Waking Is An Odd Thing. 

​I wake to the world of reality.  I wake to the sunlight which stretches across my room,  filling it white, white and receptivity.  I feel my body,  this heavy thing always part and parcel of me.  I reach for electronics which propel me into a smaller multidimensional space.  My eyes water and irritate me.  My hairs separate from my head and fall on my face to tickle me.  The feeling of my skin against my skin is close and done brilliantly.  I contemplate that all molecules are mostly empty and therefore all that I feel and see is mostly empty.  I interpret my dreams vaguely.  I write them out carefully.  I inscribe every detail and publish it to the world,  hoping somebody recognizes me.  I am lonely.  It is not always a painful feeling.  It’s something that feels like sand against your skin,  it can be welcome,  just as it can be itchy.  I think of her and this brand newly awoken me thinks of her fondly, distantly, unpainfully.  And then I think,  where will I be in this grand scheme of things,  when I die,  and the world collects me?  I will have done nothing with no one to remember me.  I will be elusive,  like smoke,  transitional and chaotically ephemeral. No one will think of me,  no but some will think ill of me before they forget me.  This thought usually fills me with self loathing but I am new to this day and I am filled with allowance.  It doesn’t hurt me.  I merely wish it were different.  I wish life better fitted me.  Yes that is it,  it feel like this suit called life is the wrong size and shape and sags on me.  It is also the wrong fashion and material and it’s like playing dress up in costume which consumes me.  Yes life is vivid and externally tactile,  enjoyable physically.  But it feels wrong to me,  in the sense that nothing is wrong but something else is meant to be.  And I’m sorry,  very sorry,  if you misunderstand me.  I am only telling you what I sense and see and feel and expect.  Yes this life exists and what is mean to be is something I expect but do not see.  What does this mean? What could it be. 
Waking is an odd thing.  

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s