Seas of sorrow
ebb and flow
putrid stench of
Hatred
Yet we believe…
Somehow a sad face
realer than a happy one?
Happiness, a farce;
an illusion of the mind?
Cultured to be subdued
disengaged or eschew?
Yet we see panhandlers
abroad, viscerally sad,
broken
believed to be fakes
cheaters of the system
standing on the median
broken
– n.v.
For why is suicide such a grievous wound?
A human, entity of autonomy and rationality, built upon by themselves and by others, created from foundation to expiration, has chosen to undo what has been done. To destroy the creation in despite of itself in disregard to themselves and all of the other contributors to their autonomy and rationality. They’ve chosen a blank slate rather than the one with etchings all over. And this – this, is the real no-bullshit sadness that comes with suicide – to think that emptiness prevailed. To think that, despite the inherent humanly flaws of everyone, the little etchings weren’t worth it after all. That, somehow, the mind had convinced the raw bodily baggage to finally concede. That, the semblances of memory and shared experience we call life, was not greater, in a moment, than the alternative. The evil multi-armed demon of depression had deleted another idol of nostalgia. The sad, secret, sinister voice inside manifested and eviscerated the exterior.
– n.v.
Love is to hurt,
For hate is numb
– n.v.
sleepwalking in suburbia
contemplating crickets
the perfect pitches
of finches in finicky
reaches of the rural
- n.v.
If passing involves Heaven or naught,
remember what you’ll bring with you and what not:
For a memory of walking in between leaves
hearing crinkling, enraptured in the trees
leaves a memory of careless loveliness
carefully stepping, enjoying the crickets
and other worldly beings.
Making being
a worldly being
restfully carefree
just you and me
without ever needing
other materialism.
Just you, and I, and our sun hats
draping over our faces
wasting our days away
wistfully swaying as the sun sets
and entrances us with blessed
views
Only allotted in this tiny plot of land
with your hand
in my hand
- n.v.
The daily tedium tumultuously tumbles you into a tired, detained and default state… and it’s not your fault: we’ve all been there.
You wake up, work your exhausting (sometimes mindless) 9-5, get home, exercise for a minute, eat dinner… and it’s 9 pm? Where’d the day go? And then there’s always more to do… and then suddenly it’s the next day, week, month, and then your friends are getting married and then it’s 2018 with President Trump deflecting nuclear war by making peace with North Korea.
We live in a crazy fucking world. And a busy one.
Yet, caught in all this confusion, noise and nonsense, there is (at least) one holy place remaining for everyone. A spot so deeply personal, so utterly universally invigorating, and enables one to be so superbly in solitude that we must abuse it for our mental sake; our showers.
I’ve probably (definitely) written about showers in the past as a way to cultivate your thoughts but I’ve begun a new practice that I find particularly powerful…
Crank the water to the most frigid: extra cold, sit, cross-legged, hanging your head over your feet, letting your arms rest on your knees, closing your eyes, begin counting to 60 slowly…
And you’ll feel how long a minute is. And you’ll respect and appreciate every second. Contour your core into rigidity while embracing the freezing water, enjoy each second and you should feel an abundance of peace — despite the fact that there are dishes piled up in the kitchen, your room is a mess, another mass shooting occurred, you need groceries, and your monthly rent is due.
Then, do it every day and see continuity in improved energy, mental clarity, and positivity, shedding negative people like an Akita sheds fur, waxing poetic on somethingindifferent.com for the sake of humanity.
Boom.
A frown is the face of death,
And a smile;
Life.
- n.v.
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