Points of No Return

For starters, this has nothing to do with any personal point of no return, the 3rd Season of Babylon 5(or episode of the same name) or the song from 'Phantom of the Opera'... just a little ruminations from wherever I've put my mind these days.

Between terrorism, pandemics, outright war, threats during times of supposed good will, media-inspired global panic and general apathy of the world's citizenry, I wonder if we are worth even saving, if the reckoning that is coming somewhere down the road is fitting? I wonder if I have been simply made too cynical or pessimistic by a variety of issues, or just getting older and understanding the harsh pragmatism of the world we have to live in so we can survive. The best part of me surely wants to remain idealistic and hopeful (regardless of commentary from others), but the historian in me always questions. That I suppose must be my curse... not too many romantic historians out there I suspect. I generally would like to give the world the benefit of the doubt, and yet... I know the truth of our past, present, and because of that, our future. Even knowing and understanding certain truths (or at least what I have perceived as truth) about our place in the universe, about the love it shares with us, fades at times with the knowledge of how terrible people really are. Mind you, this is not a revelation to any of us... we suck. We are frail, flawed, corrupt, cynical, prideful, scornful, lustful, greedy and murderous... not necessarily in that order, nor do we all give in to all those traits, but most of us are a mistake away from giving in to any of our fears that can lead to such a darkness. Some, the sociopaths and fanatics of the world, simply give in to desire in the name of self-satisfaction or for their cause, but the cause is merely a form of self-satisfaction in the end. If you achieve the end of liberating, say, Upper Silesia from the harsh rule of the Poles or the Slovakians, regardless of how that end is achieved, do you not feel a sense of self-satisfaction? So, am I saying revolutionary movements are filled with sociopaths? The fanatical mindset is certainly sociopathic to be sure and considering how fanatical humans can be, one wonders if we are all sociopaths... I have been called worse... and better.

In the end, what does it matter? Perhaps we are so far past the point of no return in our social development, we can no longer see the ends for what they are or can be. Maybe our genetic memories cannot allow us to see what we can ultimately be. Humanity is hardwired to destroy itself through passion... ironic that passion can lead to love and hate. Maybe even the passion of love is not the end either. Every time a prophet has preached the love and understanding of the universe, how has it ended? We still count the dead... we still pay the price for the sins of Mohamed and Jesus.. for Yahweh. The price of their love has resulted in death... from misunderstanding, from martyrdom, from intolerance... all in the name of love. Even though love might be the great treasure of the universe entire, it could well be the great darkness of the soul.

I have seen the welcoming love of the universe. While it is love, it gives without passion or prejudice. It might even be beyond our emotional control. We cannot exist, as humans, without our passion, and that may be our ultimate curse... my ultimate curse, to be true. Without passion, inspiration fades, even the desire of love diminishes. And so we sit... knowing we are past the point of no return, caught in the world we have created.

C.

Home

Some of these thoughts are in Notes on the Reformation in the essay entitled (amazingly) 'Home'... some are new regarding my choices (or even lack of choices depending on how we define the nature of fate) about heading to Oceania again, this time to the other islands...

I remember the elves in Lord of the Rings (Return of the King specifically) saying 'The sea calls us home'. Home in elvish is Mar. Ironically, Mar or Mare in latin, means sea. Since Tolkien was a linguist, this was probably not lost on him. For me, the idea of home and the sea make sense, especially considering one of my most prized possession and what is inscribed upon it, and well, how I have always felt about the sea. It is evident in this blog, and my two books... it is about as good a theme as love, maybe even more important. Home is in all of us, and different for all of us. Quite simply, it is home, however we wish to perceive it. For me, home was a person (can still be a person), a place, an idea, a strand of beach, a walk in tranquility, or even a home-cooked meal. For now, home calls to me from afar, whether it be some 10,000 miles or 300... at this point, the distance is the same in my heart.

I have lost so much to home... to the sea, to my heart, and only want to see that quiet shore once more, regain a little of what was lost, hold on to the Mar of my soul, whether it be truly a home or the sea itself... or both. I suspect these musings will not be lost as well on those that read this, for anyone that does should know me by know, and know how I feel in these matters. For the less informed reader, I can only tell you to follow the calling of home whenever you can... you never know when the idea of home may change, or simply can never be reached again. Embrace it... home, sometimes, is all we have.

