Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Forgiveness


Twice in the last week I've had to deal with the matter of forgiveness. I thought I was dealing with it. In reality it seems I had just pushed the anger and hurt away, at the back of my mind.

The first person I have to forgive is my father. I am working on it. It's next to impossible because forgiveness is a very special animal. It's easy to forgive when the damage inflicted to you by a person is minimal, or you have found a solution and it does not affect you anymore. But when the damage done has shaped your life to what it is now, and the past choices of that person still echo in your present situation ten years after his death, then... then you want to take the ossuary with his bones, fill it with kerosene and light it up. You are sure it will make an excellent fire, and that's the only kind of gesture that reflects your true feelings for him. 

There are those who say that once a person is dead, we should forgive them and move on. I consider that a grave oversimplification. So because they're dead, that means they didn't screw you over royally when they were alive? Hitler is dead too. Should everyone just forgive him because he's dead? That's the weird trip you get into with forgiveness. You can't forgive them when they've wronged you, when their decisions destroyed parts of your evolution and potential. They can't be absolved just because they are gone. The consequences of their actions are still part of your life, so forgive them how? And that's the paradox, because that is the exact case that forgiveness is needed.

If the person you need to forgive hasn't wronged you or hurt you, then you don't need to forgive them. You simply need to get over your ego. Forgiveness is needed when that person has left scars so deep that shaped your whole life. It's required when the damage done to you can't be undone, when their decisions have affected you deeply and profoundly and stolen from you your most valuable possessions; time and compassion. The one is the currency of life, the other is the currency of humanity.

If my father had been less of an asshole, my life would have been very different. He, too, would probably still be alive. I wouldn't have lost 14 years of my life trapped in a job I hated, without getting any stamps. I wouldn't have been forced to return from UK; I would have been able to get an MA and would have been working for the past 15 years in a job that would have paid me and given me social security. I would not have to deal with his sister taking me to court because she wants to appropriate more of his possessions. Perhaps I'd even have a companion. When your life has stability and security job-wise, it's not a giant leap to find someone. Right now I am where I am, doing what I am doing, and know that this man is more than 50% responsible for these things. I have a mother who's alone and slowly getting older and can't deal with everyday life, no job, no MA, no relationship, no previous job experience... The list goes on. I got social security for the first time this year. I am 39. And he has the nerve to ask for forgiveness when he has destroyed me, he has the nerve to think he can be forgiven when he ruined my life. Just because he died. So a bonfire with his bones seems an excellent idea. Right?

The problem with forgiveness is that it takes a leap of faith, a gigantic motherfucker of a leap of faith. You need to forgive someone exactly because they did those things to you. You need to say, "I will deal with this mess and I will do it on my own terms". Because this is how you take the power back in your hands. As soon as you decide there is something you can do instead of being angry and accusing the other person of how they destroyed your life, you stop being a victim of that person or situation. From a "waaah waaah oh poor me" mess, you become the "come any closer and you'll see if this bitch has any fighting left in her" kind of person. Because truth is, that bitch (me) has a lot of fighting left in her. But she should do something better with that fighting spirit than bash the head of a person who's dead. 

I am trying very hard. Trying to let go while what I want to do is somehow get hold of him and yell at him, stomp him to the ground. Trying to forgive when I see children with fathers who are there for them, who care, who help, who try to understand. I stare at those fathers, with their failings and mistakes and good intentions and wonder what planet was my father from. I wonder for the umpteenth time why, as I wrote in my previous poem, "I was raised by wolves". Why there wasn't a single safe adult in the family I grew up. And what the fuck it is that I'm doing here. 

And now I have to forgive him. How the fuck am I supposed to do that? 

I am just so tired. But I need to keep going. There is no time to lose. There just isn't any time for self-pity. I need to stop being a victim. And the only way one can stop being a victim is, curiously, by faith, and by letting go.

The lyrics of the very beautiful song are here: 

Chelsea Wolfe- Sick


This suffering brings me closer to you
and time is broken and moves slow
your pure heart, your white light
I should be put to death for ever being cruel to you
you washed me clean like no one ever could
come closer now and step right into
the wide mouth, the sharp teeth of the one you love
I'm not the kind of sick that you can fix
don't you worry about me baby
I've got no enemies and I've got no time
the song, we carry on
even though you pushed us down
we carry on
when you try to blind my eyes I can see tenfold
It's nothing that my heart can't take, 'cause your hate has made me strong
and stronger men than you have tried to break me
stronger men than you have tried to break me
leaning toward the golden days
forget about the older days
and everything we left behind
to stand here in another life
we carry on, even though you held us down
we carry on, with the song
we carry on, even though you pushed us down
we carry on
 

Friday, April 28, 2017

The mortal remains

Smell no evil either. I wish.
(Warning: the following post will be unpleasant and disgusting. Continue reading at your discretion).

