irsinkast

The depression is hitting with full force now. Short days and long hours and no play-time. I can't believe the ongoing nagging and chatter in every room I step into. I’m pulling my hair out just to feel something other than the argumentations of progression I have been raising. My survival mode is so blatantly pathetic that I can only hate myself for it. Once more, I am a farce, making all the wrong choices, seeking all the wrong and easy answers with all the wrong people. It is all in me. Nowhere else. Empathy and compassion and my helping hands have become raping excuses. Deviant roads, stray freedoms and gore. Just gore.

Too many questions and assignments are forwarded to land on my lap. I try to keep this hot, hot head a lot cooler, thinking about nothing and focussing on the task at hand. But why? This is not for the greater good, or for the needy, or for the harmony of my heart, or for the ancient rites. This is only for the devil at the wheel, pouring us into the ripping gears like oil. We are nothing more than oil. There is no more body and no more soul in the execution of these tasks. While I have already learned these lessons of huge import many times. They never change. I warn others not to slide into the wax but I dive in, head first, year after year. This office room is the same as the one I hated 10 years ago. They did a nasty job on us. Giving us that final push into the irreversible. Now, I'm too old to hate wholeheartedly.

But maybe I have to tell you now already that these pressures of ignorance and subjection will only get worse. You will gradually feel your control over the environment slip away, but this is just an impression since it is really your view on the world that is enlarging. Adding years to your age expands your mind and thoughts. And you start to realize that there are actually only very little things in the world that you can deeply understand. The only thing you have any power over, if you are born so lucky, are your own actions. Your emotions and even your opinions are mere slaves of circumstance. They just drift along helplessly. This is of the essence in meditation. Mastering your behaviour through activity or inactivity, to the extent that, over the years, many years for most, you feel that you can eventually channel and steer your emotions. There lies a first step in the practice of ‘letting go’. Your goal should be to let go of your emotions which are mainly reactions to outside s...

No single one is better. Reddened fabrications pass on and through our heads. Concocting weary tales of our stature being different. Swinging the big oak doors wide open and leaping from the granite steps over the threshold. Rolling down the slope of busted skulls and collar bones. Sliding into the tar pits. With losers emptying large bags of feathers from above. Chuckling because they don’t get the least of it. Most of my days I spend in my head waiting for the second hand to turn the other way. Typing gibberish that serves none of my dreams. Talking to others instead of facing my nightmares. That’s real dishonesty for you. It’s a defensive manoeuvre in which I’m the first to get it. Totally pointless. If I practice what the circles have learned me I know that forcing the light in works. I know that the efforts are rewarded every time. Still the fall kills me time and time again.

I freeze up when I hit it. There’s nothing I hate more than the public road to achievement. The expectations that line up like miserable mutilations of life. Because they have succeeded in fooling some that ambition matters. That things, other than real things, could matter. Which of course they can’t. The real things like life, death, food, housing, compassion, … are absolute to us while we are alive. Ambition is your pretext to justify egoism and hedonism. And while I love exploring, enjoying and developing my senses, there is no point in glorifying them at the cost of others. Mistakes: yes, ruthless ambitions: no. My disdain for objectives and milestones is inflexibly exaggerated, beyond any realism. I carry it in front of me like a doctrine. Strutting like a peacock. Wielding my contempt like an axe. (It has become the perfectly accepted excuse for my ongoing mediocrity, which almost feels like a Zen practice. But I’ll tell you about that some other time.) Ambition is on the cuttin...

One of those days, again. Seem to be having many lately and it all falls down on my head. All at once. So I’m sitting back, relaxing the shoulders, lowering my breathing, loosening the jaw, lowering my eyes. Days like cliffs. Like tall building’s roof tops. Days like rope. Of reckless driving. A forever sleep. I can’t even pinpoint what I believe to have lost. It tells me nothing. It shows me everything without explaining anything. Barely staying afloat in these days. And no longer afraid to admit it. I no longer have any practical issues. But I’m left with inner turmoil. Ravaging and howling. It’s a day for heading to bed early. And to sleep in late tomorrow. Just made a mental note. Will do.

If the dialogue has no chance to develop, our pathos has no space to grow. Contrary to what you might assume after reading these regurgitations of mine and other people’s words, I am no fan of dialogue. I am no fan of words. They are lost before they hit the floor. The life has been forced out of them before the waves bounce off the skin of your face. Once they leave the ravine that is my empty mouth that articulates these destined to be empty words. Born hollow and absolutely pointless. The only thing that moves in words you hear or read is the reflection of your feelings. The recognition of your own abandonment. The incapacity of your own expressions. Every conversation is an immediate road to defeat. As much platform as there might appear to be, nothing supports the absence of whatever these words were in their premature state. To utter means to disconsider. It is better to bury and possibly forget than to deprecate the initial thought. All the rest is losing energy. As life is just...