Reveries and Passions

I’m incredibly afraid of being defined by others.

Despite all of our alien movies, there is no design that is truly original, truly unique. There is no creature we, as humans, can create that is as original than by the creator himself. There are only 7 colours in the rainbow, and it is impossible to create an 8th colour. All the rest are just the 7 colours mixed. It’s like how do you explain the color blue to a blind person? The blue colour still exists but the blind just cannot see it. Neither can we describe it by words. Same goes for an 8 th colour, how can we create something that never existed?

“This is the message we heard from Jesus and now declare to you: God is light and there is no darkness in him at all.”
I specifically remember going to Physics class and learning about the qualities of light, how no particle no substance has ever been faster than light. It was everywhere at every time, it contained properties of matter-wave duality. So I thought “wow what of God was light. He is everywhere at all times and he is in all things”. And here, in 1 John 1:5 the evidence prevails. I, too, remember going into the deep recesses of a cave in Victoria as part of a school choir trip. We went so deep, that when the instructor told us to all turn off our lights, it was absolutely, positively pitch black. I didnt know if my eyes were closed or if they were opened. He told us “Normally there is always at least the smallest particle of light so that our eyes can adjust and see. But here when we have travelled so so deep into this cave, light cannot reach here.”

It’s pretty amazing how God reveals knowledge in times when I did not even know him.

Awakening,
Overfilling life.
Awake my soul, awake my spirit
and I ask
How far is the east from the west?
How far is the soul from the spirit?
and they meet,
in an unfathomable collision
east-west, soul-spirit
a beautiful collision.
 

I like when I get broken down

because that’s when I remember what’s important. 

I can’t be fake.
It’s not in my capacity.

So fall down like the rain,
bottled tears,
fall as commanded
and I will not
I cannot
stop. 

What are we as youth. Often indignant, arrogant, the opposite of understanding. Bold in spirit, yet lacking in knowledge and experience. What are we? Vain, peculiar and so so competitive. What is beauty in a colloquial sense? It is nothing. It is dust in the wind. Dust that falls from our faces. What is success? It, too, is nothing except the thoughts in our head, the hope of superiority. Such trivial things, and passing wants. We are all beautiful in our own way at this age. I never believed it before, but now I see it. Somehow, I want to find brokenness, because that is truth, my grasp on reality. Something to yearn for and in a truly tangible sense, become alive.

Somewhere along the way,
I forgot my sincerity,
Along the less travelled road.
Somewhere along the way,
I forgot what it was like to love this much,
This yearning in the throat
This empty stomach,
This dry hunger.
I forgot what it was like to be filled,
To care so deeply,
That you would fall off the
Edge of the earth
Just to taste a little more.
So here I am:
The long awaited
Desperation.