Tag Archives: life

“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”

by Milan Kundera, from “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”

Sometimes the things that we struggle with the most, the thoughts that weigh the most heavily on our shoulders, are in themselves our objects of greatest virtue.

No matter how tremendous they become, you have to ask yourself, what would you be left with without them? Is substance a burden? Life without any conflict or tribulations is easy. Yet the emptiness left behind becomes in itself a burden.

So the question becomes a matter of choice between the weight of substance, duty, and love, versus the sometimes overwhelming weight of nothing; of insignificance…


Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
Almost everyone is working towards a goal in their life, and it is an important thing to have ambition and work for that one thing that you want or need to feel satisfied, but what I want to talk about here are the consequences of wanting something.

Sometimes we get so fixated on where we want to be that we forget to notice where we are. We take some things for granted and we don’t appreciate the journey; and yes I know it’s a cliche and everyone knows and goes through this. But what about how it impacts the small things in our lives.

Just because you’re working towards something doesn’t mean that in the time between now and getting that something, you should be miserable and spend all your time wanting.

Time moves so quickly and someday will be here sooner that you think, but if you spend your life waiting for someday then all your life really is; is waiting. You’re always going to want something, you’re never going to not have a goal, and you can’t put life on hold in-between them.

My point is, not every moment needs an “if only” attached to it…


In the mornings I wake up without a single breath left in me from the night before. The air is cold around me; the room lingers in a warm embrace. I turn to my left and find an empty bed beside mine. She’s never home when I wake up; she’s never home at all. I can’t move when I’m alone. By the time I have the strength to get out of bed it’s never me at all.

I walk to the bathroom and sit on the toilet. I don’t even bother to close the door, no one’s home. I wash my face and brush my teeth just like my mom taught me when I was three. She’s not here either; but that’s my fault. Maybe it’s all my fault. I look in the mirror and notice that her lips are still red from the night before. It makes me wonder what the hell she’s doing. I walk away from her; I don’t want to fight anymore. I go into the bedroom and ruffle through the pile of clothes that now acts as a table. I pick out what she’ll be wearing today and I fix her face with a touch of make-up; enough to hide the dark circles under my own eyes and expose the sparkle inside hers.

I never leave the house until I’ve had at least an hour to just sit and stare at the blank screen of the television. I light up a cigarette and turn to my left and find and empty seat beside mine. She’s never there in the mornings: she’s never there at all.

She’s always on my left side except when I am driving. My lips start to burn, and that’s when I realize that my cigarette has burned out. The lights come through the old curtains and shine a light on what this house used to be. When they were here the air was warm. Now that they are gone their memories keep the house warm, but the air is as cold as ice. Outside nothing is warm, for it seems as though there is no room for me in this place. It is as though I am playing a game of musical chairs with no chairs to begin with. That’s not the worst of it. Every time I play I try to sit down, only to fall flat on my face. That’s why I never leave the house; she does.

She takes the first step out the door. She looks back at me with bittersweet sadness. All we needed was a little more time, time for me to see. She wants me to take those steps with her. Those steps I have been trying to take for a while now. All I can do is look straight back at her and bow down to the floor. She looks at me with eyes filled with disappointment, and there is nothing I can do. She walks out the door, and as she turns away she plasters a smile on her face to go with the sparkle in her eyes. She’s gone; now I am really alone.

She braves the world while I brave my own world. A world I created that is just as torturous as the other. Whose to say which world is real and which is not. I don’t really believe in reality; ultimately everything is relative.


Her World

She lives in a place where she does no wrong. She walks on a streak of red paint that is never tarnished by the dirt on her shoes. Others have chosen to place her there, and she has chosen to stay. She’s never seen without a smile on her face; everything is fine. She’s never seen without a skip and hop in her walk; everything is all right. It’s fine that she’s abandoned me and it’s all right that she’s lonely. She lives in a world that makes it fine and say’s it’s all right. She lives in that world, her world, where she is queen, officer, and civilian. It is in this place where anything she does is right, nothing she does is wrong, and everything she does is accepted. In the mornings she takes her car and drives off to college. She never misses a class; she is the perfect student. She walks down many steps to find her seat. Front row; she is the perfect student. She always participates in discussions; she is the perfect student. She understands the material instantly; she is the perfect student. She stays after class; she is the perfect student. In truth, she knows that she is far from perfect. In reality, she knows that she has to be. I’m the only one that knows. She’s afraid and yet she’s never scared.

