That moment before the night turns to morning. Wind on my face. This city is ours. Steady hand. Perfectly reminiscent of something so long ago. And it smells of smoke. visions of cedar embers dance in the mind. Elation. Face sore from smiling. It won’t last and we won’t care. Because, for this moment, there is nowhere else we’d rather be.
Gods in our own rights
So incredibly fortunate to have been born into this role
And still we cry when our creations cease to be what we had hoped
So cry and try not to be beautiful
You will never succeed
Skin and bone
Meat and blood
So many images of one
Gods in our own right
It has been said the idea of a soulmate is antiquated and unrealistic. A few women I’ve met in recent history have expressed the idea that there are several men with whom they could share their lives and be happy. I suppose the argument against a soulmate puts logic over superstition. At the same time, I’ve witnessed love’s ability to make us blind, to inebriate us to the point of elation, to the point where we don’t care to see the potential flaws in a relationship because the benefit far out ways the risk. I’d like to think the other person in such a relationship is what some would call the other’s soulmate. It’s not that the two could never be happy with anyone else, but rather, that the two could not envision being happy with anyone else. Further, that the two were fated to be because they chose to be. To wrap our minds around such an idea, we may need to view time as an infinite, rather than a line. If time does not move from one end of a line to the other, if there are endless possibilities, with endless outcomes, then we are simultaneously not fated to be with one individual and have always been with that one individual. If the passing of time is an illusion of the human mind, I am and will always be with her. I ache for the day I meet her and I will not settle for anyone who is not her. I know of the magic of romantic love, because I have lived it. As much as I’ve thrown away, I continue to pray for my next hit, for the opportunity to feel that invincible again. With eyes to the sky, a son of Pi, sending up a flair over a dark ocean.
“But the proles, if only they could somehow become conscious of their own strength. would have no need to conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake themselves like a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow morning.”
Tools used to keep the proles unconscious of their own strength: religion, distraction, division, medication, ignorance, and fear.
Tools the proles may use to awaken themselves: free-thought, focus, unification, sobriety, education, and love.
I think faith can be means to awakening. But religion mangles faith into these prepackaged forms. To say I am (insert religious philosophy here), strips me of my responsibility to search for my own personal truth. Religion has been means to restricting our behavior. When we adhere to these predesigned forms of faith, we give their creators the power to shape our behaviors and even our thoughts. To those who are not avid readers, the quote above is from George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. The Proles, in this piece, were the working class. My intention in this post, is to compare Orwell’s proletarians (proles) to the working class of our society. There would seem to be a lot attempting to keep us in our places, asleep. But we have the tools to awaken ourselves. I see all of this hate in our world, all of this deliberate ignorance, and think we have to do something to change.