Why do we live, why do we die?
The day when life carved Loss into our souls
and since then, we can only feel it,
we can only scream it in the silent violin.
SOS to the Universe, to another world,
to someone who doesn’t have his feet on Earth.
Life! Life!
Remember them!
I am
with muscles,
with bones.
I ask
What is the meaning of life?
What is the meaning of living?
I look around, it is pitch black
I ask
What is the meaning of death?
What is the meaning of dying?
I am
with no muscles
on the bones.
I ask
Who am I…6 feet underground?
I am
with no muscles,
with no bones.
I ask
Who am I…to die forever?
The dream is not dead.
The girl’s dream is in a train station
Where the train stops
And people are coming down.
The girl raises her voice to her mother and shouts “I have a dream”
The mother with worries and a tiring job
With various disappointments and empty feelings
She remembers about her, about her dream
She wants to tell her, yes, but she can’t
She just stays silent.
The girl raises her voice to her father and shouts “I have a dream”
Father molded by the necessity
To adapt to the times
To put food on the table, to have money to pay his debts
He wants to tell her, yes, but he can’t
He just says, life is hard, no more dreaming.
The dream is not dead
Not at 10, not at 20
Not at 50, not at 70 years old.
The girl raises her voice to life and shouts “I have a dream”
The years go by, the girl becomes a woman
The train station has closed
Surrounded with barbed wire
Broken windows with wooden boards
Thistles like walls
Padlock on the door
The train doesn’t stop
People don’t come down anymore
Only the woman, tries to remember
The lost dream, like a forgotten password.
The dream is not dead
Not at 10, not at 20
Not at 50, not at 70 years old
Not on the deathbed.
The woman raises her voice to the sky and shouts “I have a dream”
She triggers the alarm signal and gets off the train
She pulls up the thistles with her bare hands
Throws the barbed wire
Breaks the window boards and kicks the padlock off the door
Opens the train station
With her last breath.
The dream is not dead
Not at 10, not at 20
Not at 50, not at 70 years old
Not on the deathbed
Not at the morgue.
Where the body lies.
Here’s a new song called “Start over again.”
Here it is link to the poem for this song:
https://kreworld.com/start-over-again-believing-in-this-year-is-a-difficult-road-to-walk/
I walked into the yard. Flowers live in the yard, flowers and people; and the flowers take care of people.
The beauty of the flowers awakened my soul to life.
When I left, I made a small garden in my soul.
Since then, when the wind blows me away, when I feel like walking through the mud, I hide in the garden of the soul and the flowers take care of me.
Guilt is not produced from the mistake. Guilt is produced from MY mistake.
Open the pipeline carrying the guilt, and let it flow. Expose it.
Life is an opportunity to express, not to pile up guilt upon guilt.
Open the guilt pipeline in other people. Maybe open a “Guilt Painting” shop and paint people’s guilt feelings. I would be your first customer.
Guilt
First day
I don’t suffer. I don’t know suffering. I don’t know hours. I don’t know after and before.
When I came in this world, I came alone.
My life is made here for now. But in other parts of the future, there will be separation.
The younger
I suffer. I know hours. I know after.
When I start to suffer, I think about the hours, and the hours after the hours.
I’m tired, and young, and I have many hours left.
I don’t think about the finish line.
The elder
I’ve got used to suffering. I forget the hours. I know before.
When I suffer, I think about the hours before the hours.
I’m tired, and old, and I have many hours to remember.
Don’t quit now! Let’s go, let’s go! One more day.
I think a lot about the finish line.
Here he comes! Here comes your next!
Marathon
Marathon
Marathon
You survived. You made it through. Scars, broken legs, damaged internal organs. Now what?
You may feel like a refugee, a displaced person who has been forced by a car accident to cross your own identity and self-boundaries, and who cannot return back, to the “you” – due to injuries, safely. It is not only the car accident, but facing your own mortality was the kicker. That forced you to become a refugee. There is no turning back, because there is no “home identity” to return. It is as your home identity was destroyed by the encounter with your own mortality. You now walk a road of grieving, a road to healing and rediscovering yourself inside and out. You are looking for a safe place to land and to establish the new “you”. Your track will take you from denial, to anger, depression, before you’ll finally reach acceptance; and your track will not stop there.
You could be deported anytime, deported by your own emotions. This will take you through difference places. You may feel happy, angry, betrayed. You will continue searching the emotional debris to find yourself.
