Wednesday, December 23, 2015

The Beauty Of The Darkness Of Light



Published on Rebelle Society 
Published on Mogul





I lay my hands folded across my breast and close my lids to humanity, yet it claws at my calves as waves rushing to slate rock.

Pulled to duty, I hesitate. I shed skin per second, and parts of me embed within the dirt and sedimentary layers of this Earth. It is tiring. I am able to look into one’s eyes and see fathoms they do not. I bow my head in grace, not quite knowing how to proceed…

So, that was pretty much how I spent the last year.

Real light-minded things, like facing the horror and the beauty of the darkness of light while single-handedly cracking my sternum into pieces, and putting my splintered ribs back together like some Freudian jigsaw puzzle while enjoying afternoon tea with Kierkegaard and Jung.

I am, obviously, me, just a bit… lighter.

Kafka stated:
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?… we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

 - The axe for the frozen sea within us -


Well, I took that axe just like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, possessed and crazed, but much more calm than he was, and definitely not dangerous, and hammered that baby right through my skullbone.

My blow to the head was facing myself in order to align with right now, not yesterday or tomorrow, right now. My disasters were not awful, they were lessons that involved letting people, situations, attitudes and behaviors go that no longer serve my placement.

To be perfectly honest, ‘banished to the forest far from everyone’ is not as bad as good ol’ Franz makes it sound up there.

The universe exists, there are stars, planets, and worlds we have yet to discover, endless void, and we only know of one galaxy.

We survive on one planet out of many, that happens to possess perfect conditions for our functioning human bodies which require no electricity, batteries, or gas in order to run.
Existence is a sort of dream, another state of being, a perceptive state and we all perceive life differently.

My lamplight is dim. The desert winds are cool. My forehead grows hot, then cold. I am not feverish. It is Earth calling my name, my real name, the one given to me in incarnations long past. I wrap myself in lambswool, protected. I seek solace from the harsh winds…

We are here to learn and experience everything, and a massive energetic force composed of elements we have yet to understand is our lighthouse.

This energy is everywhere: sun, moon, seasons, grass, trees, sea, sky, breath, movement, the beating heart, the speaking voice, the kind words of a good heart, a friend, a lover, a love.

We experience this — humanity — in order to grow, and when we pass, are accountable in a lovely fashion, not a condemning one. There are no magic rewards or gifts, yet further exploration.

We choose our existence, our life, our love, our struggle, our beauty and our pain. If we do not accomplish what we are set here to do, we repeat it now and/or later.

My lamplight may dim from time to time, yet is never out, and you must be wondering by now what the actual point of this article is.

I must admit, I truly have no idea, seriously, but you are still reading, and my duty as a writer is to come up with something intelligent-sounding.

So this is all I got (so far):
  • Trust the process; trust what is correct for you and only you.
  • Trust that your own actions, words, and existence carry the ability to hurt and heal.
  • Trust that you have the power to create sacred spaces for others to enter safely in order to experience and learn of love on giving and receiving ends.
  • Trust that being human (is the craziest thing to ever agree to) is about observation, perception, experience, and growth.
  • Trust that you are important, and were born for reasons yet to be discovered.
  • Trust that your placement on this globe transcends what the human mind is capable of fully comprehending.
  • Trust that you have work to do, and if you are not doing this work, then you had better get busy finding your work.
  • Trust that if your actions are consistently cruel and unkind, and you are fully conscious of this, then you have the chance to create change in your life before life chooses to create change for you.
  • Trust that something negative can be positive, provided you pay attention.
  • Trust that if you are being the best version possible of yourself right now, then that is enough.
  • Trust your happiness, your passions, and trust your absolute divine self in recognizing that right now is the answer.
All of this — being human — is a battle within self.

The purpose?

Enjoy this experience for what it is. Break open the human shell, and discover what is inside.

The rest is beyond me, for I am only human. When I pass from this plane, then and only then will I know, without need to study, debate or experiment, if I have truly succeeded.

Calm, my heart. Calm your fears and attributes. You are good and needed in this world, so calm, my heart. Calm the aching memories of past, calm the thought that pools like tears in ventricles and atria. Calm the future.

Calm, my heart, for the angels watch over you. Do not close your pathways, keep your senses acute and open. I understand it is difficult for you, my heart; take this world in all embraces, in all cultures, in all aspects. You, my heart, you are too giving, and that is a beautiful thing.

Yet calm yourself, my heart. You have nothing to fear.


If I extend my arm outwards a few feet beside me, what is there that I cannot see?

I have absolutely no idea, but I have so much fun trying to find the answers…

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
             ~ Edgar Allan Poe

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