Love's Reality

Why is fabricated love so appealing? It comes from the imagination. It isn't real.... Yet, it is. We find part of our own love within it. The lovers carve another aspect of our emotions, and in turn they take on a part of our will. It doesn't matter if their flesh is real. Their love exists, if only in daydreams.

Passions

The "guilty pleasures" I indulge in fulfill or express a part of myself that I don't otherwise give in to much. The best example I can give is my love of Christopher Hall's band "The Dreaming." His music is decidely emo and full of lyrics that ache for love. While I don't empathize with most of the lyrics (anymore), I enjoy the music and emotion that he puts into the music. His energy and sincerity is what I really enjoy. Each word he sings is genuine, and I saw it plain as day on his face when I met him.

Christopher Hall and Trent Reznor are struck from a similar mold. They are truly passionate about what they do. As a fan, I enjoy the intricacies of their music and songs. I even find it cathartic to sing along, but in the end, it's their life. This raises a question that I've danced around for years: What am I passionate about?

Passion: a strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire for anything: a passion for music. (What an appropriate example.)

Now, understanding that passion is exemplified through an enthusiasm and desire for something, it is assumed that I might be passionate about the activities I enjoy the most depending on how strongly I feel for them. While I love music, and it is often the bridge of my comparisons, it does not fill my every waking thought. Musicians eat, sleep, and breath music. I simply enjoy it.

The definition of passion does claim "anything" as the object of passion. The question could also be posed as: What do I desire?

That question is one that I can answer:

I desire mental states and activities which put me closer to fully understanding my potential and purpose. I desire understanding and wisdom. The activities that aid me in this desire include: self-improvement, listening, learning, guiding others.

It may make me sound a little like a tree-hugging hippie, but I really do feel this way in my heart. Simply, I want to understand and be understood, and in turn help others to do the same. I want to help them understand where they come from, where they belong, and where they are going. Without the journey, it would all be meaningless. I want to be a guide.

Questions

I find myself searching. Watching every story, every event both real and fiction for similarities to what I believe happened. Do others suspect? Do they dream? Do they remember? Are they subtly revealing these beliefs through their actions and tales? Why do I want to find them? To know I'm not alone? To feel a connection to others? Do I really want them to remember, or keep the knowledge hidden? What part will they play? What part will I play later? Why do I become so restless that I have to get all of it out of myself?

Oh! To gaze upon serenity again... It will signal our undoing:

Legions of them, listening to his voice. The look of serenity upon their pallid faces. How can they listen, so dumbfounded, so innocent? They will follow him to the end. They will follow him to the end.

To Remember

Even after dawn the memories pull at me--a dream deferred. Their cloudy images have lost description and purpose, but the feelings linger. Determination, terror, sacrifice, unconditional love. Love. Words cannot do justice to that love. I was born to love. I killed and was killed for that love.

What do these memories mean to me? They feel like a security blanket, a beacon. An old friend. An aspiration. A hole, a wound, a tugging string. A soft wind, a blade of grass, calm water, the warmest touch. Harsh blades, harsher words, unjust intentions. They are balance. They are a world forgotten, yet they are a part of everything.

What was is now gone. What will be has been written.

Some feelings cannot be shared. I cannot express the longing I feel to be complete again and understand the past.

Messages

If I could know your heart,

Would it be as sweet?

Would you laugh as I hear?

Would you dream as I dream?

Would your love be as deep?

In the end...

You do not know my heart.

Every day is a message

To reach and dream

To prepare and live

To plan, yet wander blindly

In the end...

Fate has been written.

Displaced

Floating.
Nothing to hold on to today.
Irritated.
Uncomfortable.
Memories, emotions, and suppositions unlived.
Yet familiar.
Lost.

Cannot stay outside.
Cannot stay inside.
Where else to go?

Bonds

He stands before me, clad in white.
The red chairs are far behind us.
I understand now,
And I am comforted.
My smile says all there is to say: "Your happiness is mine as well."
If only all hearts could shine so brightly.