After class she heads out toward the benches that surround the department, and she’s not alone. She’s never alone, yet she is always lonely. I wonder if she secretly misses me as I openly miss her. She is with her friends that fit her perfect profile. She is at the top of her class; number two and number three will do. Almost instantly they involve themselves in an invigorating discussion regarding what they had just learned; they are perfect. Once the debate has been settled, they hurry of to the studio and start working on projects that they have been assigned; they are perfect. She was born to play that part. As for me, I haven’t found my part yet. I guess I am waiting on someone that just won’t show, not that she’d ever know. She’d never know that I am what she fears to be. I am always scared and I am never afraid.

She calls me on her way back home; I don’t know why. Maybe she thinks that I left, or maybe she’s just lonely. Sometimes I get the sense that she’s afraid she’ll have to die without me; if at any time I find the strength to leave, she’d never find me.

There is a moment everyday before she gets home when I feel as though I might be able to leave. The moment soon passes. It stays true to its nature; it’s fleeting. She is afraid that she will have to die without me. I am scared that I will die without ever being found.

She is home now. She’s left her world behind her while still holding it in her front pocket. I look at her as she sits down beside me. I can see her but she could never see me. I am happy she is home; she’s uncomfortable here. She is afraid of what she cannot see. She is afraid of me; I am scared she’ll always fear me. I am scared that I will die without ever being seen.

When it didn’t used to be so cold, we were constantly fighting; battles maybe even wars. With a bright red cloud that floated above the battleground, we screamed and we cried. The floor trembled under the hooves of approaching troops, and the walls turned their backs to the demise of their quarters. The furniture joined the passing winds in its chilling embrace. It stood in the shadows of many warriors and prayed for the passing of this dark cold day. Nothing was comfortable; neither of us was welcome anywhere on this field of passions and furies. The on looking faces of people and memories stared into the blankness to which they have been chained.

Our house became an abandoned field of dreams, dreams of a better place, and dreams of a home. The battles would last for what felt like an entire lifetime, and then they would slowly pass. Secretly I always wished that they didn’t. Face to face we stood and withstood the test and torment of time; at least we were together. We would reside in this horrible place for what felt like an eternity that was never ending. The place was filled with the nervous silence and loud forces of an epic betrayal. In this place where we stood together, in this place I now stand, alone. I did want to leave, but I did not want it to end. It did end, with me standing at the door and her walking out of it.

I wanted to be heard; I wanted to be found. I could never see her like she wanted to be seen and she could never hear me the way I wanted to be heard.

I think that maybe sometimes we try to grow up faster than our time, and in the process we ruin some things that were meant for a later time. If you’re baking a soufflé but don’t have enough patience to wait until it is ready to come out, you will ruin it, and it will be gone. not because it is not meant to be but only because you didn’t have enough faith to be patient and kind to its survival.

We want to grow up because we think that the prospects of our future have a better chance of making us happy. but the reality remains that these prospects live in the future, and the air there is different; to take them out of their habitat will ultimately ensure their demise. but what happens once we’ve made the realization that planning and thought are obsessive behaviors and as any other obsession, once they become all you have they self destruct.

too much of a good thing…

There isn’t really much you can do to cure obsession, usually the only way to get rid of one obsession is to replace it with another one. and here is where it gets tricky, we are in our nature obsessive, at least some of us are and to those people life is a matter of knowing which obsession can prosper at which time and which obsession will deconstruct the sequence. you see if you are arrogant enough to think that you can break the chain and go for something whose time has not come, you risk losing it all.

All it takes is one week link to break a perfectly strong and resilient chain… the trick is to give up on fear.

I know most of us rely on fear to help motivate us to move forward, fear of failure, fear of being alone, and fear of death. the truth is it is the fear itself that will cause you to loose.