A few nights ago I went to the garden to feed my strays. There was a smell of something rotting, but I could not really place it, and it was too dark. The next night the smell insisted, and the next was even worse. So I looked with the aid of my nose and located the remains of a cat I used to feed. It was a black one-eyed feral cat, perhaps less than a year old, who always looked sickly and I took extra care to give him or her food separately. As it turns out, in vain. It had died on some old woollen clothes I had placed in a space protected from the rain for the cats to sleep on, behind an old motorcycle. So I was faced with an interesting question. How do you pick up the rotting carcass from the narrow space between the motorcycle and the wall?

I put a plastic bag inside another and tried to put the carcass inside without touching it. Oh goodness gracious, the smell. And just as I had managed to cover the body, wrap the bags around it, and raise it in the air to slip it inside the bags, I realised three things. One, the body was lukewarm. I think it has to do with decomposition. Two, I would be lucky if pieces didn't fall off, like a leg, or the head. Three and worst, it was raining maggots. Fat, long, writhing white maggots, that landed on my shoes and the ground and kept writhing. Great.

I managed to bag the dead cat, and then I was faced with the realisation that the old woollen fabrics were saturated with the decomposition fluids and consequently full of maggots too. Oh joy. So after I threw away the bagged carcass, I had to pick (very carefully, from the corners) the fabrics, the pillow, and everything else. Second trip to the garbage bin. The excitement was palpable in the air (in waves of eye-watering stench). But there was nothing I could do. If you feed them, then you should also deal with the less enjoyable tasks of spaying them, giving them medication, or disposing of their remains. It's in nobody's top ten of favourite things to do in their spare time. At least nobody I know personally.

Right now I have in my flat a blind black kitten. I think it is a she. Her mother gave birth to two. The other kitten, also blinded by the same infection, did not survive. This one might. I don't know how I am going to feed an extra mouth, but you can't leave a blind kitten in the garden with a busy road ten meters away. I don't think anyone with a conscience can. I will try to capture and spay the mother soon, to prevent her from giving birth again in the future. This world does not need more blind kittens. It really doesn't.

Sometimes I feel I need ten arms and six feet (and 48 hour-long days) to deal with everything. But that's life, or that's my life. What can you do? I've repeatedly tried to win the lottery, to replace my set of problems with a different set of problems. No success as of yet. I will inform you if that happens (probably by publishing a glowing and rapidly changing colour fluorescent middle finger as a blog entry, intended as a message to The Powers That Be). Until then, have fun and may Lady Luck abstain from placing decomposing cats on your path. Spirits of dead cats are fine, they give good advice and are very protective. More importantly, they don't reek.

Sunday, December 25, 2016

Christmas classics




"All right," said Susan. "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need... fantasies to make life bearable."

"REALLY?" said Death. "AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE."

"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—"

"YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES."

"So we can believe the big ones?"

"YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING."

"They're not the same at all!"

"YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET"—Death waved a hand. "AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME... SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED."

"Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—"

"MY POINT EXACTLY."

-Terry Pratchett, Hogfather

Merry Christmas/ Yule/ whatever celebration you celebrate to everyone! I hope you are all safe and in the company of the ones you love.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Triggers


I recently read that grief isn't a process, but rather a new way of seeing things. It was one of the best ways I have seen grief described. I'm still mourning for my friend Virve and it has altered my entire perception. I will include the quote at the end of this paragraph. Some might find it helpful. I did find it helpful.


How do triggers work? They work due to the mind's ability to make associations and connections. You see something that for another person means nothing, or something positive. For you, however, it has a very different meaning and causes vastly different feelings. For example today I saw a bottle of soda water on my desk. I wanted to give you that bottle because you love soda. Then I remembered we're no longer together. That's a perfect example of a trigger. A soda bottle made me feel sadness and a sense of futility.

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret a thing I did for you, and I don't consider it futile because you didn't appreciate it. I am who I am. Nothing can change me. Only death can take my personality away. When my time comes, death will step in lightly and transmute my being into something bigger and brighter and literally larger than life. Death is the one place, the one condition that wipes the slate clean of everything. And guess what, the first thing to go are our lies. All the lies we told ourselves and other people are gone like morning mist under the blazing sun. For death is yet another sun; it shines black and negative and peaceful in its anti-existence. The doorway opens and you step through it naked as a baby. Everything you have been holding onto for comfort is gone.

When your comforting lies and possessions are gone, I hope each of you will hold onto the one thing no-one can take from you, not even death. Your dignity.


Good night. 

