"In a far and distant galaxy
Inside my telescope I see
A pair of eyes look back at me
He walks and talks and looks like me
Sits around inside his house
From room to room he moves about
Fills his life with pointless things
and wonders how it all turns out.

Do do do do do
Do do do do do
Safe to say that

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
Walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted.
Don't waste it.

Afraid of what the truth might bring
He locks his doors and never leaves
Desperately searching for signs
to terrify, to find a thing
He battens all the hatches down
and wonders why he hears no sound
Frantically searching his dreams
he wonders what it's all about

Do do do do do
Do do do do do
Safe to say that

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
Walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted...

Clearing my mind,
losing my friends
Follow my fears
do it again.
You say how, do, you do.
Man, how 'bout you?
Man, how 'bout you?
To be free
To be son
To be killed
To be saved
In my head, I'm alone
I'm un-dead, I'm ashamed
Just like you, I've been tryin'
To be scared
In my bones, I feel cold.
I give this to the lord in the sea
In this street
Let me go
Let me be, I don't need
To be here, I'm alone
Can't you see? Can't you see?

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
These walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted...
Don't waste it."

-"Telescope" by Cage the Elephant

So, here's a long one (to make up for not writing in a few months maybe). It's a bit disjointed, but c'est la vie...

(The Burdens of Triumph painted by Noah Bradley
http://www.noahbradley.com/)

We are all part of one being. I am that being. I do not proclaim to be God, nor do I deny the idea that I could possibly be of that nature. And if I am, so are you and so is everyone else, because we are all one (or of one). So, what is this “one”? It could be the universe; it could be the mind; it could be the spirit. It could be all of these, or it could be none of these. I cannot say for sure.

Maybe time is not concrete. Maybe all that has ever happened and all that will ever happen is occurring at this moment.

If we are all of one mind (potentially just me), then I don’t know whether or not other people are actually real. My only reason for believing that others exist is that I see, hear, and interact with them. I can’t know for sure that these other beings (you and everyone else) are real, because I do not see what they are doing when I am not around (think: “If a tree falls in the forest…”). I only know what I can see, and even then I can’t be too sure. It might just so happen that people are doing nothing without me, and they only appear to be alive because of my interactions with them. Or, it could be that people are doing things while I’m not there, because if you put a bunch of living organisms together then they’re bound to react with each other and the “things” around them. Think of it this way: people are complex organisms created by some greater force (whatever force you want to believe, i.e. big bang theory, God, or what have you). When you put these organisms together, they interact with each other and they react to the things and situations surrounding them in specific ways due to their biology and their chemistry.

But we are more than just complex organisms, right? Or, at least I am.

I can’t even prove that the physical world is real. Maybe it’s like all those movies portray, where I’m just in a dream. Maybe everything that surrounds me (us) is just what I have constructed with my mind. If so, will I ever wake up? Is death when I “wake up” from life?

I’ve had this feeling for a very long time…as long as I can remember, really. When I was little I used to think that I had magical powers or that I was some sort of all-knowing god (or both). Now I can say it’s more likely the fact that I understand people well. I’m a thinker and a feeler. I perceive others’ feelings well, and I internalize them, and I know how to conceptualize them. With this “power” I can easily relate to others. I used to believe that I could read minds, now I know it’s that I’m perceptive (and introverted in the way that I perceive information).

Sometimes I feel so manipulative, though. It’s as if I want certain things for others so badly (things that are often actually good) that I manipulate people into doing things so that these certain things will happen. It’s as if I want these good things to happen for them so badly that I trick them into wanting these good things to happen for themselves. I’m not sure if that’s really manipulative or really kind?

If you look at it one way, I am egotistical; if you look at it another, I am the complete opposite.

Everything we know and understand was constructed by humans. All of the ideas and concepts we’ve ever heard, and that have ever existed (or will ever exist), were created by humans.

It’s all so complex, and, yet, it’s so simple. My mind is all (the only thing) that I can prove is real.

This is all we know. Maybe our knowledge is more extensive than we believe it to be. Maybe not. We can’t ever know whether or not we can be totally sure.

But this all makes me afraid.

I’m afraid that it is just me and the universe; that the people who I love are just projections of myself; that I am alone.

