These are senses

Do I need to be blind in order to see?

Do I need to be deaf in order to hear?

Numb to feel

Fear death to start living

It would suffice to say I fear life more so that I do death… there are so many possibilities, so many futures which lie down so many paths

Limitations are given by choice
Boundaries offer little guidance
These are the sealed paths
Doorways within blocked walls

These are the impossible
These are the challenges of strength
These are the tests of faith
These are the roads we take

To experience
To be here
To breathe
To be anywhere

These are the gifts
These are the signals

They are the destinies

They are more alive than we will ever be

They are more free than we choose to be

Blind. Deaf. Numb. Dead

These are senses

Storms

 

“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.

Conversations with…

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…

 

Air of being

Do you believe
In what seems to be

The love felt for your souls
The pain felt for yours lost

How tomorrow can come after today
How a day can span forever
A moment may exist ever or never

Do you believe

In what seems to be

Your souls completion left aside
Your souls reason passed on by

Your souls adrift
You lost your mind
Your place is missed

Perhaps left behind

 

Do you believe

In what seems to be

 

To lose a piece of your soul
Time often takes its toll
Its seems unfair that all must wait
For the time we contemplate

If we were born too late

If we have missed the date
Why do we have to wait
For our destined fate

To reveal the truth

To our soul

To see the meaning

In our mind

To believe in what seems to be

For ever

Or perhaps

just this time

 

 

 

 

 

 

~wordsweneversaidthank you

Remember to remember

When I remember to remember the ache creeps in. So easy is it to push aside dreams and in turn head towards a given reality.

 

When I remember to remember a shadow is thrown. So easy is it to run with the sun and leave behind the darkness in silence.

 

When I remember to remember the silence breaks. So easy is it to listen to breath and the constant rhythm of the heart.

 

It beats

I breathe

I cast shadows

I walk the path blind

 

Yet when I remember to remember

When I choose to not forget. I know.

 

It is not so easy to escape that which comes from within. Blinding yourself. Ignoring the ache. When I remember to remember I feel sad.

 

Perhaps I shall forget this too.

Story Teller

The world awaits a new tale… filled with wonderment and life… visions and strife… the world awaits a new hero, a new world, a new time… every second one is born, another one dies.

I sit and read tales told through countless lifetimes. I fly through my mind. As I read the words they lose their shape and become landscapes of thought.
The story teller paints on the canvas of veiled sight. Whispering thoughts and watching them blossom. Watching them flow on the river of words until abstract becomes understood and understanding becomes reason for the listener. They tell yet always see in plain sight.

 

I sit and listen to the voice of the teller. Hearing the words and entering their minds. I fly.

 

Turning I see them. I hear the words they spoke as they wrote and they dreamed.

 

I saw them fly.

Eternal be the words, eternal be the thoughts, they remain for eternity. Infinitely flowing through minds. They live forever as others die.

Words. Thoughts. Voices. Memories. Dreams. Visions. Emotions. Created. Destroyed. Transformed. Interpreted. Saved. Deleted.

The voice of the story teller lives and is spoken through time.

As they whisper you can hear their true voice

As you listen you can see them fly

 

Turn and hear me.

See me. Telling you a tale.

Can you see me fly?