Alteration Gratification

This is an exercise that I do whenever I can’t really think of anything to write. It’s really a free-writing mode when I just release and submit myself to the mercy of my hands and my heart to what it wants to say out loud. I just think that sometimes the heart needs the mind to process the things what it wants to say; but sometimes I feel like I don’t want the filter. I just want it raw, fast and as real as possible. I won’t ever reread it, well, at least not tonight. So here it is: the Free-Verses at 12:33AM:

To tell you the truth, I do not really know what to write about. But there is a nice little ring to mystery that always leaves me in a state of awe at what spontaneity can create. It is always something to behold when we find ourselves in the mix of our own confusion; not knowing where else to go or not having the right direction. It must seem as if I were lost in some strange forest without the desire of ever getting out; maybe because I kind of like it here; in the confusion, in the mix. Or maybebecause I simply enjoy it when I take one step at a time; not knowing where this will lead me or what is waiting for me in the next turn. Life is something close to that ambiguity, although it is not completely in shadow. We shed some light on life because we can; because we were born to have light in us. Enough to emit rays outbound and illuminate the walls with gregarious sounds of chanting delights awaiting the paleness of the moonlight. And in the darkness we become overrun with the loud becoming of someone else in sight. And as if were owned by the ambiguity of delight, we surrender at last to the will of the masked sunlight; hiding itself from the darkness only to share its light to those who seek it. And healthy are those who are blind enough to see the world from afar; detached from the soullessness of others who commit themselves to the understanding of the nothingness surrounding. Believing that somewhere in the mix we find the bliss to recreate the lost and what was left behind in the sorrow of our existence. The conundrums persist like the morning mist every time we say prayers that are soon uncreated and digested by something divine. And in the silence we hover over defeat; not over victory that makes us soar from where we are used to be. Unless of course, we are used to being in the now whereas those who are left in the past stay there with their tales in between the esophagus of their very curse. Belief that it is not enough is not enough to believe in. And what is in not enough is not enough to have. Rather what is left is to love and to love what is lovable is not something enough to believe in. In the same way when we laugh at what is laughable, and do not allow ourselves to be uncomfortable, when are left to be unable, to be stable, to be sane, to take it out all on our shame, and to become at peace with the sound of our very own rambles. As if we were unborn in a place where being born is the birth of something painful; and yet we find ourselves reasons for our very own lives so that we might appease the lives that we find so unbearable. And sometimes when we journey in this palpable, unbelievable, unconquerable life juxtaposed , we find that at the end of what was confusing and what is unconceivable is something divine. I am inspiration for hope and love.