Pondering Existence

I don’t question the existence
of an omnipotent God, I don’t.
I believe there is a higher force
that has created us, me.
Has created the essence of life,
and the surroundings of the world
to serve the human existence.
I believe.

However, I question if God’s essence
is to create,
rather than micromanage.

Is there a gap
between creation and judgment?

Is all that happens in between,
a mere force of nature?
Choice?
Self determination?

Does God plunk us down here
and wait for us to pass through,
and then judge us
on our temporary trip through His world?

If yes, is this a cruel joke?
Or does it have a higher purpose?

Are we dropped onto this chess board
from high up above,
where God has
a birds-eye view?
That’s not fair,
because He can see the whole picture!

We can only see the playing pieces around us.
So are we, mortal humans,
merely supposed to pick up
where He left us off,
and blindly pick our next step?

Well, I am not going to take this lying down.

There has to be a direction.

So, then, all the pretty things on this world
are to serve as reminders of something
so beautiful and immense,
to remind us that we should reach higher
to see wider?

But when it is each to itself,
it is hard.
It is difficult.
Who is supposed to raise me on their shoulders, high,
so I can see past the horizon?

Who is there as a liaison, between top, and bottom.
It’s not a human.

It’s Music.
Because it is the language of the
wiser, older, and previous souls.
It transcends.
It can make us float when the song carries us.
We can see.
We can feel.
But do we connect?
Can it last after the crescendo,
after the final note?
It doesn’t.
So must we shut it all out
and drown ourselves
in the neverness
and nothingness
and alwaysness
of eternal song?

Can the world tolerate that?
No.
They seek to distract us
with the dirty, the secular, the ugly.
Work. Labor.
Continuity of human life, they say.
But that does pull one away from life.
What a contradiction.

How is a balance formed?
Can there even be a balance?
Can ugly paycheck jobs and dead end marriages
be a balance with uplifting beauty,
to bridge the gap
between the mundane and the eternal?
I doubt it.

I think that the humans just pretend.
A widespread fanatic belief,
training their minds to believe in what they want to believe in.
Because it is convenient
It works for most.
It answers their immediates.

Can they foresee more?
They can’t,
or it would be evident in their ways.

They would live a life as a tourist,
taking it all in.
While it lasts.
Learning the history,
dissecting and treasuring the details.

Because those are clues.
Clues for the future.
Everything that will be
has taken root in the past.
So strive to understand it.
Don’t just walk through it
like a stranded villager
trudging through the muck

to get to dry land.

That is not your purpose in this temporary passageway of this life.

Advertisements

Raw Unfiltered Agony

The desperation, the pain, the humiliation, the guilt
The agony, the loneliness. The fears.
It’s a filthy faded ruined ambrosia
of once-colorful, now rotten.

Tampered, tarnished.
Spoils of war.
I look at my children.
It’s like picking through the carcass
after an attack of a giant predator
hunting for meat on their bones
for some life left in their souls.

There is nothing
there is emptiness.
It’s programmed robots
wandering. Lifeless. Hopeless.
They no longer have the energy
to extend a finger, to reach out
to hope. To pray, to wish, to dream.
Operating on empty
shattered dreams.

Oh to set one’s guilt free
to tell the world of the misery
to share the details of this all time low
to sink into a pit, and feel okay there.
Not to worry about what the grapevine will hear
the terror of wondering, if they will even care.

How can you recoup the losses of this life
if over 30 years were spent full of strife
how does one elevate their thoughts
into positive directions, in this emotional drought.
This cesspool of irrational, of corruption
humans behaving like ignorant primates
alpha males domineering, even if they are females
controlling, power hungry, flesh eating horrors.

Abusive, button-pushers who stop at nothing
won’t yield if their dignity is at stake
will not be squeamish at the sight of your blood boiling.

For it is your blood, and not theirs.
It only validates how effective they have been,
and use it as a measure on how to continue.
Reactions only cause more pain, more earned hate.
Why bother, if silence treats you so well.
Retreat.

Don’t share, don’t care, don’t.
So that they won’t.
So they know not how to prepare
how to arm themselves against you
and use your ills in the highest level of warfare.

Simmer, then turn down the flame.
Throw away the key, let them hate.
They will hate anyway
dammed if you do… and if you don’t.
Don’t bother. It’s human noise, wipe it out.
They are the strangers in this foreign land.
They will never, can never. Understand.

They will never lend a hand
they never have.
They only hurt, because that is their language
they do not speak compassion. That to them, is strange.
They do not understand gentle kindness
tender pathways to emotions.
They do not understand that feelings have a sweet song
a visual to accompany it, oh so strong.
If only they can see it synthesise, without explanation
if only they can feel it, without me bringing a delegation.

It does not exist. Must not hope any longer.
Must not reveal.
For it gets logged, compartmentalized, only to be pulled back
taught, like the arrow on a bow.
To be shot back at you,
boomeranged with a scientific force
a science that I will never master.
With intensity, like they will never master me.
To bridge this divide is no longer possible.
I know. Because I’ve tried.

Most days I wonder, if I succeeded too well
if I tried too hard
and freaked them out with my learned skill
my acquired knowledge.
The guts I shouldn’t have adorned myself with.
And that they feel squeamish.
And that’s how they then behave.

Maybe. Maybe I will be the loneliest discarded piece of pie
that every existed in this messed up world.