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A day of our lives February 2010 Oa essay


©copyright2013owpp

©copyright2013owpp

A day of our lives
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Last night I felt like waiving it all. Does it happen to you too?
Ironically, the arguments I want to run away from are the very reason I will not give up.
Even if the scales prove otherwise, working my character defects is now the reason for me to stay on.
So, I am hanging on a thread, as a spider, slowly weaving my way, consolidating my web.
My thread is my connection to my élan vital. To what is home now. It keeps me linked to my sparkle. That is why I hold on, toil my way through. Anneal the base.
My thoughts shout. Build a wider faction, extensions!
Outreach calls are of paramount importance yet, I have been shying away from that assignment.

We tend to build protective walls around us, which need to be broken down at some point.
Some build fortresses throughout their lives, staking up watchmen to mark their borders that stretch out further and further away from their former territories and lose themselves in it. Opportunities for light and life shrinking away from their grasp as the ebbing of a tide, leaving its emblem to be stamped on by the carefree, merry vacationer.
Others stay jammed between the doors of desperation, forlorn in an ocean of slavery to some addiction or another, plaguing them constantly with thoughts and acting upon them in a half-slumber, as if it is their destiny, as if they had no choice in the matter.
They live in a no-man’s land. In the crepuscule. Passengers erring between countries restlessly, looking for comfort and finding none.
Solace, evading their days and nights. Their soul giving them no rest. Until they are bestowed with the gift of sagacity and composure.
The skills for living in the right sense. Fully, truly, joyfully and peacefully.
Those miracles can happen. It is only up to us to create the vessel to receive them.
All there is to do is hope to be awarded with the volition to shape, mold it, as a sturdy thick, impermeable, hermetically sealed receptacle that will enable us to treasure those gifts never letting them out of our sight,
Whatever the cost.

Good times, what a blessing! Nov. 2012 ( oa essay )


Good times... ©copyright2013owpp

Good times…
©copyright2013owpp

This essay was coming out of the low moments as a result of doing what I have most pleasure in doing. Writing and painting and sharing it on the blog. Music and photography will have to wait until I start feeling more comfortable with those .

Good times
————-

Does it occur to us that sometimes our writings have a tremendous amount of despair or self-abuse described?
Writing is for everyone liberating. It is the first thing that comes to our mind when hurt gnaws at us. At the end of the page we feel cleansed.
But could we focus for once on the times rays of rationality beam through? The days we tuck in fourteen hours of work, feel tired but so alive?
Get so absorbed in our task that we forget about food and eat solely for the physical energy. What a blessing, what a truce! So much easier than the fight.
What about the enthusiasm, the love and joy we spread around, the closeness to our cherished ones and the protective wings we encircle them with, the peace felt, by doing small and seemingly insignificant tasks that feel grand to us?
Small is sometimes big.
Is that not a far brighter subject?
The saying goes “without obscurity we would not see the light“
Appreciation comes from the lack of… Had we not gone without in the past, how could we know what is here now?

This essay is dedicated to all those in recovery. To a world of people who have the courage and audacity to face and work on their imperfections, which everyone has.

To them I bow and wish to give an apercu, a glimmer of what can be, with a bit of tenacity.

Be strong, do not bend to what you would call our darker moments yet, be flexible and undulate with the current, it will lead you to quiet sparkles, to serene bliss and undetected Nirvana.

Can we believe? I do.

That is the journey I took many years ago. Every year I believe I have found all the truth that exists and every year I am proved wrong. There is always some more…

There are many ways that lead to Rome. To a few, it will be wisdom, others, knowledge or experience, which is the best teacher of all, it will lead you to the light brought by comprehension… To that instant of clarity, the split second where it all fits…

The doors open and you walk in a state of…

Life is worth living for, the past trials were all worth it, for this inner-discovery. No loud trumpets, no explosive fireworks, just, THIS… NOW…

And that is all that matters.