Monday, September 26, 2016

Telos



I am tired like ashes
Spiderwebs and red thread
I am sad like the sea
Under your pallid fingers
The piano weeps
Your terrors and secrets
Letters I'll never receive

                                        Stop
                                                  Wait
                                                           Breathe

                                        Gone
                                                   Dead
                                                            Relieve

Ice dragon of the heavens
Chasing the North star
Kiss me goodbye
Give me the key
You died sealing the floodgates
And opened the doors of hell
Inside of me
                                       
                                        Cease 
                                                   Write
                                                             Live
                                        Hurt
                                                   White
                                                              Grieve

I am tired like ashes
Spiderwebs and red thread
I am sad like the sea
Fate will guide my steps
Take care of loose ends
And push me off the board
When there's nothing 

left
       of 
             me

Friday, April 01, 2016

Memory

 
I haven't gone anywhere near Dir en Grey for two years now, maybe more. When I do, I remember you are gone and get depressed.

We amass knowledge and experience during our lives. Look at you. You played a mean piano, ghost-composed or contributed to the songs of countless bands I listen to, supported noble causes in so many ways, and now you are gone. All you got was 37 years of life. Your creations are still alive, yet your knowledge and talent are gone forever. The languages you spoke, the music you made, the foods you cooked, the way you made love, gone with you. There is a hole where you used to be and it can't be filled. 

I keep losing people I considered friends, either because they die, prove themselves superb assholes or just follow different ways. Every year that passes finds me with a smaller circle of friends. But if I want to be 100% honest, no-one can replace you and no-one will replace you. Some people are one in a million or perhaps one in a billion. What do I know? I don't know. You were one in a billion for me.

Lately mortality is a weight that pulls me down, it chokes me like an anchor hanging from my neck. I do the best I can, I say to myself. I do the best I can for reasons unknown. I don't know why I go on. I just do. Even when everything seems completely pointless, even though I know the knowledge and experience I amass and the effort I've put in bettering myself will be gone with me, I bite the bullet and push on. What will change if I give up? You never gave up. I won't give up either. I'll keep pushing, if only to make those who hate me cringe their teeth. I push on just to rain on their parade. One of the best reasons I had ever read was this, by the gracious Steven Barns:

"I had a student ask why, if nothing ultimately matters, we should care about anything at all. Well, that’s why no world religion will take you all the way to clarity: there’s no social benefit. However, encoded within each major religion seems to be a hidden path to dis-assembling the ego walls without turning you into a bum, madman, or wandering Saint. It seems to be the inculcation of core values at a young age, such that the residual ego shell still functions appropriately even after you’ve shed the illusions. It’s tricky stuff.

My guess is that the gate of Adulthood—responsibility for the core values held by the culture (my version of this is body-mind-spirit) MUST be passed before deeper, more secret teachings are offered. Most will try to go straight for the goodies. But religions are what Buddhism refers to as the “large boat” while direct experience of the divine is the “small boat”, not for everyone. I don’t recommend it. I just speak about it because, as I realized yesterday, this blog is my version of Literary Autolysis.

But more directly, try this: a baseball game doesn’t “matter”. But if you decide to play, you learn the rules and play hard, to the best of your ability. If you don’t want to play, you lose the right to complain about the results you get in this world.

The challenge is to be “in the world, but not of the world.” To play hard, to learn the rules, to clarify our understandings, and then to move on.

To say “it doesn’t matter” falls right back into dualistic thinking, and logic breaks down a bit. “It matters/it doesn’t matter.” They don’t exist separate from perception.

If you can’t play hard, work hard, care for your family, engage with your community, preserve your body, provide goods and services, and grasp the fact that we can know NOTHING other than the “I am”—then please, please, please don’t try this. Don’t use “nothing matters” as an excuse to ignore your worldly affairs.

Remember the chakras? Master the lower ones BEFORE you get to spirit. Otherwise, I promise you, rather than clarity, you will be lost in illusion, and feeling holy about it. Obese, broke, and lonely…and feeling smugly superior to all us idiots who act as if the world is real. And then secretly weeping at night, confused as hell: with all this wisdom, why am I so miserable?

Trust me: you don’t want to go down that road."

Perfectly put. Thank you, Mr. Barns. Taken from here:  

And one more Dir en Grey song, because it soothes my soul... Like you did.

 

Tuesday, March 08, 2016

The Book of Life

Assassin's Creed: Syndicate

I am still angry at you. I want to make you understand. I want to shake you and yell at you. But even if I did, you wouldn't understand. You never did understand, not even when I thought we were close, let alone now. And why should I make you understand? It's not my responsibility to make anyone understand. 