And even if others are real, what if I have, and will only ever love myself? And what if I can’t even do that?

What if I am all there is, and after me there is nothing at all?

I’m afraid that life on Earth is all there is. I believe in more than just this, but that sliver of doubt that constantly sits at the back of my mind leaves me fearful of a place that is nothing—a place that is not.

While I may believe in some sort of predetermination, I do not believe that my actions on Earth should reflect this idea of solipsism…in fact, quite the opposite. For our time here as physical beings, we must stand for our rights, for what is relevant to our impermanent situation (here, on Earth, as physical and emotional beings). And, most importantly, we must be good people (without need for motive) to ourselves and to others.

Some thoughts that have crossed my mind more than a few times...

Is it possible that, like light, our actions have already occurred and we are only perceiving them now because of time? Is it possible that we are already dead?

Maybe death is when it all comes together, where time has no relevance but also where time means everything. So without life, death means nothing. And without death, we cannot see everything come together. 

Is death one instance, or does it expand? Is there life in death?

Maybe in life the universe is us; in death, we become the universe.

And what if we are all one being? What if it is just me? Who is "me"? Who are you? Are you me? Am I you? Maybe we are all part of one being, but we stop at different points. Maybe some people have stopped at similar points; some are behind; some are ahead. 

I want to believe that it all comes together in the end, if there is an end. Maybe time itself doesn't exist. Maybe it moves and moves but goes nowhere. Maybe we have already unknowingly, blindly found what we keep trying to look for. Maybe we have arrived.

Maybe it's all so simple.

The only thing that I can prove is that my mind is real.

It's strange, I'm here again, in another place that only feels temporary. I've been stuck in a place lately where I am unattached to most things around me. In the past few months I've found a lot of places to call home. Or, maybe, it hasn't been so much as the places, but more so the people--I've found home within a lot of people. And I'd give the world to be with them all at once.

"And oh, the wretch is gone
And oh, the sorries begin
And oh, the drinking has thinned
Oh, still I wrestle
I wrestle within

And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I did what I felt like
Like I did what I would

But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town

So if you've got a thing
With me or my friend
Remember what we've been through
Remember where we've been

We don't have our dogs
And we don't make a sound
We live on an island
In the middle of town

And oh, the wretch is gone
And oh, the sorries begin
And oh, the drinking has thinned
Oh, still I wrestle
I wrestle within

And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I did what I felt like
Like I did what I would

But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town."

-"The Island Song" by Chris Garneau

Somewhere between something and nothing lies the heart of my existence, beating slowly, steadily, monotonously. I don't know where my feet are going, or if they're going at all. My head is light and thoughtless; my body is pulled to nothing, and I am stuck. I don't know where to go or even how to move. And I thought that maybe this had all been over, that things were bright again, but that passed, and now I'm here wondering why I cannot move and hoping that someday I'll be able to go again.

I'm not sure yet if it's finished (I guess all that I write never really is). I've been needing to write lately, and this became my outlet. So, bare with me...

Teddy

    Teddy’s hands became weak and his eyes grew tired. There wasn’t much left for him to do here. His mind was exhausted. His head was heavy, his thoughts were swollen. He thought of the people in the park playing chess. He had never been very good at chess, but he loved watching it. Sometimes he made himself believe that if he watched for long enough he could learn to be very good. He knew this would never happen though. He wasn’t an undetermined man, just tired. The tiredness had begun in his chest, and had now spread to his muscles and bones.

Sometimes he imagined that he wouldn’t awake in the morning. The thought didn’t make him sad, just content, at ease.

He had never really lost himself, but he liked the thought of it. He liked the thought that maybe somewhere he could let go. Somewhere he could sink into the soil and grow with the plants and rise with the trees. Maybe somewhere he could fall into nothingness, and, all at once, feel the weight pull him down while the air would lift him up. And he would pull with his strength and be pushed by the Earth, and he would fall and rise. Somewhere he could be everything and nothing, and everything was important but nothing mattered. And the sirens would cry out and sounds would blare, but everything would be silent and free.

His mind carried him through, moving him away from the wiry couch where his body laid, his face upon the rough pillow. His eyes were cloudy and his skin was dry.

He looked down at Earth, the tiny planet that had turned to swirls of green and blue, and he smiled and closed his eyes.