Between meaningless and meaningful

Before the sun sets 

                I need to find you somewhere in between the mobilizing rays of the day and the paralyzing beam of nothingness.

But I can’t. I can’t. 

I can’t find you anywhere else but only in between the purest field of birds of paradise in a good soil and the dark blood drawn chariot of a cursed sky.

As the sun gradually sets in kindness, I can’t,  I can’t, I can’t see you around the swollen clouds of death and of irrelevance. 

It seems I haven’t laughed at the parody yet 

I can’t, I can’t bring myself to act upon the abundant noise of mutual futility 

Where fertility does not matter 

Where priority becomes not even the second best 

Where the choice to fill in the void is atrocious 

And I can’t,  I can’t meet you even within the exact rendezvous

Find me. Find me between meaningless and meaningful 

Whereby one is left to figure out the only ‘meaning’ in between. 

 

The only pessimism is to remain a pessimist

I am knocking down the concrete walls in the streets like fresh umbrella mushrooms,

Hitting hard the grand temples of your depressed mind

Pricking the waterless drops of tears in your soul-less eyes

And you tell me,

There is no beauty in family -abuse; raping daughters of sunrise, digging out family inheritance.

Absolutely No. There is no beauty in cruelty, in death in this world compiled in a black chapter book where there is only humans slaughtering men in abattoirs.

There is no beauty in seclusion, in indifference, in randomness even in the plenitude of human affairs.

No, there isn’t.

This world is a controlled HQ where us is kept within a panic room like a child with Asthma sustained merely by some allergy drops.

Life according to a neurotic mind is one remote control with a single click —– flushed out and doomed —– like an automatic toilet bowl invented in Japan or in Germany by another great scientist from the year 8080.

One day you’ll meet a tall, dark stranger ; a movie director ransacking deathbeds, digging deep to show NO beauty in a mother’s cry for her children’s dead bodies.

There is only enough limit in which the human mind can take the evil horrors of life.

So before we become more alienated…

Into the heart of darkness, let your eyes see the unsung childhood sailing away forever

Look deep into the pictures not of golden harvest and organic flush of wind but of war crimes, skin discoloration, the commercialized face-lift, nose jobs and tender oil suction, the poisonous bombing and the publicized hand-served of the UN tribe in a plate of dystopia.

Yes, you told me these words from the other worlds.

Yet as actors and bare performers on a stage with different acts and rotating backdrops, if you know,  the ‘cirque du soliel’ we are.

Go into the heart of things to witness how the world rattles one after the other as people scream in despair with a doggish mind unfollowing god -serving butterflies reinventing the color-wheel eight octaves higher.

As you perceive the Earth, human beings and life in general —

Searching for light with all the good beyond all evil in yourself and the cyclical mud-view that creeps into being,

With all these, you want me to figure it all out.

To see them in your light; I do.

Because we live in the same pig-pen fed of the same pig-sty.

Yes. You tell me everything.

But.

I can’t carry the same seed even if I’m the only one stupid, joke -immuned girl reduced to misunderstand the truth of life’s meaninglessness. 

You tell me, you have a much rancor towards life. 

Isn’t that unfortunate? 

To disqualify yourself of a single life with the way you regard life to be meaningless. 

Isn’t the one who contradicts it desires most of it?

If this is the ground where we lay the foundation, 

All must have committed suicide; —-

           removed of the vitality for life. 

Why?

This is love.


Why? This cup I offer you isn’t taken by you. Why?

Are you holding back for something I don’t know? 

Thinking. Deciding. Hiding all of them underneath the sheets of the subconscious 

Resisting the urge, the chemicals; guarding yourself up: through maximum security 

Why? Why? Are you hesitant to walk to me?

Do I resemble the devil who wrecks havoc and gives you pain?

Why? Why are all the stars in your eyes sparkle as fast as shutting them off completely? Like a free shuttle freeing up to the space unheard-of 

Why are you doing this Mr. Hanged man? Are you terrified juggling between two truths? One the reality and the other just an ocean of your desires?

Don’t feel it all by yourself showing me that King of sword act 

Why?

Are you cutting me off like an icepop taken out from the cold freezer hard to be eaten, I should be chopped? 

If you feel that way why won’t you just be honest, let me know if I’m causing you trouble, isn’t that the right thing to do? 

Why? Tell me why?  If you’re seeing me as the Queen of cups, shiny, all good, there’s no way can you be reciprocated? 

Is this your way of saying No? 

I suffer then I stop? 

If it’s true that you calculate, can you also calculate the risk of getting it all right and true?

And if we remove some irrelevant pre-judgment, won’t our wishes come to fruition? 

If this is so bad that you’re afraid of rejection then let me tell you,

You haven’t asked me for an answer, 

       Haven’t wooed me, for me to reject you just yet.

Why are you afraid? What is something that keeps you awake at night?

Justice: if you could give justice then leaving you would have been less painful, But.

Do you really want me to walk away from you?

Why? Why? What are you thinking?  Are you really thinking about me? 

Protection, Security I don’t need them all!

Why? Am I too incompetent to need all your shining armor? 

