Date: 23.02.2008
Time: 11:25 p.m.
As I shut myself in once again, thinking over possibilities and trying to pin-point what is upsetting me before I go to sleep every night, I reach an answer — the past. Fragments of my life left behind like discarded glass shards. They prick and bleed if you touch them. And if it is your misfortune to walk over those remains in a half-hearted attempt to recollect, to feel, you leave a trail of blood behind you along with your footsteps, adding colour to your gait.
It is something of a mystery, how much importance a person gives unfulfilled wishes. They visit you in your dreams, providing you with cruel reminders of what you lack. Is it not more practical to leave what has happened or has not behind you and make a fresh start on a new canvas? Who wants old stains marring the picture? New lines are called for ... fresh and strong, and perhaps, a bit of colour too. But alas, a fresh canvas is nigh impossible to come by and you are left with the one you had from the start. And no matter how much you erase or try to over-write with new lines, those ugly stains stay to haunt you when you look their way.
What is most surprising is the abruptness of the intense perceptions — they overwhelm you when you’ve let your guard down, when you are certain of your mastery over them. They come upon you from behind and place a stifling hand on your face, choking you and leaving you in a state of panic. And then, you are flooded with guilt and regret … and fear. After these feelings pass, your mind is too drained to house any other feeling and you go about your present life like an automaton — smiling when it is asked of you, speaking when required, being polite and looking cheerful, all the while harbouring a sense of hollow emptiness inside.
The past — my past and that of my world — encompassing those many lives that I once led, the fragments of myself that died in the process and the depleted self that I am left with now .... I have nothing to offer to the future. The ghosts haunt me and control my responses to hope. And of course, I do not have the faculty to take contentment with both hands and make it stay with me.
I still feel lost. I continue to bury myself within me, and lose my hope and drive after occasional ventures to the surface. The world of remembered yesterdays never fails to catch up with me and draw me into the quagmire of despair. And I remain afraid of letting myself go, worried about consequences and mistakes that I might make or am already making without realising it.
End: 11:50 p.m.
Time: 11:25 p.m.
As I shut myself in once again, thinking over possibilities and trying to pin-point what is upsetting me before I go to sleep every night, I reach an answer — the past. Fragments of my life left behind like discarded glass shards. They prick and bleed if you touch them. And if it is your misfortune to walk over those remains in a half-hearted attempt to recollect, to feel, you leave a trail of blood behind you along with your footsteps, adding colour to your gait.
It is something of a mystery, how much importance a person gives unfulfilled wishes. They visit you in your dreams, providing you with cruel reminders of what you lack. Is it not more practical to leave what has happened or has not behind you and make a fresh start on a new canvas? Who wants old stains marring the picture? New lines are called for ... fresh and strong, and perhaps, a bit of colour too. But alas, a fresh canvas is nigh impossible to come by and you are left with the one you had from the start. And no matter how much you erase or try to over-write with new lines, those ugly stains stay to haunt you when you look their way.
What is most surprising is the abruptness of the intense perceptions — they overwhelm you when you’ve let your guard down, when you are certain of your mastery over them. They come upon you from behind and place a stifling hand on your face, choking you and leaving you in a state of panic. And then, you are flooded with guilt and regret … and fear. After these feelings pass, your mind is too drained to house any other feeling and you go about your present life like an automaton — smiling when it is asked of you, speaking when required, being polite and looking cheerful, all the while harbouring a sense of hollow emptiness inside.
The past — my past and that of my world — encompassing those many lives that I once led, the fragments of myself that died in the process and the depleted self that I am left with now .... I have nothing to offer to the future. The ghosts haunt me and control my responses to hope. And of course, I do not have the faculty to take contentment with both hands and make it stay with me.
I still feel lost. I continue to bury myself within me, and lose my hope and drive after occasional ventures to the surface. The world of remembered yesterdays never fails to catch up with me and draw me into the quagmire of despair. And I remain afraid of letting myself go, worried about consequences and mistakes that I might make or am already making without realising it.
End: 11:50 p.m.
4 comments:
ya the past does haunt you,but really you have to look ahead and hope for a fresh tomorrow.and how have you been?
"...And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, the way to dusty death..."
What you said about the canvas made me remember something at the Academy several years ago. I'd made a truly grotesque oil of the obese model on canvas. The instructor sauntered up, took the sheet, poured linseed oil and scraped off the whole layer.
What were left were the unrecognisable stains, that all of a sudden, took on some abstract beauty of form.
Every time I do cut myself on the memories, I remember the exact location as a lesson. After all, the burnt hand teaches best.
To each his/her own anyway. My best nonetheless...
the past...yum...if we didn't make the mistakes, how will others learn from us? ;)
Hey chill, life will get worse tomorrow :)
N
The student said to the master: "there is no reality," and with that the master slapped him in the face.
"Ouch!2 said the student.
"Was that real enough for you," asked the master.
So, if I say there is no such thing as the past, the future, or even the present- there is only the now, ups, it's gone. Where did it go? Can anyone show you where the past is. Not a photo, newspaper, birth certificate, but the actual place/where? However.
I can certainly understand the past having an effect in terms of unresolved issues Even so, they are issues that cause pain in the moment, and must be resolved with in the moment. These issues are a reluctance to let the past - which has no real existence - go. You could say living in the past is a denial of the hear, and now, just as much as living in the future, or in ones dreams is.
Taking charge of your life, letting go of your pain, refusing to let it dominate, dictate to you how you should feel is to be held hostage, a prisoner locked away from yourself.
There is a reality about your cell door. Stand up, walk over to it turn the handle and push; it has no lock.
Welcome yourself to freedom.
Thank you. I am glad I came to see you.
Post a Comment