Category Archives: Conversations

Deaf and Forgotten

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Do you hear it? the forever. there are things that are true and there are those things which are false. Watch them, the waves of song, the voice ,that ethereal sound. the screaming inside. the fire. the soul breaking shatter. It grips you and shakes your soul. Pleading.

Do you hear it? the yearning. there are things which remain unspoken and there are things which are and will forever be broken. Watch them, the traces of light, the glance which steals it path through and throughout the unfortunate dreamers. gone are the dreams, frozen. the time stopping fear of being lost. Lost in waiting to be heard.

Can you hear anything anymore? how can one choose to be deaf to it? I know how, and I forgot how to listen. Do you care anymore?

 

Whether I care is irrelevant. I have listened, I have heard and I have spoken. The Forgotten are the Lonely. Remember that.

Storms

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“Tell me more about the impending storm, it will rage, I feel it, yet I can not explain its nature.”

She sat back, her gaze fixed out the large windows in the center room. They focused on the darkness looming in the near distance. She sighed and began again.

“What is it about storms? They bring signs and bring warning, yet once they are upon us, they leave nothing. They batter and deplete their surroundings, leaving only the strongest to stand. The rest to recover and grow once more with time”

I simply couldn’t come up with something appropriate to answer. So I sat silent. Watching. Listening.

“Do you see? Tell me you see! Tell me you understand the nature. Tell me you know of the strength it takes to withstand a storm. I know you can see it, do you know it, can you feel it?”

With this she sat and gazed sadly out the window. I gazed sadly out the window. In silence I turned to her mirrored reflection and simply watched, waiting for the thoughts and swell to pass… I wanted so much to answer, but I knew she would know.

I was feeling for the answers, reaching for the courage to face my other… I was grasping for something. Anything. And then I began,

“The storm is upon us now, it shall pass. I know not how long it will last, I know only of the warnings and signs of which you speak. I know only of the hallowed reflection I gaze upon in that mirror… and as storms pass, so do the reflections of moments which matter. I see you now… but do I?”

I stopped. As I stood there, looking in the direction of my outstretched arm. I saw it, once more. I saw it for what it had become. What it was going to be. I saw its nature.

Would I let it be? That is the question. That is the reality.

“… through the window you see me, you see what I do not. You see the storm, feel the power, feel the meaning… and know… yet what I feel is so much greater. It burns in my hallowed chest. It rings in my detached thoughts. The truth. I see its nature. Yet to see is not enough. To feel is not enough. It is in understanding that we truly can be…”

“Truly can be what?”

Her voice rang clearly in the silence of my mind. Her eyes were haunting my thoughts. Her gaze penetrating.

“You know.”

I simply watched  the seconds passed as she reflected, the minutes as she mused and then she knew. A faint smile graced her beautiful face. I felt better. So then did she.

“Yes… I suppose I do…”

With that she turned back to her window in the center room. The rain had begun.

A reason

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Fear not the night, nor the darkness which heralds false unease. The prospect of our senses blinded by the lack of light… the lack of sun… the lack of awareness as to what we shall become. Freedom awakens to the heavens as we drift to where our souls meet… ready for the mind to release and the soul to take flight… the wind remains calm, for the rays dance in ethereal light…

On the wings of my soul

In the shadows of my plight
On the borders of my mind
As my spirit brings forth sight

As vivid as our dreams
As immortal as our souls
As our endless years unfold
The truth we always hold

On the cusp of a dawn
Our sorrows were reborn
Shadows of the eclipsed sun
Casting hope

Though they sought none

Now the shadow’s seeking night

Night as darkness

Dawn as sorrow

Be it as a light in the morrow

Be it happiness in the perceived abyss

Be it simply

Life is not always as it is

So I say, once more… fear not that which can be misunderstood. Fear not darkness simply because it is dark. Dismiss not pain simply because it hurts. Deny not sorrow for the well may once be full… there is always season… there is always a reason

And reason is as Life

Tell Me

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Tell me, what is there to do? They say we can not see the path we are on while we are on it. As days blend into years and years escape the moments, time itself becomes or became the watcher, either in the future or in the past it presents the present. And here it is.

What is there to do? Make choices, fake decisions, accept certain truths. The truths which were determined by time, the watcher.

So now tell me.

What.

Is.

There.

To.

Do?

Accept, I guess… I do. With little or no reason. I simply do. Because I can’t tell myself what to do. Can you?

A Sense of Belonging

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I do not belong here
Among the low of spirits and the weak of hearts
Of those whose tongues be shamed
Though I must speak of it the same

.

