Monday, May 9, 2011

Well, hello.

Someone's had a rough day. There there, nothing to fear. Not just yet.

Poor thing. What is it that you fret over? Do you feel hurt? Alone? Scared? Is it the past? present? Or perhaps the future?

That's it, isn't it. You're dwelling on the future. How far? An hour? A day? Weeks, months, years, a whole lifetime?

Think of what's expected of you, girlie. You can't just be educated, you have to be the supreme. Top honors. International diplomas. Recognition. College. That's when you decide exactly what you're going to be in life...but you won't choose, will you. You'll only do what's expected of you. What they tell you will be good, what will contribute to society, what will hold your family together, what will make money.

And that's what it's all about when you boil down to it. Money. Money and success. You have to have a better job than everyone else, have to have a higher income, bigger house, fancier car, more beautiful glamorous life and oh, you wish that came easily, don't you? It's nice to be smart, I bet. It's nice to be a genius. But genius gets you nowhere if you can't use it for anything. Otherwise you're just another eccentric, a bum living in the dangerous low-class side of town, day in and day out just scribbling, realizing things that won't matter a damn to anyone else in the world but you. God forbid you ever, ever make something of yourself, because that's just not quite as fun, is it.

But what can you do? You fear what will come of you if you can't meet expectations. If you fail to succeed, then you fail the universe. What little purpose you have now is nothing compared to later. When you are old enough to contribute, and yet you don't? You're simply a blockage in other people's lives. Nothing more than an irritation, a bug, if you will. Too large to be squashed but too small to matter, destined to die of its own accord.

And then what happens, hm?

Now now, quit the tears. I'm not saying anything you didn't already know.

Unless...there's something else you're worrying over?

Oh, I see. This isn't your primary concern? Or perhaps, just one of many?

You want to escape, that's it. But from what? You feel that these walls hold you in? Like a tomb, I suppose. You'll die in this cell of a home. Who can contribute when they have no chance to find their potential?

I'm wrong, am I?

Then it's not the outside you want to escape from.

It is the Self.

You're confused, scared by the mechinations of your own mind. You want to know how it works, why you think what you think. Why no one else thinks like you do, and if that is the case who can you go to for help. You would give anything to simply flip a switch and be brainless for just an hour, just a few minutes of simplicity. No worrying about the complexities of life. No worrying if your mind has a mind, if what you see isn't always what you get, if nothing is real at all and life, the universe, everything is simply an illusion. You can set aside purpose. Just be. Wouldn't you like that, girlie?

Too bad things don't work like that.

And yet you still sit there? Shall you let the tears fall until they erode you inside and out? Let existence steal the reigns as you feel sorry for yourself for all eternity? Even past your expiration, what shall you think of yourself? "Oh, how I wish I had acquired, had done, had been!"

If you dislike the walls then break them down. Keep an open mind about everything so you don't have to worry about what is real and what is not. Success is false, society matters not, Fate is a paper shackle. Live by your own convictions. Face consequence as it comes; there will be consequence still if you remain as you are.
Stand. Dry the tears. Step out. Face the world. Let the wind whisk you up and away. You will find solace outside your shell.

The answer may lie as close as your open window.

Now see? Haven't you a good head on your shoulders.


  1. You're cute, love. I should have known all along. But why the facade? Are you nervous, are you lacking in confidence, are you...scared? Brilliant, your terror. I'd almost laugh, if I didn't pity you...and if I also weren't tired of facades.

    Are you scared of me too? I do hope not.
    You know exactly what I am.
    But to calm you, and because I really do love you, I'll give you a clue:
    Try measuring me in meters.

  2. I don't fear you. I simply want an answer.

    Oh, the many things that you could be. Something long and slender, perhaps? In a most concrete form. Any space at all can be measured in metres. Perhaps you are a human intestine. A winding road. A very tall man.

    Or maybe you're something less tangible. A train of thought. A poem, a song.

    Can one measure infinity in meters?

    Honestly, of all the riddles you've given me, this is probably the most open-ended.

    If you're capable of love, that narrows down the choices considerably. Then again, love is just a word without a brain and soul to express it.

    It's obvious you've a brain. But have you a soul?