Looking for Truth

These are ideas they are not statements of fact, as if they even could be. They are attempts at truth, I guess that they are attempts to get into touch with truth. And then the attempt at truth takes us to different places. I don't know anything, I haven't been informed of truth, I am yet, in the dark. So in the evening, I look into the eyes. I don't know which way to turn, no-one has told me, where I should go. I am lost within my life, and it would seem to be the only place that I can go.

Art

James Dean was right, the highest point of creation is in its creation, and then it is over, it is a memory, and there is a choice to be made for anyone who cares to make a choice, would like to place some value upon its head. A song or a poem or a physical piece of art cannot live again, because essentially, the creation involves the feeling. and the feeling is temporary will change when you don't even want to consider it. Some people understand how to feel toward art, and some people dont, some people are artists and some are understanding of artists and to some, it is all just foreign to them. And the artist and the ones who appreciate art are also lost in understanding the ways of others, they are unknowing too. So there are two types of people, the artist and his appreciators and the ones outside of art, but who dwell in another kind of world of art. And we all criticise so readily, as if there is no other way but ours, or at least, that ours is the only credible way. I guess that art is a bigger word than we imagine.

The Dream Within the Real

A moment turns to magic without forewarning, a demon escapes to its freedom in a nether place. And the clock is yet warning of routine, lust for compliance, but alas, no-one cares. And the moment of the magic, withdraws to itself, It seeks its own solitude within its own beauty. Definition howls in frustration, with opposition of rye smiles. And definition can now turn to the clock to gain comfort, it is all that is left for them, in their mathematical world. Nothing makes sense, and that is what makes the most sense. Eyes collide and recognise, theirs is the only knowing around, and crazy is this reality within dream, and real is this dream within reality. And today was the only time in life's history, although it sidles into its shyness. The clock is on fire and the only time is now.

The River Tolka and its Added Attractions

So I'm walking along the East Wall Road this morning, minding my own business as usual, and happen to look at the River Tolka which runs lateral to it, and I see a burned out Motor Car at the side of the river, just above the water, and I'm wondering to myself 'how the hell did that get there?' so i continue on, to do a bit of shopping in Aldi, and on my way back I happen to look in the direction of the river again, and now, there's a Motor Bike.

The Search

Crazily dancing on the eye on the window of living. Back and forth, twisting and turning, looking into the memory and the dreams of the future, and then stilling oneself to to alone with the present. Everywhere is a departure and an escape from the present reality, that teases and wants to beguile. So, without certainty, that insecure feeling visits, is the companion. And you can either accept it, or run from it in some kind of fear of reality. And then reality stands before you, naked in itself, without prejudice, dwelling in an apparently neutral place. So fear is the enemy of the understanding of reality, of an acceptance of a present truth. And you walk out of yourself to gaze at a picture of life outside of the self, and suddenly you have changed to a bigger self. It all takes courage, and has to be looked in the eye, sometimes even, in an unpleasant eye. There are comforts of course, like the kiss of another lost soul, but the greatest kiss, is the kiss of truth, and the kiss of truth lives within God. And God has to be perceived in selflessness, in humility, and then I believe he will grant understanding, when you are aligned to the search.

Man and God

Even an open mind, must make up its mind. The search may not yet be over but it becomes better informed. And a decision, doesn't necessarily have to be a conclusion, and anyway what is a conclusion? A delusion that stills one into some kind of 'knowing?' And high on the ramparts of the spirit God condescends to you to inform , that he doesn't give the ultimate information away. God is truth, and man is helpless, no matter how hard he may try, and where he might look. He has to face the reality of being unknowing, of someone having him on a leash. But he is asinine and proud and this too is the source of his delusion. He is you and I, and he is not God, although he may a trivial part of God. And then again, there couldn't possibly be a trivial part of God. I guess man in his deluded state, may still be God.

We Are One

Alive to this moment, and then nervously looking at the possibility of you, the darkness in our skies seems to subside into oblivion. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, but perhaps from the great God, I am confronted. You have sung the song that was in my heart, and I am helpless in compliance, and I gaze upon the pictures on your wall, that were written for me. And there is no point in trying to understand anymore, because there can be no understanding, what is, just is. Mind has given way to heart, and the heart is open searches into the open. And in the open, the whole world. And I refuse the past, in my consciousness of this moment. There is beauty in the air, and I am entranced. There is a kaleidescope forever changing, until it fixes itself on you and nowhere else. I am lost in you, and my own personal history, has become lost within itself. Your life lives within my life, and just like making love, we are one.

Now

Wild in a dream, the movement in the moment is given zest. I put my mind to sleep, for a rest that is overdue. Life is a aflame in its possibility, constriction is in bed with the mind, and the heart breaks through, its eyes are on fire with longing and creativity, and the day stands lateral to the present moment, it is somehow alien, to the present feeling. Time is a memory that will not be remembered, all there is, is now, and the feeling of this particular now. And the feeling is the sense, that grasp of sensuous now. There is no escape nor can there be, from the escape that the feeling explodes into the sleeping mind. Eyes, live to dwell in mystic life, eyes that have smiled and eyes that have cried. there is sun in the rain, and it attacks its shower its downness. And possibilities cling to the sun, and the sun inspires, it acts as a guardian, it radiates into some kind of magic. And there is magic in the stillness, and then the stillness is in motion and it succeeds. It lives.

Jennifer

I long for you jennifer, your serious look, the truth in your eyes, your long dark hair and your fullsome lips. I long to be with you on a warm day, walking with you in peace and in stillness. I long to make you smile and see your smile bewilder the day. And I long for your touch and feel your breath on my face. I long to help rid you of your darkness. And I long for you to touch me with your love, and I long for our love to manifest.

Life and Dream

Facets of person, like, do I believe you? when you are so interchangible? Our hearts drum, in a place that searches for music. You are new here, and in the reaches of your mind, is your sense of radio. Beauty stands aloof, there is an angry look, and then a sympathetic smile, it makes you wonder. Night comes down, and you gaze toward the glory of the day, which was of yesterday. Eyes crawl out of the darkness, your hands are tied enough to know that you can't be there with them. And suddenly, all there is, is now, and you care to think that this 'now' is the answer, is your guardian, is the one to give comfort. And this 'now' pretends to be forever present, to be some kind of permanent reality. So you, are standing on the sidelines, looking at the picture, until, the picture sinks into the life of your dream. And then you wonder about your life, and then you wonder about the dream....

Wondering

Some place in the past. A quiet moment remembers. Lost to the moment that this moment itself is in. And to delve into this place can summon the darkness, and the darkness is the enemy of the day. And the day gazes into the eyes and it wants to explode, it is uncontented with your reality, it wants a little bit more, something extra. And then it has suggested, that you look a little further into the day, and you are sitting there, just thinking, just being. Not exactly thinking of movement, and not exactly thinking of standing still. And the night can set fire to the placidity of all within its grasp. It can gain control over the day, and the life within the day. And so there is the confrontation with the day and the night, and you stand in the middle helplessly, you hardly can be aware of this confrontation, but at some point, you may enquire, when the mystery has confounded you, into a place where comfort no longer strays. And then music plays, and perhaps, the sun may shine. And inside, there is fire, and the fire looks for understanding, and it looks into your eyes for expression. And then you are in the corner, wondering, and your wondering may turn to wondering of where your next action lies.