I believe in one thing above all else; the self fulfilling prophecy.

If we let the fear of failure control us, then the only thing left to sooth us will be failure itself. cause in the end that is the way we are wired. we always need to be right, we always need to believe that life doesn’t just happen to us, but that we know better and we can see it all coming. ergo if i believe that i will fail, not matter how hard i try to succeed and even if i do at one point, my original belief still needs to be satisfied and the only way i will feel right is if life reassures me that my fears were valid, and the only way for that to happen is to fail. the self fulfilling prophecy.

But on the other hand this can also work to our advantage, if we let go of fear and give in to faith, then the flaw that once ensured our failure will ensure our success. if you let go of fear and have faith that no matter what happens you will be fine and failure is only relative, then the self fulfilling prophecy is reversed and now the prophecy is life, of at least what it should be.

Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans… well that is true, life isn’t the sum of all our actions, life is a moment, it is fleeting.

Life is like an increment of time; a second. with each second that passes by a second has gone, never to be again. as is life, a bunch of moments moving quickly behind each other and the trick is a game of musical chairs. the difference here is that there is one player and many chairs, oh, and you control the music. you choose where to sit and how long to stay there. you can choose to linger in one chair and elongate the length of a second, or you can jump around from one to the other hoping to be satisfied eventually.

Here’s the thing, everything is a choice, you are foolish if you think that you are a victim of a life that you cannot control. your life is just that, yours; it is your own and you make of it what you can. I know some people are given different opportunities and are surrounded by different situations than others but the reality remains the same. we all live in a house of cards, and it’s always a matter of choice that determines the quality of our life.

day to day we deal with a lot. for some of us it's work, for others it's family or love. how we deal with it all is what makes up the daily reality of our lives. but we always have to remember even when we're completely alone, actually especially when we're alone; there is always something in between the subtle and not so subtle notes of our days, there can always be something to make us smile. it can be a random moment, or a glimpse of something beautiful. it can also be a memory. whether its good or bad, life is something worth a smile now and then, cause if you take a step back, it's kind of funny how we make it through.

we are all masochists. some of us deny it, but the truth is we all go through our lives making choices that cause us pain. some of us are perfectionists who are perpetually disappointed. the tortured artists are not artists because they are tortured; they are tortured because they are artists. of course there are always exceptions to the rule, but it seems to me most of us feel that if we're not in pain there is no depth or meaning in our lives. we want things we cannot have. and in most cases its not that we cannot have what we want, but the act of wanting it insures that we will never have it. sometimes i think maybe we're just too lazy to work for what we want, and in some cases that is true. but lets say you get what you want, then what? you need something new to want, and for some of us that thought is worse. there is this notion that the darkness and sadness are beautiful and poetic, but the truth is the darkness does't have any answers. i personally don't think that finding answers is the right goal to have in your life, because life lies in the questions you choose to ask. those questions define what your life is going to be and the path that you will take. whether or not you find the answer is irrelevant. and so the darkness may or may not have answers, but that is besides the point. the point is that in the dark you forget the question, and there is nothing beautiful and poetic about that. George Bernard Shaw once said: “there are two tragedies in life. one is to lose your heart's desire. the other is to gain it.” you can agree or disagree with his theory, but you cannot deny that we all go through our lives wanting. sometimes we get what we want and sometimes we don't. the real tragedy is that once we get something we want, we tend to forget just how much we wanted it. maybe that is why Shaw finds it a tragedy to get your heart's desire, because what defines desire is the yearning and the want and once thats gone, its not really a desire any more is it? an unfulfilled desire holds within it so much energy that it drives us towards it. and once it is fulfilled the energy dissipates. there's a weird pleasure in loving someone who doesn't love you. love is supposed to be selfless, and i suppose loving someone who does't love you, is selfless because its a love that asks nothing in return, not even to be loved back. in that love is a desire that is constantly unfulfilled and its energy is ever burning. but at the end of the day no matter how you look at it, it seems that we are obsessed with feeling pain, as if that pain makes our lives more meaningful. masochists.