Tuesday, December 30, 2003

May Here These Words Ring True and Feel Into You.

True sadness is true happiness. To know enough to know, and go on. Sad is he who knows. Sad is he who is truly happy. Sad is he who knows.

The discipline to apply oneself is quite never found any longer. We live in an age in which we are a sluggish people. We are lazy. We do not know the true feelings any longer, we only serve these feelings, and leave them where they be. We no longer speak, no longer try, no longer suffer in ways sufferable. Once conceived, and once alive, we begin to die. Slowly we die, as slowly we tread. As a flower blooms, blossoms, wilts, so do we. Exposed to the world, we are enbittered. Set out before us is a set path—a set guideline—a set endeavor.

We go to school. Learn of humanly created things, perceptions, afflictions, impediments, sophistications, all that are inset in us. We learn of math—cold calculation, numbers, symbols. We learn of science—reasoning, understanding, answering. We learn of words—expressions, definitions, dictions. Most of all we learn sadness. A sadness in knowing. Of learning. Of holding. We are multi-faceted—placed to learn many a thing, most of which we hold of little use but of its basics. And therein inside us all there is that one thing we feel we must do—that one notion which we feel as one in—that we feel we can apply ourselves in—that we feel we can discipline in, grow in, become great in. That one thing that seems set for us to conquer. That we feel a thing for.

But still, knowing some purpose, and what to do, we are held back. Interdicted, we are forced to learn that which we care not, where we would rather be learning and applying ourselves wholly to that one thing we feel we belong to. And there are those among us who encourage our one skill we hold dear, our one reason we give. Yet others there are that feel this one skill should be melded, beaten, bruised, in some way. That all that is or be is never to be changed from how it does its work in its core. The normal is often the perception of many, and when one comes along who can exceed the normal, he is often unseen, unknown, unheard. He is only seen by a select few who understand where he comes from, and understands what he sets out to do. He who does what he wants and what he feels—that person is their own genius, their own discipliner. He is his own individual, his own creation.

The set rights and wrongs before us are merely perception. There is no right and there is no wrong—there is only perception. Right being a perception, as well as wrong being a perception. When one hates they perceive with their own accord. When one loves, they perceive with their own accord. When one chooses they perceive, they choose one thing over others. They take their stand in what they hold dear or contempt. There is no right and wrong. Wrong is as right as wrong. Right is as wrong as right. No man can be wrong in his choosings, for each and every has his reasons, and he who does not is a fool, and ignorant. He who follows blindly, he is a fool. But he who sees, he is a perceiver of his own creation—of his own reasonings—of his own devices. He who questions seeks answers, and he who finds answers in himself is the most knowing. For answers are all within us, gathered from the physicalties which we have understood and infused with our conscious memory.

A man need not exceed when he can fail. A man need not work when he be able to stand aloft and do nothing. A man need do nothing if there is no passion for what he is doing in his heart. For without passion there is not art, and without art there is no soul, nor is there feeling. And without feeling there is a void, a place of ineffable conscription not beset by the man himself, but by what others tell of him. One who is one alone and sees what he sees alone is one pompous. But one who accepts what others believe, and inaddeneds and absorbs all that is seen to his eyes, he is gracious, and he is confident, as well as a kinder man than one who does not. For understanding empathy is where truth lies. For there be no truth nor falsifications nor fallacies but where one perceives them. All is about perception, all is about how one processes what is set and given. One cannot be cold and calculating as math, but he must be human. He must pool together both emotion and reason's logic into one understanding singularity.

In this world today a man can slack. In this world today there is no discipline. And all is vanity, all is vain. For one works for nothing but himself—and if one feels that he should not be doing what he is doing, then he is sad, and truly happy. For he has seen truth in his eyes, destroying his optimism in the processes. For optimistics are but hope—and there is no hope but what one perceives—and we all, as humans, as mortals, perceive death. Death is a hope. And when one asks how one died, one must answer with how one lived. For living is dying. When one is conceived one begins the process which is death. There is not hope but where you see it—and in society there is no hope—in organized religion there is not hope—there is only hope in you. And in what you choose to believe. But still one must accept the way things are, and thus be ladened with sadness, and be happy in knowing as much of a truth as one can perceive.

If one feels doubt in what they perceive, may that make them stronger. For questioning should not be held within. Humans be quizzical creatures, ponderous by nature and curiosity. Question everything as much as you can, and derive as much as you can on all sides of what you question. Look to what your do not perceive as well as what you do perceive for answers—understand the other side's perceivation. For then you shall more understand yours, as well as be wise. For one who is wise is one who sees all with one's own self. The wise look to themselves and their experiences for support—they crutch on thought, and on summing all their parts to create something which is otherwise undefinable. When you see enemies, you see friends, and when you see friends, you see enemies. So it is with us as one person.

