Tuesday, February 23, 2016
why do i feel at home in hell?
i don't know if it is purgatory or just hell
but i start to feel at home here.
it doesn't make any sense to be there
but then nothing does, not obviously anyway.
i have found consolation in being blind
to hands stretched out in words and
to the idea of a God.
when i cannot find warmth and love
i will enjoy the fire and my solitude,
not at peace, but with all my edges,
with my unpolished raw self.
i do not wish to be a diamond
nor will i wear a tie on the day of my death.
i live naked, i love naked, and i will die naked
in purgatory, in hell or with a smile on my lips.
i risk my heart when i love
as i risk my life when i live.
i fail, i rise, i fall.
sometimes i stand up again,
surprisingly.
i cannot hear a voice.
i hear no voice.
God never called me anymore.
The angels fled me.
And the sweet apples
are rotting under the trees
with an intoxicating scent.
I must try and find a way
to laugh about myself,
how can i take myself
as being so important,
or as one Rabbi said:
O God, why is it my own problems
which disturb me most?
but i start to feel at home here.
it doesn't make any sense to be there
but then nothing does, not obviously anyway.
i have found consolation in being blind
to hands stretched out in words and
to the idea of a God.
when i cannot find warmth and love
i will enjoy the fire and my solitude,
not at peace, but with all my edges,
with my unpolished raw self.
i do not wish to be a diamond
nor will i wear a tie on the day of my death.
i live naked, i love naked, and i will die naked
in purgatory, in hell or with a smile on my lips.
i risk my heart when i love
as i risk my life when i live.
i fail, i rise, i fall.
sometimes i stand up again,
surprisingly.
i cannot hear a voice.
i hear no voice.
God never called me anymore.
The angels fled me.
And the sweet apples
are rotting under the trees
with an intoxicating scent.
I must try and find a way
to laugh about myself,
how can i take myself
as being so important,
or as one Rabbi said:
O God, why is it my own problems
which disturb me most?
Umberto Eco, quotes & a note
"What is love? There is nothing in the world, neither man nor Devil nor any thing, that I hold as suspect as love, for it penetrates the soul more than any other thing. Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart as love does. Therefore, unless you have those weapons that subdue it, the soul plunges through love into an immense abyss."
"How does a person feel when looking at the sky? He thinks that he doesn’t have enough tongues to describe what he sees. Nevertheless, people have never stopping describing the sky, simply listing what they see... We have a limit, a very discouraging, humiliating limit: death. That’s why we like all the things that we assume have no limits and, therefore, no end. It’s a way of escaping thoughts about death. We like lists because we don’t want to die."
note:
i don't know about all this, i have to say it humbly, i rather feel like
a childish idiot wo cannot relate to himself anymore in a way which can
give joy to life and to somebody else. i am doubting everything,
maybe even the sky, not only love.
Doubting myself i doubt you.
Any you doubting me makes me doubt myself even more.
So human relationships can lead into a trap-
the child does not know
should it stay at home and be called a liar
or should it go to school and be called a liar,
the adult does not know
should he go to live or to die.
In the end he will go on living, most times,
but what if it feels like a lie?
Life will give me time to know.
"How does a person feel when looking at the sky? He thinks that he doesn’t have enough tongues to describe what he sees. Nevertheless, people have never stopping describing the sky, simply listing what they see... We have a limit, a very discouraging, humiliating limit: death. That’s why we like all the things that we assume have no limits and, therefore, no end. It’s a way of escaping thoughts about death. We like lists because we don’t want to die."
note:
i don't know about all this, i have to say it humbly, i rather feel like
a childish idiot wo cannot relate to himself anymore in a way which can
give joy to life and to somebody else. i am doubting everything,
maybe even the sky, not only love.
Doubting myself i doubt you.
Any you doubting me makes me doubt myself even more.
So human relationships can lead into a trap-
the child does not know
should it stay at home and be called a liar
or should it go to school and be called a liar,
the adult does not know
should he go to live or to die.
In the end he will go on living, most times,
but what if it feels like a lie?
Life will give me time to know.
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