer because they search for something that has no space.
Freedom isn’t happiness.
Happiness isn’t love.
Love isn’t good.
But everything is what it is.
But what is it? What are they? If I am only me. And you are only you. Then freedom can only be freedom in the same way. And happiness can only be happiness in the very same way again.
So everything is what it is. So pain is pain. If I am hurt, I am hurt. Love is love. If I love you, I love you.
What I say is what I say. And what I do it what I do. What we feel is what we feel. It cannot be denied because it exists regardless of what false name we give it. There is no definition of anything, but the truth of what it is. Then life must be lived as life is and I must understand things and things are. That makes understanding you a little bit easier.
March 9, 2008
Let’s list bad things.
Those wars, those people, those fights, those words.
The moments when the butterflies in your stomach take hold and you forget how to speak. When what you say is important and you can’t find the words to say it, you can’t find the courage to say it.
All those memories that are supposed to be blocked out, but stay and you relive your worse days.
These bad things. These things we can list. These things optimistic people choose to ignore. Those bad things are important. Why list them? Why care that they exist?
Let’s not list these bad things. Let’s not list this pain. Not for the sake of optimism or the sake of sounding proper. For the sake of guarantee. It’s already guaranteed that one day we will feel it: this pain I speak of. Why list it and when we will live it. Most likely at the words or the hands of others.
Then after I feel it and suffer it, I look at my neighbor, my fellow human being and I do not trust him because I am afraid of what he will do. Because I am afraid of how he will effect me. I surely have forgotten the heart of my fellow man. The heart of my fellow woman. We share them: the intentions, the fear, the insecurity, the love. All true things. It takes a person willing to be hurt in order to make a friend worth keeping. The fire spit is only a way to keep the pain out anyway.
Although I may get hurt, I cannot forget that it is more fun to take your hand and give you my heart to break. So take my heart and use your will to hold it as you like. Because when I look at you, when I listen to your words, read what you have written and see what you have done, I must remember that wherever there is a human being, there lies the possibility for kindness. This I cannot forget.