A Message in a Bottle II

"My ______ don't you worry
This cold world is not for you
So rest your head upon me
I have strength to carry you…

Follow me down to the valley below
You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

--Steven Wilson, "Lazarus", from Porcupine Tree "Deadwing"

 

A Message in a Bottle

I find myself writing this in English, because it is a language of nuances and I can get those shades of meaning just right.

I am placing this —whatever this is— like a message in a bottle here. I don't want to shove this in your face in a private message, and I don't dare to make the assumption of what I have to say is of any importance to you. If it is, I am content. If not, I apologize.

***

There are times when 160 characters is not enough. And, this is one of those times. Now, I don't know you, I mean really know. I've had the privilege of making your acquaintance in the digital domain through exchanging a few words and thoughts. If I understand correctly, you are a writer. That means we have a common language. I understand that you are a parent, which means that you know what fear actually is. And, then you know love, the deepest kind.

If I have one sole purpose, one true meaning in this existence, it is that of decreasing and minimizing  suffering. How I'm doing with that job description is up for debate, but I try. You wrote a few words along the lines of "the darkness within and the darkness without" you have experienced during the last few days. I felt something in me move restlessly. It may have been your choice of words, hell, I might be even imagining things, but I felt genuine worry, and I was compelled to at least try to do something about it, although I have nothing to give you but my heart and these words I claim as mine.

A friend of mine described my philosophy and interaction with the world as "Dark Zen", because I can be a rather brooding and serious individual at times. I believe compassion cultivates compassion. I believe in common decency and goodwill. I believe in kindness. I want to. I have to. There are those who mistake my stance and beliefs as weakness, something that can be exploited and something that can be taken advantage of. There are those who think that my train of thought stems from pseudo-Buddhism and borderline New Age garbage. But...

We are spiritual beings on a human journey. We are skeletons made of stardust on a convertible oblate spheroid spaceship hurling through space thousands of kilometers per second. All the chemical elements in our bodies were generated by stars exploding as supernovas, as one of the most violent and dramatic of cosmic events. It is a miracle that we are here, as we are now.

So, all that which ails you and broke your heart, it will pass. Whatever hardships and suffering this life, this existence, throws at you, know that someone cares.

The light will prevail, it always does. Then fight, my dearest fight, if not for anyone else, but for what could be yours. 

Aurora

(So that I won't forget.)

I just love how the low angle light hits the landscape at this time of year and the long shadows it casts. There is something fundamental and unforgiving about the cold, declarative low light.

I am not a photographer, and I don’t aspire to be one since my domain is that of words and sounds, but I like to point my lenses where ever I find something aesthetically pleasing. Like everyone else, I guess, I try to make sense of the world, and perhaps find something of value. Something delicate, something that is not tainted by human hands. 

Letters to the Unknown (Eunoia)

The sun announced itself, godlike and golden. Flakes of snow sail past the window unhurried. The view from this window is that of timelessness; without a technological contraption or any man-made material object in sight. There are just naked trees in deep slumber, dreaming.

I fall through pages of political chaos and corruption. I fall through fruitless conversations and semantics, irreconcilable -isms, and political half-truths. I don't think I have anything to give to such. I see fascism, intolerance, even hatred. I see the other side of the isle succumbing into a totalitarian fever dream. I see both ends of the spectrum attempting to force a model of what to think and how to live on me. No, you don't get to do that. I see here reenacting and evoking something that should remain unearthed. The demons of yesteryear, that is. I see terrible oversimplification of multifaceted issues.

And, I feel it again. The ghosts of dolphins, the needle, the twin lakes, and the white water.  

Season's End

I've been reading a certain manuscript lately, actually two manuscripts, of yet unpublished bodies of work. Both share, in broad strokes, a similar perspective, and there are a lot of interesting parallels between the train of thought of both authors. To my understanding, the difference between these two bodies of work is that one of them is a journal of actual events, and the second is, to a degree, a fictional book, but dealing with real life characters. I enjoy both works immensely, and feel very privileged to be among the first on the planet to read those words in front of me.

In the wee hours last night I fell through pages discussing work ethics, unfinished work, and generally what do we do with our time. I swear I already hear someone retorting that "time is an illusion", but whatever time is, it does not change the fact, and the fundamental laws, of causality and repercussions. I started thinking about all the unfinished projects lying around in hard drives as ones and zeroes, and of course, those in real life.

I can always rationalize my underachievement with my real life responsibilities. I can always tell myself that "one day" I will have the time to finish all the work pending. The fact is, I do not have the time, and that "one day" will never come, and to suggest anything else is utmost stupidity. That is, unless I make the time. In less than ten weeks, a season comes to an end. My own world will tilt a little closer to the sun, as a time of unprecedented qualities arrives. The question is for me personally, what do I do with the time and freedom given, well, actually, "taken". The last four years have been plagued with a clusterfuck of unfortunate and unnecessary events, soul destroying consequences, and general dissatisfaction. A time of great disappointment. I cannot, and will not, attribute these failures to anyone but myself. With my shortcomings, and goings, the fault lies nowhere else. I have always taken great pride that I will not succumb to common human fallacies, therefore I must take the blame and carry the cross I have placed upon my shoulders. The question is whether I get myself nailed to it or not.

Letters to the Unknown (The Distance to Here, Redux)

"Spooky action at a distance."

Albert Einstein dismissed somewhat colorfully the phenomenon we now through observations know to be "quantum entanglement." I come from a long lineage of scientific background. One of my noted forefathers, Ioannes Nauclerus, was the first Rektor of the University of Tübingen. His father, Ioannes Nauclerus Sr, was one of Holy Roman Emperor Maximillian II's trusted advisors. I am one node in a string that is one thousand years of rationality, philosophy and thought.

That is why I find it so difficult to process this storm inside, breaking against my frame. My attention, my very being has turned towards the city that has a needle, a lake and a river. I hear a voice and I do not know whereof it speaks. I see a face but I do not know who she is.

And then, I woke up into the dark of a winter day from a dream of Catalan sun, the heat and the humidity. I still can taste the salt in the air brought by the wind from the Mediterranean and my heart beating to the pulse of the city. I remember running my fingers on the surface of sun-soaked rocks that constitute the walls and cathedrals of stone. I remember the shade of Carrer del Paradís and the soaring height of the walls forming a canyon of sorts.

The aforementioned was constructed from memories upon memories, overlapping and intertwined. What I am —what I think I am— is reconstructing these lifelike simulated experiences, but not due to happenstance. It tells me what I need to know. And, I know why this voice inside begs me to hearken. 

"The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation

I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies
He turned to me as if to say, 'Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you'

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had"