Existential nausea

The mundanity of this moment taste metallic.
The grey treetops stripped naked by the cold stretch out like scarecrows, like swaying cemeteries. The wind circling around them seems bereft and in disbelief as if in denial, like a mother clinging on to her child who just breathed his last, rocking back and forth with him in her embrace.

The scariest part of life is that life is independent of will. Spring doesn’t rush to protect nature from the cold because the cold is also nature… Ironically, for spring to interrupt the shedding of life would be to interrupt life itself. So I guess in that regard death is creation. Life wouldn’t be life without unexpected endings.

Expectations are human creations. It rings hollow and shallow because every time it approaches the depths it’s yanked back by the leash of control.

و من آياته…

I legit just realized.. love isn’t a person. It’s something you share with a person. Love is tawfeeq. The divine stimulus of a transphenomenal/noumenon connection, as opposed to a means to an end as stimulated by the basic instincts of the ego or the conceptualization of the mind.

Midnight wishes

I don’t want to be motivated by fear anymore. Seeking inspiration in what’s rooted in fear and lack is like inhaling smoke whose flames singe your nose hairs and the soot coats the inside of your throat.

Emotions are meant to protect me. Yet I spent most of my life protecting the circumstances that caused me deep pain because it felt easier to disregard what I was feeling. Alas, that only fed momentum to what was strangling me until my capacity for dissociation was dwarfed by how intrusive and invasive the circumstances became.

Freedom is timelessness

I don’t like rush and haste. I don’t like pressure and hurry. I don’t like to be blindsided and ambushed. I need space, plenty of space to ground my creative energy. I need peace and quiet.

No more posts.