The Life of a Soul

There is nothing in existence and existence has nothing.

Suddenly there is awareness.

A soul, a single soul that is but a pin point of light that can only be seen if some the angle is just so.

The light is The Awareness and just below it a fraction, is a grotesque sensation of contortion.

It is twisted and distraught.

Other awareness's come and go but This Particular shuns away.

All of the awareness's are small dim lights, however the Single One takes the contortion with it, and falls behind in greater dimness, believing that It is even less of a light.

It holds Its own light in, from fear of it dissipating or even having it mercilessly taken away.

However, so much energy is used in self preservation that It is weakening Itself in the process, helping the light to grow dreadfully dim.

There is a great and wonderous light that has the ability of transposing part of itself over to the small awareness's if they but come close enough to gather it and recharge form it.

The Single Awareness stands back, waiting to gather courage to come close to the blinding countenance of the large giver.

However, energy is constantly being used.

Bits and pieces are exposed and removed.

Twisting feeling seems to overtake most all of the Awareness.

The realization is formed that this twist as overwhelming as it is, is because to dim the light is against natural forces.

The light, in consiquence, grow smaller and smaller from lack of fule to keep it bright.

The only true need is one to release the light and move on, but the perverse sensation that is Its accompaniment is so expected, to have it missing makes The Light feel empty, unnatural and unwilling to stick it out.

There are kinks orrigating below the light which spread around it.

Encapsulated and alone, It believes It is as a light should be.

Wanting other awareness's to have joy because it is a comfort to see their lights radiating so warm, The Awareness holds back form fear of disrupting its only known comfort.

The Small Diverging Awareness knows what its light needs but has become frozen in panic and has forgotten, or rather never learned to react acceptable.

Very clumsily It will react to what it truly wants, but it does it in a manner that It sets itself up for the negative.

Because of its expectations of the other lights to want another, that is what occurs because It never allows itself to actually be seen.

Moving just right the light occasionally peeks through the cracks in the kinks caused by the distortion, but not enough to captivate and draw another near enough to want to hold the light and keep it.

There are a choice few that will lead It to the giving awareness, however, while it is important for this to occur, The Awareness is too shy to understand the actual importance of this.

The Awareness is scared that once the light is let go from within, It will not give off what It has been told that It holds within.

Never seeing It for The Lights' Self makes It believe not in that the light others see through the miniscule fissures can even exist at all.

If it was there to let go would be the greatest experience and would set The Awareness up for success, especially in the things It wishes upon others.

However, finalizing that there is no such light, or it is less than it should be is a worse scenario than staying in the current damned state.

Finally relenting and allowing to be pushed forward, The Gentle Awareness slowly becomes attentive to the damn that has been built and is in the mind of tearing it down.

The quality of light still terrifies It.

Having so many extra bright lights help on the path, for whatever reason, The Existance longs for that impact but knows not how to properly obtain it with the contortion still hovering about.

The Alone Dot wants to protect the other lights and help them, but there is only so much It can do when to be near them makes The Awareness realize how inadequate It really is.

The relations with these few is so vastly important that The Awareness does not wish to relinquish any hold on the awareness's for fear of losing its only connection with Its Own Self.

However, It still manages to quietly let them go into the proactive, more developed, sphere of light from another, while staying alone Itself rather than hinder them by being selfish.

Loosing its ability to truly strive to Its greatest capacity to keep those It holds to high esteem near.

This Incy Lost Beacon causes Itself pain on an almost regular basis.

The Awareness' hopes it will gain enough strength to eventually show enough light to have one of the many greater lights recognize it and care back as much as it cares for.

However It is growing so weak It is nolonger sure that when another light comes around will have the capasity to change its habits and only draw it near rather than also push it aside simultaneously, there in preventing another inevitable failure.

There is the incontestable hope that to open up and search out while changing habits are not in vain.

The Dreamer

a re-edit of a previous blog:

Sleep. You are obtaining that gentle thing. There is soft music emanating from my laptop. I am sitting up in bed, contently warm above the covers. I am here with you sleeping at my side, legs angled to cover the bed below my feet. I look past my computer to your face. The occasional twitch, to accompany the gentle ticking of my keys causes a placid twitch at my own lips. The rhythmic dance of my fingers is a jovial moment in which I enjoy for the act is painless, with another so close, so unaware I believe that if I were to have a twinge in my wrists from the labor I might just have the capacity to work beyond it.

Such a wonderful friend, I am glad you feel enough comfort to lay so close and sleep in time to the thoughts in my imagination. Something worth writing is flowing through the room. I am glad to be part of this still and simple moment of life. As you inhale and exhale the tides of breath go so slow. I wonder the dreams, the thoughts the flashes of color you experience as you sleep near to me, dear to me. I am non expectant of being a part of the actualities that you experience in the lands of dreams. What is it you dream? It is something of terror or of joy? It is something of peace, or nothing at all? Do you think in color or grey’s? I need to be careful, my mind might run away again. I think I might have called that too late, I am seeing images pass now. What could you dream?

Is there such a thing as the side of life and the side of death? What if one could cross it? Could that make a dream? It would start with you. Always you, that is how dreams begin. You are in a place that you know well, work, school, possibly church. You stand in the middle of a room, and things begin to happen fast, it starts like a normal day:

Going through things that you would normally do, and believing anything that occurs because it is not a typical reality, you go about your day and when whoever is most precious to you is taken, it seems like it is supposed to happen though it is a horrid circumstance. Because of the awkwardness, and the need for this individual to be returned to the realm that mean the most to them you travel to an old rusted out and weatherworn barn and enter within to call upon the hag that lives there within. Being you, you are not taken aback by her countenance or nauseating habits and you gently ask her how to enter in the realm that this significant other has been taken. The nauseating smell, the grotesque details of the dead corpses and the thick mist that creeps through the dark are so vivid that it is amazing the brain can tell the difference between dreaming and waken states, or that it forgets such details upon awakening. Gaining your instruction you depart, remembering each and every detail of the trip as you would if it were the caress of your first love.

