The Wall

A piece of me
over there
a piece of me
over here
Shallow hearts bring out the fire
Turmoil crave
for a mind in fear.

I laugh
at my drying tears
crying never
seems to clear
these things
that I have accumulated
over years of pain and slander

If only I could hold my smiles
and ask them why they are smiling?
If only I could hold my pain
and ask if it will see me again?

I have loved it and I have tried it
I have tried to but haven't had it
The closer I got, the farther it flowed
I could never find my way back to that shore

I am broken into pieces
and I see myself in each
I have worn out all my worries
and I have overgrown my peace

It seems the thing to do next
is settle down in silence
let go of every thing again
there's no point
in this pretense

Dreams, goals, ambitions and souls
are all awash my drifting worlds.
Locked inside my fractal self
I am building myself a wall again

Behind the fence across the road
I watch the sun shine through the rain
I've never seen the birds there
Twice now,
they have driven me insane.....

A piece of me
over here
A piece of me
over there
I have had my tales to tell
I have had my secrets shared

Anniversary

Its a blessed, blended, day.

These flights of fancy seem to be going everywhere, dragging me along to the edge of that lofty chaos.
Seems like years have passed by in an eternity.
Seems like moments have faded into seconds - exploding back into fountains of memories, neatly lodged within the astronomical galaxies of my organic mind.
A sound here, a whisper there.
The birds make noises from patterns of my cares.

I looked into the flower and saw the whole world.
It was perched on a pollen, hidden inside a twirl.
Instantly the colors jumped into my eyes.
And I saw it all over again.

My memories seem to rejoice in the pearls that had collected in various corners of my mind.
I trust them to rescind those occasional few things that occur unavoidably outside my self.


I took leaps of imagination wondering where I would land - finding myself waver on the palm of some divine hand.
I played my strings till the evening brought a foggy beach in front of my eyes and I waved till I found what a lovely dream this was.
Somehow I knew I was not alone anymore.
In love I had found the eternal forever.

What a lovely, blessed, blended day!!!

Ideas about Reality

Blinded eyes can still see even though the light that reaches them is meaningless in a strictly physical sense.
But then, in a strictly physical sense, seeing is more than accessing the visible, isn't it?
To see is to penetrate the countenance of reality - a part of which is the act of seeing itself.
So the eyes are as real as the sun that they see.

But remember - don't look directly at that star.
It will burn the delicate network of tissue and blood that conveys its very identity.
In such an extreme sense, the message destroys the recipient, while the messenger remains free.

The seer himself is destroyed by the sight.

Beethoven's deafness ironically built around his creativity a wall that imposed a mocking challenge - "Make that which you cannot perceive!"

After I read this, I dreamt of a man who was hidden from the dream.
One by one his senses severed, to be taken far away from him.
First his sight, then the sound, followed by touch, smell and taste.
He remained awkwardly subtracted from the grand unified deity who gave him birth and then waited till he died.

Of course this realization severely paralysed him.
And now he could neither move nor speak.
He could neither look nor shriek.
Silence was his friendly enemy - sometimes uplifting but mostly a bitch.
He had nothing to do but just wait and be.
Surprisingly he lived till he was about 90.

And then when he died it didn't feel all that odd.
For this man from my dreams, the transition had been smoothed out of existence, and death was now merely a concept in his unequivocally defragmented mind.

No greed or desire had touched his side. No food or wine had gotten him satisfied.
He had drifted through the machine like an outdated key - with no intention to leave or any need to believe.
He remembered the feeling when he could touch the violin strings. The sound that it released had set him free.
Of course now it was but an ambiguity.
Just an uncertain memory.
He wasn't even sure anymore what music could mean.

The old museum that he had first visited when he was three, was now inseparable from the paintings that he had seen.
He had walked through a Renoir and dozed off in a Bellini.
Colors were notes of music to a degree. But then what was music if not wavelengths in deceit?
He had once felt love and that's all he really knew for sure.
Other than that he was not sure of anything anymore.
The uncertainty clung to him like he clung to his ideas of reality - all the while drifting through the unearthly white serenity of some sterile make believe.

How does it feel?

Anticipated Visions

Slowly the infant crawled across the floor, moving a little bit more.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was walking on the road.

The road to 'nowhere in particular' really, because the stars in whose constellation his blue planet was nested was hurling into a future destination about which no one had a clue.

So he walked and he learned to ride the bicycle. He learned to ride the scooter and the motorcycle.

He was soon behind the steering wheel of a boltening fast car and the first time he flew was in an aircraft that touched mach 2.

Somehow, suddenly one day, he was 32.

And the space occupied by his solar system was still changing rapidly by the year...., hour, and second.

Time passes by and you pass along.

It was just as sudden that he fell in love.

It was just as sudden that he made love.

Somehow suddenly one day he too had a son, crawling on the floor, desperately trying to run.

Three more decades passed by like three hours in the sun. The clouds came by and the seasons took their turn.

The old man was 62 as he watched his son - take off to the moon. He remembered the time when he could barely run.

HE remembered the time when "he" could barely run.

Millennia passed by like the circles around Saturn. Thoughts came in and thoughts went out. Generations of men and machines came about. Lifetimes had stretched into hundreds of years while ghosts were living and smiling without tears. Wings of fire burnt in the shade of virtual realities prophesized by the sage. He had lived in these times when this was a past before a future inevitably "hidden". It was all happening off-stage.

He looked far into the horizon. There was infinite space and eternal time. What more can you expect anyway.

A new view you always knew..

This is a Pythagorean room with an Euclidean view.

Nothing here is old and nothing here is new.

It all comes down to two things alone.

Without being undone, you cannot go ahead.

So instead you wait some, for the static sun to burn.

The earth to turn and the moon to return.

This is an imaginary room with an imaginary you. If you see this view in your dreams you better believe it’s true. Sometimes it may appear to be moving very slow. But mind you it’s just you who is really keen to go.

So go on. Continue with your goal. Continue to find your mind. Continue to seek your soul.

Fallen angels will kiss your feet and dirty dirt will taste surprisingly sweet. So continue to walk through, it’s just your own self split in two.

At times the sun explodes when it shatters on the floor. This room is not all that stable, especially when you have never been here before. But don’t be alarmed. It is just a perfect storm, which blows out your eyes as you stare through this window and expect it to snow.

Look again. You can see yourself running - away from the rain. At the end of a mountain, you sit and stare. You have been here before, and you know that it’s true. There is a slight smile and a dull memory of pain.

The flowers have changed colors while the trees grew taller. You have missed subtle moments when you went after that shore. The sea was static waves when you watched it long enough. It was you who is flowing when the wind whispered “hello”...

Do you feel you are trapped here alone? Think about those people who have been here before.

Look at the ceiling, up high above. Do you see those smiles splashed across the door?

Ok. Now you have found a way. Pass through it and you shall instantly see the trick.

But first wait. Are you really prepared to deal with such intense uncertainty?

Or are you so uncertain, that you'd pass this fun reality?

Time keeps dragging on, don’t you think?

If we just wished it away, it would let us peacefully sleep.

And what then when we wake up again?

What if you find yourself escaping in vain, this room full of views that changed and will change again?