Redefining

Sometimes I peek into an illustrated book, or read a couple of lines here and there. A series of tiny explosions takes place within my head, related to possibilities about my life and other stories.

"What has to be done, has to be done. Regardless of how hard it is."

Sergios Alexandriotis, The way of things

I was having this conversation with a friend of mine yesterday. And I told her, “I am paranoid enough to stop seeing people if I fear that my meeting will hurt them, (talking about an ex there) or that I may have some ulterior motive even I am not aware of. I am crazy and enough of a control freak to strangle such notions within me before they even start to exist.”

“The way to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Anonymous

How weak must one feel to exert control at such a degree, it only remains to be seen. This isn’t a moral code; it is the sword of Damocles. It is scary. The Emperor reversed in female. It is probably the influence of the moon in my birth chart, Moon in Capricorn, a born bitch mellowed by a saintly streak half a mile wide. Hmph.

“If the demons lie within, they travel with you.”

Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are not the only fruit

And I told my friend that the best way is to be. Not exert control over others, cause it is both futile and wrong. Not try to control one’s life at an absolute degree either, cause “if you want to make the Gods laugh, tell me your plans for the future.” Not even try to control one’s self, thus becoming the hated tyrant over one’s own being, a reflection of cold unforgiving law in the inner mirror. No, not even that. This is as wrong as trying to control others, or one’s environment by adopting obsessive/compulsive habits. No.

“In the end, I have only one true teaching for you, Dane. One simple word: disobedience.”

Mad Tom to Dane, Grand Morrison, The Invisibles.

Just be. Like flowers are. Like grass is. Accept things with grace. Do not bow your head accepting fate blindly, do not remain silent out of weakness but out of wisdom that comes from knowing one’s position. A speck of dust in the universe. An assortment of flesh and blood and dust from stars in the other end of the galaxy. And so many dreams and desires and cravings it pains me to think about. Humility is about that. Being humble is that. And it is so much different than serene, patronising smiles.

How much contradiction can a human host?

You have me, a misanthrope working for the good of community, a neutral good person with a serious authority problem (who’s simultaneously one hell of a control freak) supporting others’ freedom of choice fanatically. I am not lawful because I have absolutely no respect for human laws and conventions, but at the same time I am a disciplinarian obeying to my own law on pain of death and blind faith. At the same time, I am biased enough to hate fanatics and crazy enough to accept the possibility of all points of view being equally valid, cause they are very real for their bearer. However, I also believe that each point of view is nothing but one facet in a multi-faceted gem and therefore each of them if viewed alone and on an absolute basis can only be wrong. There are (and will always be) more things that we don’t know than what we know. How can people be so bloody certain of what they think or believe? How can they be so blind and ludicrous? Then again, who said human beings are not ludicrous? They make me mad and sad all the time. And yet, with what eagerness I seek their company. It must be because like it or not, I am one such myself. No god and no beast.

All I know, all I’ll ever know is that there are moments my very soul stands still, tiptoeing on an invisible thread of music, a hue of colour, a form. And it trembles and vibrates like a violin in love. For the merest of glimpses. For something others don’t even notice. If this makes me silly or moonstruck, I welcome the characterisation. Yet there are nights I can feel invisible gates opening or shutting somewhere in the ether, there is a quality in the cold air that speaks of North and sights much loved and long forgotten, and of how the girl with the sad eyes buried her heart deep in the snow where nobody would ever find it and hurt it. Now she walks in unusual places far away, a stranger among strangers, juggling with her thoughts and feelings and dressed in darkest blue, and she smiles because she knows her heart is buried- and safe. And she also knows that in due time she’ll make them all pay by pulling the carpet called reality from under their feet. But for now, the Beast is asleep under the snow and everybody is safe.

And still what I want to say remains untold.