A day is wasted when one compromises.
Yesterday, was a wasted day.
What leads one to compromise is his greatest attachments.
Family being among the most unthinkable.
Unthinkable because the world hems and haws and guilts and vilifies.
The words came to me last night, and I find it difficult to recall. I’ve lost access to that place — that window through which I saw the truth.
To force yourself upon something is to destroy it.
A homeless man entered the temple’s grounds and began digging through garbage by hand. I looked onward with suspicion. He looked downward and felt eyes burning: sensing his onlooker without a direct line of sight. I looked away.
I lie here confused by my own thoughts.
But am I really confused?
Perhaps I am simply appalled by my own ego.
Annoyed is perhaps the better word.
Annoyed, because even in seeing the futility of such a thing, it persists.
I find myself sitting in the same place I sat two years ago in Southeast Asia.
I’d come here often to study things of interest, but many times I’d simply sit and do nothing.
Having tried to do what I thought I was supposed to in the world, and sensing the futility in this, I stopped “trying” altogether.
The desire to escape to far-off lands magnifies.
I find myself growing evermore tired of the monotony of comfort and familiarity.
Sometimes things feel so meaningless and disappointing that I just want to give it all up.
It’s 1:56am. Tired. Stayed up past 6am last “night”. Strange dreams. Woken without my consent.
But I cannot sleep. I toss and I turn, and overheat for no apparent reason.
(Was reading about an ancient master visiting his master’s grave.
A hurricane of bittersweet nostalgia hits me like a truck when I listen to those rough and growly guitars captured on my phone in that little industrial warehouse.
I don’t know if you know this, but we were actually starting to get pretty good.
I come now, having pulled the string from my teeth.
Arriving at the shore, drenched, and covered in sand.
“The truth is God,” he said.
But who said?
And where did I come from?
The underworld is full of lies, and being thrust from it leaves one exquisitely disarrayed.
“Perfect purity is possible if you turn your life into a line of poetry written with a splash of blood.”
Yukio Mishima
It has come to my attention that when I become lethargic and feel trapped in my mind that something is off.