If life is hopeless, let this be your hope. The hope that you have no hope shall push you on, shall make you live in the most ironically cold ways. But it is not far from the truth you see. For in truth there is cold perception—there is seeing things as simple as they be. And as simple as it can be, life is living, then dying. Losing all you gain is gaining all you lose. One who feels he has much has much even when he has little.

In this world today we wear tidy habiliments, we visage ourselves in outfits which we wear in interred pride. One should not be so pride-ridden. One should not do something they feel they should not be doing. But one is always forced, so one must accept, while on the side, they must do what they feel is right—that one thing which the forever hold dear, the one thing they love, the one thing which is their discipline. Which calms them. Which they devote themselves to. They must remain strong in this their whole lives—or else they shall lose something they may be remembered by more than a few for.

All deserve to be remembered—but few are. Let those few be the all.

When you feel to cry, cry if it is you. If it is not, and you feel there is no reason to cry, for you have never felt the horrendousness that is the worst of things, then do not cry, but cry inside, and lock away the lushous sadness away, and articulate it in what you were born to do, and let no one stop you. For passion should not be wasted—it should be reticenced. It should be held within, and let to drivel out like rain coming down in torrents. And let all the people you hold dear know of your passion, for knowing of passion makes one feel it.

And always know that true happiness is true sadness. That working all your life in a preordained, preset society with its morals will never make you happy. The human destination is not of control, but it is of understanding. It is of being free, and with those that are free, free. But liberty is a privilege, as is freedom. And even in the freest free there is no freedom but what you seek to see and perceive. Only in death is one unsuffered, freed, left to live as one always wanted. In death all makes sense, in all pain we thrive. Let this be our catalyst, let it catalyst us to reason. Let pain seethe in us, and let it bury us, and let it sadden and sullen us until we are bruised within.

Do not let yourself believe for one moment that how you live is how you should live. How one should live is as trees blow in the wind. As Nature has prebeautied. When you walk within streets, imagine those streets were once gone; that once there there stood trees, and wild grasses, and feral things most serene and eloquentially feeling.

One can only find happiness in what created him. And Nature is what creates. It has created wind. It has created air. It has created breathing thriving living organisms. It has created, and all in the same sweep, it destroys. Do not look on destruction as destruction, but look on it as creation. For destruction is the evener of creation, and creation the evener of destruction. Without one there would not be the other. For if things were only created, they would eventually not be able to sustain all that multiplied—for for there to be creation there need be destruction, there need be the losing of something for the gaining of another.

And as we sit here in this day and age, technology has begun its hold. We have created and created as we have taken and taken from nature. We unbalance nature. We destroy its beauty its serenity. All things man-made are in turn created by a different nature which is governed, that is of mankinds' own devise. We are ungrateful. We destroy what nature has given us. We drain away the planet and kill it while it can do nothing.

Fear is the universal appropriation of man and of any creature. And when a creature is impeded with intelligence, he is able to create his own devices out of fear to destroy this fear. We fear death. We fear working. We fear doing much. We fear living. So we create machines, we create technology. We seek to drown that which is a nature, which is a fear. Fear is the highest thing we feel the most. And it shall never die as much as we try—for fighting fear only leads to deviation of more fear, and more fear leads to still more fear. It is an endless abodely circle. It has no discipline. Man has no discipline.

He seeks to give reasons to his actions when the reasons for his actions are fear. Why does a man go and get education? For he fears one day that he may not get a job, and may then not be able to feed himself, thereby living. Why does man enter into war? For he fears conflicts without resolves. He fears conflicts that have never been set straight, and in nature he turns his fear into valor, trying as he might to effuse what conflicts him with brave courage which is foundationed in fear. War is the horridest of all things. It is a sickly thing, a sullen thing. And it is raw emotion outbursted into a globally physical entity. It seeks to conceive rights and wrongs when there are none but what each side perceives. It is a dying reason to fight. For no one is ever right nor wrong, each thing a man says has some validity to it. Every concept has something which can be gleaned and thus taken in.

Yet few can do this. Few can see both sides to one given situation as well as many. Man is gilded, he is decrepit. And only when he destroys himself shall he truly no longer live in fear. And only when he sees his own perdition will he finally see past all that he has done.

One can only live as it is told to them. And in today's age we are to learn—and by learning we are saddened with intelligence. for with intelligence comes a need for discipline, just as a man greatly powerful in physical nature must inhold his powers. Once one knows they are happy and see as much truth as they can. Once they see this they become lost, uncertain, blown in too many directions.

The physical is what festers as well as fosters the mental. Our entire mental capacities and images are encaptured in physical understandings. We see everything as we see from our eyes. And this shall never change. And it is only those who see through the eyes of others that actually see, and actually foster their mental intelligences in the right manner. And if one fosters this side of themselves long enough, they shall find that they are sad in what they know.

Sad is he who knows. Knowing is he who knows, and by it he lives. Sad as it be and sad as it is, all one can do is live, or kill oneself as one stands. May man heed words which are spoken true. And may they die by them.

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