Affects of Light

That we should battle with insecurity is quite unfortunate. That we should have these bouts within ourselves is even worse.

But what are insecurities but failures in the visions of ourselves?

On one hand I realize that I must contend with the forces of better claims than mine - theirs are perhaps more beautiful, fancy, fine. On the other, I realize that being and receiving should not stop with the senses. In this insistence I find hope, for who can really say that their vision is necessarily better?

Some nights I dream of rainbows too - with tinges of red and yellow and blue.

Easy. Easy, tiger!

There is no more room for audacity. So be still, my beating heart.

I lost the war?
Perhaps.

I meant to wave a sign

At this point what I think is this: you shall never know. And for and with good reasons.

Understand this, that signification is a ritual that constitutes what hope for survival remains. It is, in war, a convention. A demand (a word we overuse).

In so many levels, the imposition of the meaning or the assignment of the special truths ( a word I use loosely to mean my own), is both answering and asking certain questions. We ask without asking, we answer without clarifying recognition.

Now this is all we are, all I am. A confessor hiding behind the signs barely imbued with relations of feeling. The narratives created, the meanings designated and ultimately, the signs created surpass the temporality of its maker. Signs, at once freeing and reducing - these are all I have.

Then you will, you shall, never know - because if you do, nothing will remain secret -- nothing secret will remain.

Unfortunate, to have the feeling of freedom at last but to have to resist . What realizations of the thousand things that can be done. But alas, I imposed on myself this condition: to be trapped in a war where every word must be an enigma.

I will signal to the moon from now on.

What can be told over dinner

But my love, it is not that you have to be the most intelligent.

It is not the ability to read books that I am after. I can read these titles myself. Nor is it the ability to solve the most complex math problems, because perhaps I can do that myself as well.

No, it is that you should be capable of love, that means overcoming your vanity, and mine. It is that you understand, the way that I try to, the complexity of the person, the mystery that envelopes the human mind. It is that we know the challenge of trying to communicate what is of the self to the other - to extend the possibility of being one.

No, it is not your intelligence I should be after, but a certain largeness of mind. Large enough to admit, we may never fully understand.

Ink Running

Who says that the only way to rid ourselves of the mistakes is to erase?

No, I shall write you off, write you down, the aspects of you, one by one, little by little - until you are no longer part of me.

And then I will flip the pages for a better chapter. :)

Verbal Left-overs

I wish you knew just what words meant to me. If you did, you probably wouldn't throw your phrases left and right the way you do now. You leave me hanging.

I feel each statement is a question I cannot answer but which you insist on asking me.

The truth is, the answer is up to you. I know what these words mean, I feel them weighing on my shoulders. But how much of yourself are you really communicating with these sentences - are all but a left-over of another ideal, another love?

Strikes

There are times when I ask myself: why should I be afraid of thunders and storms?
Fear and courage do not make any difference. The lightning will strike wherever it will.

But that's it then, the answer. The uncertainty of it all is a constantly-posed danger. Worse, we've seen and we know what may happen and what have happened before. And how can we un-know anything?

Even as we know the chances they'll hit us, we're still afraid, because the end precedes the warning. The thunder only comes after the lightning had already struck. Too late?