Wednesday, 21 January 2009

Just a page from my diary...

Amongst craziness, I think we seek refuge, but only in our baffled, philosophising consciences.

When I feel the weight of my own self-created problems on my shoulders, I write to make the world seem beautiful; to make my knowledge seem more wise, and to make my mind, my monologue of life, seem less cluttered and insignificant.

My life is smooth with no sharp corners. No jagged glass lays awaiting to slice my independence; a shadow doesn’t lurk around the very next corner to take away the future and leave only the impressions of the past. But history tells me my experiences are padded with the cotton wool of a democratic freedom, which I am well aware is a privilege I did not have to earn.

The wise of this Earth and the wisdom of this universe say only peace in ourselves is a refuge. There is no winner. No best. As long as I am me, and you are you, and the boundary of our satisfaction is understood and not stepped over into another cluttered, problematic world of dogmatic egotists.

Why must everything we do be marked with our own independence, as if we have to prove to ourselves that we are separate entities, with different dreams? We will never be one; this is not a world of no contradictions, try as we might to be free of hypocrisy.

We are each our own person, to be wise in different ways, to create messages in art and create art in people. We, the spoilt and inexperienced, overcomplicate this mark of independence to the point of contradiction; whole cultures have emerged purely from our own sense of incompletion and unworthiness. We mould ourselves into groups, copy each others originality to the point of hypocrisy, and only feel worthy; special; enlightened, if our uniqueness is recognised and our difference adored...

Maybe the young are meant to feel bound by a false freedom; maybe it is a greater spirits aim for us to work towards true freedom: the freedom of the human race; the freedom of the mind.

A monologue no longer overcast by self-doubt.

Maybe once the will for a human freedom; a total freedom; a better world, is lost, we resort to finding our own inner peace, subconsciously giving into the wisdom of experience that tells the elderly the quest for moral righteousness across the world is no longer their obligation. A new generation can take over their rolls.
Or is it only me who feels this obligation ... ?

Maybe the human race is just a work of art expressing its true colours only in the primitive, its anguished colours only in the striving, and its false colours only in the ‘developed’.

Primitive tribes whose only ambition is love and life wear white smiles, earthy colours and always sparkle with an enthusiasm for life that grey towers, grey suits, grey eyes have inhibited and killed.

Striving nations are red with blood and dull with death and sickness, at the expense of the greedy and immoral ... usually the developed nations.
Developed worlds are grey with the dullness we should not be living, and the boredom of life so many of us express. But yellow with hope. A hope that shines across the world.

Perhaps the so-called day of judgement is just a day for us to feel accomplished. We, ourselves, cannot find a meaning of life so we leave it up to a Higher Power.

I do believe in this mysterious entity, but I also believe the meaning of life is to create meaning in ourselves. To stop destroying the beauty of the canvas of the world with the stark colours of our anguished, frustrated emotions, and start creating beauty within ourselves; leave our emotions glowing, not dull; not stark, but vibrant, in such a way that an accusation of forgery would be a lie, and it would be unquestionable that each one of us would be a masterpiece of peacefulness within ourselves.

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