Walking home

Walking home this evening along a dark tree lined street, I suddenly turned the corner into a bright yet mellowing dusk. The sky was shades of blue tinged with gold and blushes of red.

It was equal in beauty to sunrise and my heart lifted in wonder. Nature reflected Life and Life reflected in Nature. Sunrise, the beginning - a time for hope and wonder. Sunset, the final moments before night - a time for serenity and reflection at the moments passed. A grandmother walked by with a young child in hand. I nodded and smiled and she smiled in return.

If one was to make any wish for someone dear, I think it would be that their sunset be filled with contentment, warmth and family.

Thought shadows

When thoughts are put to paper it is making common something that is unique and often indescribable like: ambrosia on the lips, the weight of love, the hurt of betrayal, the bitterness of regret, the peace of contentment. Words just form the lines of the colouring book that our mind fills in...

But then again, if we don't give form to our thoughts won't they just fade into purgatory? That seems a little sad. Even as a shadow, is it not a better existence than that fate?

Past writings

There's a lot of good stuff in some of my later journal writings. Too bad I can't be bothered transcribing here. What's the point? I write only to myself or anonymously and this medium is just as transient as paper and inferior to the memory of the thought.

Anyhow each piece of writing is a child of mine. I don't want to clone the poor bastards.

An opportunity

To gain, one must sacrifice; to move forward, one must take risks.

Life threw me an opportunity today. I grabbed it. I just hope that I have the ability and dedication to mould it into something truly precious. I have something to prove here; to myself and to others.

God's Will

I've always had a problem with those new age youth groups where everyone seems so happy, holy and full of passion. How can one be human and be so one dimensional? Where is the questions, the doubt and the conflicts that makes one's belief have depth and one's soul have grace?


I've since given this much thought and I've come to see many of the issues that have bothered me. The one that stands out is my firm belief that contractions lie at the heart of all things. What is white without black? What is rich without poor? And how can one understand or be good without the presence and the understanding of evil?


Therefore it is for this reason that I perceive the joyfulness, virtuous, onemindedness of those electric guitar playing, heads rolling, hands waving 'new age' youth Christians as repulsive, sanctimonious and shallow. I feel they use religion as a drug - they are addicted to feeling holy, they are addicted to painting the world in black and white and seeing people as either the chosen or the damned.


Give me instead the flawed vessels humble in their sin. Give me the tears and grasping of people seeking salvation in their own personal, desperate ways. The world and its people are grey and although God made us in His image, he coccooned His essence in a mortal mind and body. Therefore we have the vital spark but it shines out of a shuttered globe into the thick fog of this world, an infant world lost with only a memory of the sun.


I am a child of sin seeking to understand his Father, seeking to do His Plan with my mortal hands.

Samsara

Humans have given romanticism back to the gods and in return assumed the right to degenerate

A Saturday night

I walk the streets, no longer a boy, yet not a man; drank, yet am not drunk; sober enough to see the void within and without. Surely there is more to this polyester world than the empty momentary bouts of passion and rage. The homeless, asleep in their misery, awake in their futility - wrapped in cloth against the winter chill, awake in their wide eyed lust as the young in their mini skirts, designer jeans and loud laughs and voices give sound to the hollowness of existence. Maybe it's just me. Give me a few drinks today and the alcohol makes me a dark philosopher; contrast to that of yesterday where in the sunshine of friendship, hope and life we laughed and drank to the promise of tomorrow.

Perhaps this is the reality that crystallises with age -despair at an increasingly loveless, colourless world where white rabbits are shot, where the wolf eats the pigs and sleeping beauty is passed out in ER. Oh stars above, show me the light that once comforted and guided the lost mariner.