I’m not! Deal with me the same way you deal the person you love. 

Why do you see me so weak?  Why?

Such brilliant mind only see diminishing results instead of  overflowing abundance? 

This life isn’t perfect and I don’t think I am. Neither do I feel that going and being with you will be ‘perfect’.

No way. No way!

But people don’t come together only to fill the brain but to feel the heart by overcoming hardships and grief.

We are work in progress. Isn’t this what you said? 

Why? Don’t do this to me. 

Please don’t make yourself feel as the only victim.  You are not.

Why? Why Don’t you love yourself? Believe in yourself?

Who you are and what you are, that’s You. Just you. And I love all of them.

If you wonder if you could still trust me well, 

Love me or don’t love me.

Trust me or don’t trust me at all! 

Why would love be any different? 

Compromising our feelings and the possibility of a good relationship? Deleting our precious friendship? 

So why? Why would you let yourself suffer alone, I’m here. 

If I am that sunshine you don’t need to be that shadow avoiding light rays.

You deserve all the light; all the warmth.

All the smiles and all the grace of tranquility. 

Please.. 

Don’t do this. Don’t do this to your wonderful and lovable self.

I am sorry I hurt you, MY HEAD FULL OF EMOTIONAL BRAIN CELLS. 

Dearest someone

Sympathy is pitiful 

Empathy is spiteful 

And apathy is a downright curse. 

Make me feel something when I think shallow 

When I breathe hollow make me think full 

When everything is hard to follow 

Dangerous to swallow 

Help me feel so alive today as I simply doubt this so-called “tomorrow.” 

Your righteous politics

Your mind perfectly deconstructs the works of my body 

Your drab brown eyes only see wrongs of all sorts 

Apparently a turn on for me 

That pessimism versus my enthusiastic noise 

Arouses me

It is a given how your fingers point out every ‘needs of improvement’ in me. Fix that in three days. 

Ows? As I submit to your powerful command. 

It is amusing to have that personality 

One day, we’ll see eye to eye 

How this spiteful symbiosis completes us 

Your need to destroy then recreate 

And my desire to enjoy and act them out 

I love this 

Building bricks and laying more blocks 

Making me infatuated with you 

Hey, you have made your way under my burnt skin 

Injected yourself into my blood stream 

I know this won’t do you any justice 

You are a stubborn cynic 

The only floating skeptic 

Who denies most of what I’ve said and done 

Here and now you have propagated a hectare of garden of likeable ideas in my head, ha!

The God who is always in question

Tempted to be His own rebel

When I hear random non-believers

Question my belief of the true salvation

Leading me to join their denomination 

Where is GOD? I don’t know.

There is no God, they laugh 

They mock with enough sincerity 

I hear members of the church preaching in the cold streets 

This is God and no other 

If you hear what’s being said, you’re there to follow the herd

Where is God? I’m not sure, maybe in the Bible? In Quran?

In the foyer? In your pocket? In your brain?

How about asking yourself, what happened to you why can’t you find God?

Nah, who is God anyway?

Jehovah? Jesus? Allah? Buddha? Cat? Dog? Mouse? Rock? Mountain? River? trees? Myself?

Perhaps God is the force? The cell? The lost chimpanzee? The movie director? The chef, or your nasty neighbor?

How many a time have we been questioned? 

How many a time have we proven ourselves, the world and Stuart Little? 

Yet the answer remains a question to be answered 

Throw in and out of the waste bin, recycled, refused or reused

Hand me the truth!

Oh you mean the subjective truth?

Bring me someone who has seen Your God.

There isn’t a need to.

It’s enough that you touch yourself, feel yourself and the energy around you, then, ask yourself again if there really isn’t God?

Darn!

We’ll never get to the bottom of this. 

—————–

Believe that there is GOD. 

Don’t resist him so hard 

Desire Him to come into your life

Because 

To know God is to accept God amidst confusion, despair, happiness, grief and madness

He’s not the book, the sculpture, the idea, the cup of coffee on a regular day or the warm liquor you worship at night when you’re down as fuck

All these are His provisions 

He will manifest as He has already manifested Himself.

This is the God I know.


Before 

My name was one of the early rising church goers 

My hand being held by Mom with my cheerful Sunday’s dress 

In the church, we sang Christian hymns, kneeled thrice, held hands, prayed for grace, submitted our sins, kissed the wooden saints and God’s carved images, lighted candles for wishes to come true, donated money for the church, took the bread of life (they said), asked for the forgiveness of our sins, kissed and blessed the hand of the priest, cried in extreme agony and made a long historic confession 

But also in the church, we looked at other men and thought who was more handsome, was it the guy in red or the man on the altar? We chatted nonsense things, closing our eyes; pretending with our busy and dirty minds the next dress we’d wear at the party, the whereabouts, some enemies we condemned and not forgave, how much money we had to donate for the church or where to get my sister’s tuition fee, house rental and all these ever-growing predicament 

Together t’was a family activity from a not so distant familiarity 

Thus 

Getting up seemed to be an argumentative discourse rather than an automatic reflex in my brain, 

To which you could guess the latter was my ultimate destination 

As a child, that was the tradition. 