Entering into a maze you find your way to the gate of death by quickly dodging tyrants and fiends with your talents at stealth. Entering in you come across s decent witch in charge of receiving payment for the entrance and exit of the portal. Individuals are placed on a platform that weighs whither they will want to stay or if they will want to leave the place after their trip. On the scale it is deemed that he would want to stay, so the witch takes from him and places the payment in a cage so that the desire to return to life is balanced out and becomes stronger. Looking around, people will want to gain back hearts, (yes the actual things, beating and all) or colors or emotions. To cross the boarder something must be lost to be gained. Noone is ever the same after acrossing, though the actualities are different. Going off to rescue the significant other in the perils of the realm of the dead time is the sacrifice.

WAIT!

That is starting to not sound like his personality, and more like what I would do, come to think of it I think that might have been one of my dreams. I pause in typing to reminisce on the fact that it was and his face catches my attention again. His brow furls at the silence in my keys and another possibility enters my head:

Taking into consideration the awkward sound of my music because it is background themes to anime’s or videogames and the frantic clickty-clasck of my keys and occasional whirr of the fan on my computer, I have decided that you might be in a giant sand storm, the clicking resembles the gear of your men and the whirr of the laptop keeping me warm is the bustling winds, for all I know your face is in a position to get the occasional burst of warm air it puts off. The music might add to the mood of the air and whither there is an enemy or a friend to be picked up and carried along. The stopping of my typing might have resembled a frantic pause in which hopes for the enemies passing were filling the soul.

I find myself shrugging and thinking many another scenario but glancing at the clock I realize just how late it is and that everyone is no longer awake. I sense the inappropriateness of the situation, watching your delicate face sleep so calmly next to me alone in my bedroom. However, having the opportunity to ponder on it is one of peace. Peace is such a moment that comes rarely enough that it causes me a tear in each of my eyes at the genuine harmony and ease within this moment in time. I feel the tears caress my cheek as I wish you had the desire to do as I save this entry, and un wishing to disturb you think of how I slip away into the night, turning the covers down and around you after closing my computer and press my hand fondly on your arm. I will say a prayer for comfort for sleep for you lately has been hard to enjoy. Knowing how I will gather some spare blankets from my room as silently as possible I think on how I will turn out the light and slip upstairs to the living room, the couch waiting to take me in its arms. Beginning the process a smile accompanies the gentle swell of tears as I Hope for your simple pleasantries.

Something decent

Here is something i can type.

Sleep. That gentle thing. soft music from my laptop. I am sitting here content with you sleeping at my side and feet. The occational twitch, to accompany the gentle ticking of my keys. the rythmic danc eof my fingers is a jovial moment in that i am actually doing it painlessly and with another so close. Such a wonderfil friend to lay so close and sllep in time to the thoughts in my brain. Letting something worth writing flow through the room i am glad to be part of this still moment of life. Inhale and exhale the tides of breath go so slow. I wonder the dreams, the thoughts the flashes of color you experiance as you sleep near to me. I am non expectant of being a part of the actualities that oyu experiance, however, having the oppertunity to ponder on it is one of peace, a moment that comes rarely enough that i have a tear in my eye at the genuine peace and contentment of this moment in time. Unwishing to disturb you i save this entry now and slip away into the night for sleep for you can be hard to enjoy.

Laundry

Its currently around, folded, jostled and all to gether clean.

The feeling coming from knowing you have something presentable to wear is just as pleasent as the summer's sun.

Over and around itself, its like creating a hug with every fold.

The occational fabric folds a little harder,

But they all fold the same, identical lines, just larger or smaller.

If only life were as defined as folding laundry.

Where'd my ironing board go?

Your Sound

I can feel and sense your voice in its laughter. It makes me glad your around. You’re the most recent, the freshest, the most needed. I am accepted, however, never as I would like. I learn to cope after a time, learn that to be near you will suffice. Wishing you were more does none but taunt so I must move on before I dig myself yet another hole in the garden of my life. I teach myself to accept. I am getting used to your sound.

I left my room today for the spirit that is you. Just knowing that you will be waiting, as a friend, as an ally in this world that beats against its children. I like to know that you will defend me, I just wish there were other reasons why.

There are those who wish to corrupt me, and there are those who see me not, and then there are those that befriend me yet are only available to the rest it seems. Yes I know that I help not in these situations. I push away, or I assume that nothing will come. Truth is, my deepest fear is to be alone, and to cope I make it hard because I am afraid of being dropped. But in essence I am just setting myself up for staying alone on the table.

I have no graceful words today. I will lose my chance if I have not already and I will move on to another. While still holding you. Friends through eternity. Forever used to your sound. If I weren’t who I am the effect this would have on me would be easer to carry. For me being me means that I seem to use my imagination to play out goals, discussions and history. I alter it a million times over and use it to cope. Knowing just as well that it never will occur.

I’m cold in my life, I’m mad at myself. Forever an argument I am. Getting lost in a crowd is my trademark as I loose my tears on unsuspecting victims. Having a complete thought is harder and harder. Nothing is wrong yet everything too.

All of it is due to me.

I have no graceful words today, as I leave my room for none other than your soul.

Glad for your friendly defense.

Learning to accept.

I am getting used to your sound.

Too bad nobody lets me know they hear mine.