Sometimes I wish that the people who mistreated me would become aware of their mistakes and sorely regret their decisions. I would love to see them looking for me and not finding me. But this is wishful thinking. Humans are too self-involved and egotistical to realise there are things beyond their self-indulging mind games and petty interests. The sad fact of this life is that we're unappreciated by others, and they never realise their mistakes. Time passes, life moves on, and none of these people have the guts to come and apologise, or say they understood, or they are sorry. If they had the balls to admit such sentiments they wouldn't have treated us so shitty in the first place. Soon the relationship or friendship is a memory, yet another page torn off the book of Life and thrown into the fire. Humans go on, as blind and ignorant as always, life goes on, nothing changes, nothing is ever lost. Except maybe for a few days, weeks, years, lives, centuries, and it's still nothing on a cosmic scale. We're ants reproducing on a speck of dust in a vast, vast universe, and it doesn't really matter, and it never will. Evolution matters and evolution has no winners and no famous authors, no celebrities and no point. Its only point is continuation of life itself, orgiastic expression in myriads of forms and countless colours, in ways I cannot begin to perceive or imagine with my humble mind.

It all matters. It's all completely futile. Writing here is futile. Not writing, when I can write and so many others can't, is hybris. The planet will continue, with or without me on it, with or without my writings on it. It doesn't matter to anyone except me that I am awake instead of sleeping and writing here instead of resting. It makes no discernible difference either way.

I miss Virve. I miss her fiercely. Almost two years since her passing. And still life goes on regardless of how I feel, what I do or don't do. When I am not angry, I am sad. When I am not sad, I drag my feet from one chore to the next. And sometimes, just sometimes, I am happy without needing anything besides the fact I am alive and breathing and healthy. I see a blind person, or a drowned infant, and understand how many things I take for granted.

Won't this pain ever cease? Won't this suffering end? Does it ever end? I guess it does end, when we cross over and there are no more words. But until then, I am here and I am writing. For good or for ill, and until I can no longer write.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Tired but alive and kicking



This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It might not be your cup of tea, but oh well. Each to their own. I'd say it puts things into perspective.

Truth is, we're really insignificant. And that's why it's all important. Since what we are and what we do on a cosmic scale amounts to shit, we might as well make a difference in the lives of people around us by not being self-absorbed little shits. I mean, why the hell not.

If the only way we can transcend time and space is love, and perhaps art, we should transcend our mortality with whatever means we got, right? If every one of us is as old as the oldest stars, because we are made of star matter, and matter is never created or destroyed, then maybe we can act like it? Maybe we can put our tiny, whiny egos aside for a bit, and behave like grown ups?

I know you're waiting for me on the other side. The people I've loved, my dead cats, they come to me in dreams, in the one place death holds no sway. I wake up with tears in my eyes and the knowledge they aren't here with me, but they are somewhere. Maybe looking after me, maybe waiting for me.

Till we meet again.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Are you sure about that?

Cause if you are, that's okay.
You can tell me, you know. You can tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone.
I would never tell anyone.
You've trusted me with your secrets before. I didn't pity you for them. I didn't patronise or judge you.
Once you told me that my stories made you feel awkward and freaked you out because it was like I knew those secrets of your past you had told no-one else.
That didn't stop you from reading my entire blog.
There was a ticket bought for me that went to someone else, and a promise you wanted to keep and didn't manage to. That's okay.
But please, let me know. Somehow, in some way, tell me I need to stop crying because you are okay. And I will keep it a secret.
All I want is to stop crying.
Please.
I won't tell anyone.
I swear I won't.
I just need closure, even if you never speak to me again afterwards. I won't ask you to.
Just one phrase, or one word.
Tell me you are okay.
Goodnight.

Wednesday, April 08, 2015

Thanatos

Source: http://theferocity.tumblr.com/post/94177354179/gift-from-a-coworker


Late at night, struggling with words, a cat on my bed
The room smelling of absence and fresh tears
No matter how often I re-arrange and caress my books
How many movies I watch
How many words I write
How little I appreciate the human race
Hope and despair spring up entwined
Conjoined like unlikely twins

I am tired of caressing dead things
Tired of holding conversations with absent people
Tired of being lonely, scared, angry, hungry
Always ravenous for what I can't have
What I can't save, alter or stop
All it took was five letters
And now I squeeze those letters in my embrace and cry
Like I am holding your corpse

No, I tell you
I need no-one
I will surround myself with beauty
I'll populate my days with art
Like others create a court, or build an army
But my court will be in the service of king Death
Saturn eating his children
Each bite another moment gone
Tall like a tower, He comes in due time
To reap our precious harvest

My army will conquer no lands
Save for those islands we visit
In dreams, and fever, and in the womb,
And those breaths we exhale
In someone else's mouth
When time ceases to exist and it all makes sense
When the supernovas of our beings are aligned
With the jewels of the silent sky
Until He rises to claim everything
The Cheater that can never be cheated
The Thief of neverending
Time.

I want to scream your name until they take me away.