The philosophy of yes

If we look at ourselves and truly examine the person within, we might see that the skin has blurred the common being. Our inner voice and outer realization will most likely disagree on more than one account. We have come far in the past few years, but maybe not in the direction we thought we would, and that is alright. Sometimes we just need a little moment in solitude to reconnect with that daring self wrapped tightly inside. Let him or her go.

This does not mean you rebuke your current situation or choices, but rather make a conscious decision to remake them yours. And if you are in the middle of what you like, well then, carry on with a deeper passion. I myself, am re-finding myself as an independent piece in a world of pieces. It was over a year ago, Novemebr 21, 2009 in fact when I took a bold dive into my heart’s yearnings and found this, which I believe speaks significantly for more than just me.

“And what if I choose to write? For a living; never mind the difficulties that would ensue. To trust that stranger within. A stranger whose kindness given once received. A stranger not so strange to the seeking eye. Only when left unexamined and reviewed ever slight will that being be a thing of mystery. It is natural, most natural to fear that which we do not know. Yet, it is often this fear that maintains fruitful knowledge unattained. An added shade of irony is how close we already are to discovering those remarkable capacities we deem so fleeting. A simple ‘yes’ is the key to tasting those flavours and breathing in those scents so majestically held behind our mental glass. We often stand outside looking in, while most assume and follow along; another passerby. Then there are those who tap the glass, palms sweaty and laid open touch the glass. They begin to see the dividing line in the nude. Its fine and frail arbitrary ways no longer clothed by our willingness to walk the status quo. With question comes ever apparent fragility. ‘Why’ is my favourite. ‘Why gets you straight to the most untouched places; the sexiest places if you will.

And I went there. Not only on one occasion; it is safe to say there were several unsafely indulgent times. Nevertheless, the magnitude of each is dwarfed by a few big ones. The land of Oz no doubt stands paramount. More times than I can count on both hands I went astray for when I look back I wonder how I lived to live today. Quite uncarefully I gallivanted through, almost unaware of foreign difference. In an attempt to make sense of it, a debatable notion, and to be kept for discussion on another day, I will say the source of my serendipity was and is my trust in universality.

Continent, nation or state only provide the grounds to build our fortresses of fear, and then we trade. Race, ethnicity, god and price tags act as curtains for the windows we subconsciously put in our walls. And yes, these windows are made from the same old glass. Meagre details, that although do much to determine our lifestyles, cannot subtract from the basic human condition. Once void of fixed complications and its paired assumptions there stands a simple creature. I will insert a disclaimer to make known the difficulties of gaining such access. For one to genuinely transcend the barriers between two, both individuals must exclude the third: society. This may sound quite far ‘left’ in the spectrum of thinking, ‘hippie-esque’ even, but such judgements were manufactured by that capital ‘s’ factory too.

And after presumptions suspend, all actions and all words can be found anchored in essential commonalities….

Those suspicious little foes,                                                                                                               Wrapped tight in armour,                                                                                                                  Layer upon layer,                                                                                                                                With those apprehensive woes.

Paces kept a steady,                                                                                                                  Trigger finger ever ready,                                                                                                                   Though a poor choice of accomplice,                                                                                               When eyes fixed on the monotonous.

So much fruit grows in these trees;                                                                                                  But he is too heedy,                                                                                                                             Too accustomed,                                                                                                                                 And much too sure.

Quite the pity it is,                                                                                                                               Because just a little to his left, there is passion fruit.                                                                    I’ve had a taste;                                                                                                                                    And the name suits it perfectly.”

Sometimes all we need is a reminder, and so I brought back some wise words from a younger Giselle. She keeps me in check. Check yourself.

That, and I had major writer’s block tonight.