Nothing to win. Everything to lose.
We have a life. Only one. The one chance to live it. The one change to find the right way.
Anyone mentioned here something about a secret path called the Right Way? Who is talking about this secret path nobody is ever able to find? It is just the ugly truth that there is not such a thing as the right path. There is a path which is always under construction and still no other one than that available. Many people build this path. People we know and people we don’t know and most probably people we will never know. We walk on a path other people build for us. We also live in houses other people build for us. In the end everything around us is made by other people. Including us.
Guilt. What is that based on what is said before. Guilt, this burning stone in the chest that takes away all energy, that turns into depression or aggression. This monster guilt feeds on us and feeds on the fear of what other people will think about us or will feel about us. The guilt mirrors more or less what we would feel if the things we did would have been done to us. And here the reasons for feeling guilty go way deeper than the obvious ones. Guilt is the necessary outcome of being human. The world tumbles and turns and the human is an imperfect being. Guilt is a wrong idea. A good idea would it be to find a way to deal with the shit that happens. Because it happens.
Once something big happened, something that made us sick of being afraid, it might stay a while with you. Even if everything went fine and things worked out: The time of terror leaves some deep grooves in the mind. Thoughts love to jump into these grooves. Thoughts will stay there until something else happens to set the thoughts free, for a moment or two. Whatever it is that sets the thoughts free again – it needs to be found first. It also happens that the cure finds you. The thing to keep in mind is that the thoughts in the groove are normally not the reason for the groove. The original reason for the groove was the fear of something that made us fear something else. The tricky thing is to find the original fear, the real reason.
Nothing should be said. All reality is described by words and all reality is beyond all words. Words just simplify the world out there. Words make connections which are not there and announce scenarios which cannot be real. Words tell stories; humans tell stories. In the end this is all they do: A world built on stories; on stories which develop themselves word by word away from all reality. And so we end up in the cold hell of words without any meaning.
Sometimes time teaches us something in a different way: Sometimes time tells us that it will be left behind – after a while. Sometimes we cannot see this end being trapped somewhere in the darkness of the hours and days. Once the time passed we know that it is gone. Only then we know.
The main reason for this nightmare which seems to put everything in questions is that the very inner core of us itself is put in question. We have an image of ourselves which is carefully built over time. This picture contains all the stories we tell about us and which we want to be told about us. This picture is us. And we die once the picture dies. We die as the one we were and need to assemble the leftovers to become something new.
Everyone is afraid of that. It steals the breath, it takes away the wish to eat, it triggers the wish to sleep without end, to run away from reality which is hunting one the moment being awake. The muscles prepare for impact, everything is tense. The pressure in the head finds no valve and makes the head explode. After a while the body cannot deal with all that anymore and the mind switches to a moment of ignorance. A brief moment of relief which suddenly ends with an attack of fear from deep within. An icy ball is expanding from the chest to all the other parts of the body just to fall apart into tiny sharp pieces which seem to penetrate our skin from within. Again. And again.
The future falls into pieces and from whatever kind of angle it is examined the outcome is a disaster. There seems to be no future for the us we know. Time will proceed but should not. The planet won´t care, even if it should. Just we will be gone.
12.12 until. 15 days a refugee from reality. 15 days which ended. There might be longer time. There might be a situation we only know of that it has the potential to change everything. We might lose everything we knew about us and what we wanted other people to know about us. We will die. We will actually die as who we were. And we will become someone else. We will survive. As long as we can take who we will become. Or who we became.
Winter ends all things. All that was alive needs to die. Cold air will fill the lungs and hearts of the ones who still breathe and are left behind. The heartbeats pump the cold blood against the time. A time which always runs faster than the heart is ever able to pump. The winter will win. It always does.
What felt warm and close will become cold and air. All things need to die. And so do we.
Winter fills the body with sadness about the lost, with hopelessness about what might become, with anxiety towards the unknown. Winter takes everything and promises nothing. Winter kills without remorse. The things that die have no idea that they die for a reason, that they die to leave the summer for others.
It happens that we end up in arguments or we even find ourselves within a war nobody ever wanted to start.
It starts somewhere based on whatever kind of emotional decision or scenario. This first scenario triggers a certain reaction by someone who might have gotten bothered by the action taken.
And here starts the power play. Who can hits back and the issue grows. Not everyone in this game has the same power. So some might need to use different methods to deal with their aggression. And here it starts to
become complicated and soon everyone forgets where it all started.
Especially the ones with power must never forget where and how it started. The only way to deal with that kind of power play is to see the weaker ones as what they are and to give them the right to handle their aggression in an ignorable way. In order to avoid the complete destruction of the weaker ones.
The use of power in order to destroy is nothing any kind of future can be build upon.
Everyone moves along paths we did not choose. We start somewhere we never had the chance to think about and we end up on paths the map did not even show at the beginning. There is no map once we start to move. The map follows our steps. And sometimes it happens that we meet another path. There is no real choice of what to do in this case. Dependend on how deep or wide or stoney the other path is one might follow the new direction or not. We march until night falls. Nightfall tells us if we were on the right path. Lucky are the ones who do not feel alone once night falls. Lucky are the ones who do not need to be afraid of the darkness. Lucky are the ones who see the light in the others person hand.
sometimes a text needs to grow as a picture grows – it starts somewhere and ends elsewhere. Or not. Sometimes it just feels like as something needs to be said but the words are not found yet. It feels like a dream forgotten right after waking up.
There is something. So we let the words fly until they find their right positions. What can be said in a world where words do not make sense anymore. Even everything is already said but nobody is listening or words are not enough to describe what it going on. Or maybe the words are enough to describe what is going on but to use them does not make sense.
Words might be the connection between the things out there and the world in us. We think in words and we describe ourselves as well as everything around us in words. We try to express emotions in words. We put them in chains of grammar and structure. Even the untellable needs to follow the rules. Even the wildest dream needs to follow the strict rules of language. So language rules and restricts.
But words make thoughts real. Even more, words make everything real. Humans live within their own story. But the story needs to be told to become real. Only if we talk about things, if we say what is going on in our mind, it becomes real. Only if foreign people share their story with us they become real for us. Only if we are part of a story we become real. Everything exists, but nothing is real without being told.
Words can kill and words can love. Words build our world and they are used to descibe what we should see. Or what we see. The more words we know the better we are to bend all existence, to tell stories in different ways.
Why all this might be important? I don’t know… just words.