But as a child too, I enjoyed more the post-activity of eating out and riding boom cars at the metro mall than the banality behind religiosity. 

Even though I couldn’t argue then it was a feeling I constantly felt but put aside 

As I used to feel like a doll being dragged by its excited owner

Bible reading or preaching was never a routine task or an encrypted understanding 

So even the joys and love of it became a feeling of nonchalance 

Funny how we got stuck in this tradition of religion when we were never the lover of the Bible

As idle procrastinations and conventional trainees nurtured by the nameless ancient paganistic rule of worshipping God (whichever adjective comes first, I’m not sure ;-)) 

I was never taught and I never learned you see, I didn’t understand anything but had to follow everything. 

And I used to be that consistent, obedient and obligated child of hypocrisy ( here comes another adjective structure :-/) 

To a much bigger and bitter scale, this existed in the family (only Satan knows when)

But childhood must go on, isn’t that the case?

It wasn’t really a struggle to carry out such a controlling practice but more like a constant nudge to question the ideology in the subconscious 

It was a ‘ I’m supposed to ask you, him or them (whoever is an expert) where and how it’s grounded and why but remained silent. ‘ —not wanting to anger or argue with anyone. 

So church-ing (really I’m verb-ing it :-)) became less significant to an extent of ignoring then walking away from it. 


A week ago, I was once again put to the ‘girl being questioned scene’ when I ate at a canteen near my workplace by someone who seemed to be the enlightened one, I reckon. 

He asked as I made the sign of the cross in front of my meal 

“Was Jesus the one who cooked your fish? Did he send you the money to buy all your needs?”

And I was like what? Hell no. (that was a quick self-serving answer from me who was no less than caught off guard by the sudden interruption 

Or perhaps, I just didn’t know how and what to answer, should I explain or tell him? OK and if I decided to then, what should I say? (sigh)

because even the basic act of thanksgiving, I still struggled to keep my tact and confidence which stemmed from NOT knowing; NOT understanding therefore, silence! I had to be silent. Otherwise I’ll run the risk of failing to prove anything or defend something. 


Now 

I learn NOT through Bible reading, or listening to some false prophets, movies and movie reviews, history and literature. 

But by Faith. 

Even if I know enough through reading and listening or nothing at all, I decided to just believe.

I know that most of us want to remain grounded, we want answers to validate our own truths, we want a more combative debate to prove who’s right or wrong, great and small, we want to uncover the mystery surrounding us in this lifetime, we want a more secured future, endless love and perfect life.

Hence we try our best to learn astronomy, theology, physics, biology, psychology and neurology to understand everything in order to have a sense of belongingness or satisfaction or even become the God ourselves. 

Because learning and understanding all things mean, we can get ahead of others even to ourselves. It means power. This desire to be powerful brought inconsistencies and pain in our lives. And yet, how easy it is to blame our circumstances, other people much more GOD for our own selfishness and pride. (I hope I didn’t sound preaching. I too need to learn to understand) 

————————————–

I believe that there is GOD. And that Jesus is my one true savior. I claim His existence in my heart.

I don’t need to flag this to everyone, show them his physical house or existence, I don’t want to exaggerate but 

I just want to believe that through His blood I’m saved. I’m forgiven and that is more than enough to keep my sanity and restless heart. 

the young poetess & the free bird

He’s been flying high around the longest skyline, spreading seeds in different high lands

at times, singing with the wind’s soft songs with his flapping wings magnificent feathers, resting on branches; waiting for more perplexing flowers to bloom as he watches the sun slashing shadows beneath the grandest of trees.

He said, “I’ve seen them all; beautiful and ugly.” I know this one , this thing they call ‘bondage’ and so I know that liberty can only let me be and live.”

This young poetess goes for a walk looking for a landscape she wished she could put her words into. Deep into the forest she found many yet all too many that she found them unsightly. She said ” I am my own being and what I love I desire intensely that even the universe will work to move everything as I command.”

she scribbles some lines from the myths of the living but nothing feels more condescending than writing something out of immense longing.

so the great bird sings from his own beating rendering all others in profound bitterness. The young poetess ceases from writing and thought nothing is worth knowing; worth learning since there is none that is manifesting..

her pen that is filled with yearning about to be thrown out to the wilderness but the great bird appears singing and flying and living’ circling around and proving the poetess her mistaking

Her eyes lighted; her spirit exalted by the freedom which captures her immutable desire for the arts and soul

Once, she told him songs are poems

she works with scraps of papers and words and he with scraps of sounds and making melodies and that a poem is never finished until all scraps are joined together just as where they are supposed to be.

The great bird always finds her on the ridge looking beyond the vast expanse; out of her frame and out of her two obscure lenses, he laughs and likes to say.

Now she’s working on his own poetry; a poem involving real oddities and she likes it how crazy poems can be because she can improvise a lot with the great bird as her art

putting all the scraps, the words, the songs being held down by the clouds of uncertainty and ceaseless expectation.

The great bird says ” oh you are done. You are the woman for that.”

The young poetess says ” I would never ever disagree.”