There will be moments when you will feel great, worry free. As the great runs out, you may feel depressed. You will have to take your sister, your friend with you, carry own your family with you; do not be alone. They will help you on your emotional journey. You are lucky, because of your family, friends, and family connections.
You will share a room with your own self for months to come. With yourself, to encounter yourself. You may feel ashamed, guilty, or angry: Life, you didn’t have to go nuclear on me…and in those moments, remember these words: I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
When wake up in pain, facing another day – and no project beyond few steps seemed tenable, take a step forward repeating the phrase over and over: I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
Shit happens, experience happens. It is a fact about the world. It does not matter how bad and mad you fell about the world and the people, always, always put space and time between your thoughts and your actions. Between your thoughts, your emotions, and your actions.
Day to day, week after week, you will blossom. Don’t forget to smile, to laugh.
You will have moments when your awareness will by surrounded by crazy thoughts. You will get angry, and scream at people around you. You will feel separated, as if nobody understands you. You will not see your family and your friends, as being on your side; you will feel like they cannot understand you. Yes, nobody can understand you. However, they understand various aspects, different perspectives of the situation. Each of one of them can see only a part of your picture. The father sees one, the mother a second, the sister a third, and the friend a fourth, and so on. It is the relationship between those parts that create the entire picture. This connectivity will always support you.
You have to figure out your questions. What are your questions? What are the questions that matter to you? The questions after the accident and the questions after the questions.
Do I live? Do I love? Do I matter? What is the plan?
Girlfriend? Wife? Mother? Hairstylist? Or if no idea, your answer should be I don’t know. Be honest with yourself. Find and live your calling.
The prospect of facing your own mortality can be so disorienting, so dislocating. But look from the other perspective: you got the highest motivation in life, the mortality motivation. Most people do not get that until they are old.
Life gave you a golden ticket. You know viscerally, in your body, in your scars, in your broken legs, in your damaged organs, you know that time is limited. And that the time is ticking.
Now you need to decide what to do with that motivation.
You can go two ways. You got hurt; your first reaction is to build walls, to keep the bad thing outside, to be safe. Fear of driving, fear of anything that can hurt you. But you block the connection.
On the other hand, you can go: I am on fire. I will not fail to live and love. I am on fire.
Life gave you another breath. Yes, that breath that you just took it. That felling.
When life and mortality intersected, life has chosen you. Now it is your turn to live life to the fullest every day.
You may want to take your direct experience and translate back to language, write your own experience. Keep a journal. Accommodate everything in words. Grasp the emotion and experience of such experience and redirect towards something that is powerful: words, and language.
Think about your family. Think about your father; the moment he got the call, the reality of the terrible accident, and the possibility of burying his daughter. Think about the people who love you. You are not alone. You are loved by all.
After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself
After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself
After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself
After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself
After the accident – searching the debris to find yourself
Outside, the street carries the ice, the ice carries the wheels, the wheels carry the fear, and the fear carries the driver in the winter.
With strained throat, fixed eyes and suffocated mind, the driver clenches his hands on the wheel and scratches his teeth. This cold on his spine that cuts him, makes him small by the stature, this cold felt to the bone marrow, it’s not the cold of winter, it’s fear; and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the end.
Winter is always a live theater performance of dread for the driver. He is an actor who plays the “Fear is for the Winter” daily. But every time, at the end of the day, he feels a kind of comfort: “I have passed the fear today”. So he washes the scare off thoroughly.
There are so many fears in the tree of life, real or fabricated fears. Take the smoke. The driver smokes a lot, packs of cigarettes a day, but the scare is nonexistent. The scare is nonexistent but deadly. Winter is like a tsunami of terror, wave after wave born from the imagination of fear. “You’re afraid when driving in the winter, but you’re going to mess it up in the summer on the sidewalk,” he says to himself. And he does not even seem bothered by cowardice because he did not know courage, and he grew up and surrounded himself only with people without veins.
But the most terrible virus of fear is the man himself; and the driver digs, he digs the hole of fear, and the path of consciousness is getting darker. That until the tree of life breaks.
Then one day the air of his lungs cried out of terror, the wheels crashed, the white turned red, the red coagulated, and the fear vanished; only the night without day and the eyes without light remain.
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
Fear is for the Winter
One day you’ll wake up too tired
To try to change the world,
And then you’ll call yourself wise,
A brain fart of a simplified life force.
Kreo of the Day #33 A brain fart of a simplified life force