I do not belong here
Among the empty dreams and failed attempts
For I dream of Life and Love
A vision of peace and wonder sent from above

.

I do not belong here

though only now I realize I know

I have never felt the way my mind accepted

My heart always knew it couldn’t know

.

Though I sense so much more of where I belong

I know I have been wrong

My voice carries on meanings which have slipped passed my judgement

My mind carries on memories of the feelings

memories of the words

memories of the tears

.

I seem to have forgotten these times, though I search for meaning
I will never forget the feeling
It is of a time and setting misplaced

.

I know I do not belong here, yet I can not envision any other place

I can only sense I know another face

I belong among valor and love
I belong among the proud and virtuous

.

Let my mind speak to me and remind me why I am here
I have forgotten the purpose
And my soul waits

Let my heart speak to me and show me the reason
I feel imprisoned to a time, though not the hour which I seek

Let my soul and I complete

Be in quest of this place

the one and only of our dreams

the one of which we belong

 

 

It is interesting how we look for meaning and answers….

“why is this my life?”, “why am I the way that I am?”, “when will these thoughts and feelings make sense?”.

It is interesting how we forget the lessons we have learned along the way, as if searching for one answer is not enough, we seem to overlook it in our failed attempt to see the “big picture”. I am tired of being so selfish… I stopped writing the poem below because I can not justify my visions… whose to say where I belong? I realize that it should definitely not be me. I am persuaded by my desires. I dance with my ego and have become partner when once I was lead… A sense of belonging, perhaps one which was never meant to be…

 

Conversations with…

Posted by enreal on

I am returning to my Abstract Conversations Series for inspiration… I will be working on some new conversations to see what answers I can find to my endless questioning… for now I share with you some of my original conversations. I am fond of the time I spent conversing with my thoughts and my Soul… This is republished from a while back… the conversations are published previously…

I have an obsession with conversations. Intelligent, deep, meaningful conversations… There is only so much one can learn from literature and history… there is a whole other world out there, many other worlds out there…The only way to reach them is through conversation, observing another’s Life and understanding even questioning why they are…

Why they are… indeed. The fundamental philosophical question. Why? Why are we? Now imagine this, a conversation with an abstract, something abstract made tangible for conversation with you, with me… I have had many of these conversations and am working towards that “perfect conversation“.

A perfect conversation? I believe it can be described as a flow of energy, a way of connecting with another and traveling to a place that is out of reach, it is a way of reading from the pages of Life, a way of transcending Self. It can be recalled as butterflies in the stomach, realizing you have touched on something that is larger than Self, a glimpse of knowledge and power too large to hold in the mind, so it simply slips away silently, gracefully. I am constantly searching for that perfect conversation… one I can hold in my heart and in my mind. It is always in my Soul.

Now I share with you some of my Abstract Conversations, I am always searching for a way to connect, a way to answer my Soul…

Conversation with Destiny

Conversation with Subconsciousness

Conversation with Knowledge

Conversation with Death

Conversation with Life

Who’s to say if I am the Abstract on the other side of this reality…
A Conversation with Reality… I have to find Reality first…

 

The stage is set

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The scene is set. All are in position. Time draws near. The empty stage is infused with the energies of the participants. How in the history of the world can one have all these players in waiting for their debut? How in the world indeed…

If you could be in the presence of anyone, whom would you choose? What if it could be bigger than you imagined? How about instead of talking about life with someone… you could talk to Life, understand it, question it…

Death, same as above.

Speak to your mind and infuse it with interpretation.

Know.

Talk to Chaos, Emotion, Time… here is your chance. They are waiting in anticipation of your audience

Enter Life. Time. Death. Enter Chaos. Emotion. Purpose, meaning and Destiny

Can you truly find meaning in the meaningless?

Once there was a child, born in a world of chaos. Once there was a girl living in a world of hope. Once there was a life lived alone and shared with the infinity of possibility.

Once there was a time of passion and wonder, this time has since passed leaving the lonely to tend to the fields of unharvested dreams.  In solitude and silence they work., gently plowing and sowing fruitless hopes. The work tiredlessly. They work with little to no knowledge of their intentions. The know not what they do.

Weaving it all together. Leaving no room for poeticism. Why must there always be a story? Why can’t it be like life.

Chaos.

Chaos with Purpose.

And Life

They narrate their intention, infused with knowledge. All apologies knowledge could not be present tonight, though his role is interpreted in the dialogue

There is always a design beneath the surface. Perhaps an unseen pattern leaving light. Wielding emotion as a sword  would upon its final victory.


Purpose.

Meaning.

Destiny.

The stage is set… all in position for a marvelous show… how will you participate?