For my part... at least now I have the will and means to do what is necessary and right... for once the two are in accord in my heart, even if my soul sometimes disagrees...

C.

9/14

I had talked about heading back to the Southern Hemisphere and Australia or New Zealand ever since I left the last time... well, while I do talk a mean game, now, I can back up my words. On September 14th, I am hopping a flight to Auckland to spend at least a couple of months with the Kiwis. I had not spent more than a couple of days there before, and I had spent so much time in Australia, it was only fair I give them a chance. At any rate, it was time for me to leave a lot behind, take a glance toward a region I had always considered a second home, and start following my feet... whether it is the true calling of my heart, I will see. Of course, one of my true callings has been a wanderer and explorer, sooo... time to do so again before I am unable to do so, lol.

C.

The Quiet of the Night...

Just back from Metrocon and so tired I can't sleep... typical. I have a little break before Otakon and AnimeIowa, but the coming month will be... hard. I think I started mulling it over some tonight, hence the current entry, though it is more philosophical and just me trying to write, but... take it as you will :)

In the stillness of the early morning hours, the true quiet of the night, it all comes back to you. It strikes deep within the soul and churns, those moments lost, those thoughts you never wanted to have... you can find yourself drifting into a world forgotten, one of aches and sorrow. You see all the little mistakes you made in one day, one week, one... life and they strike at you... haunt you until it fulminates into overwhelming grief. Those little mistakes... so many or so few, but enough to outweigh so much good, for in the dark, we are those mistakes incarnate. We are also the good incarnate as well. The night grants us respite in its solace as much as it offers us genuine pain. The night cannot be blamed for our sins, no matter how much we are haunted by it. Our sins are our own, perfect in all the ways we can conceive them, for our sins might, to some, be perfect... it all depends on perspective. And perception can truly turn the key in the deep of dark within the night.

For my part, the ache draws ever closer even as I look to home... caught in the subtleties of the dark, the crossroads of my own pathways. I cannot hide from the truth in the night.... I can only face what has been wrought and... decide. In the end, I have decided, not for the sake of others (though it still bears heavily upon the burden of my heart), but because I am a decent man who deserves better than what I have been forced to accept in the quiet of the night.

Such matters, of course, fade before dawn... and the choices start anew. At least that is what we tell ourselves when we hide from the dark.

C.

'Til The Stars...

I wonder what will happen when the stars grow cold. What happens to our promises? What happens to eternity? Will all that we shared be false in the cold of the void... in the stillness of entropy? Can love survive the end of time? All that has been given to the stars, all that our soul can endure, waits, but only for so long. We are the universe in microcosm, and it is us... we can only do so much, but only for so long. Or... what happens when entropy consumes us? Do we begin again? Have we done so before, maybe an infinite number of times? Maybe that is the great mystery of what awaits... in death, creation begins anew.

So, when I have said 'I would have loved until the stars grew cold...', does it have less meaning knowing what happens when the stars finally do grow cold? Do the words ever have less meaning even when we forget? Does it matter so long as creation remembers us? As long as love waits for us, as long as we are loved by the beating heart of the universe, and as long as... we can begin again, then it must matter. Then again, we could just be cosmic motes with no understanding... though, I hope not.

'Til the stars grow cold, my friends...

C.

Toward the Precipice

I think I should have posted this sooner than the other new entries, but... I had forgotten, and trust me, I'm not thinking of jumping, most of the time, lol. Just a little meditation on the abyss, so to speak.

Have you ever stood upon the edge... waiting to take that deep breath before the plunge? What do you see when you are at that edge... who do you see? What faces do you remember as you stare into that deep abyss, knowing what might soon consume you? Do you see the loves, the lovers, the hopes and dreams of worlds so recent and so recently forgotten? Do you see the sadness of those worlds, the agony of suffering? Do you see the suffering of others... do you even care? You know you are about to take that breath, stare into it all. You see it... see them waiting, calling to you. Or are they calling... waving you off? Again, do you care? It is your suffering after all. You know them, but do they know you? They think you do not have the will, the desire, the heart... they do not know the depth of your spirit. How can they? Are they you? Are they standing upon the precipice with you?

Should you take that plunge even though what you leave behind is shattered, or should you take it with you, hoping to repair it along the way? Yet... you cannot. You are too busy enjoying the sensation of free fall, waiting to see what awaits within. Do you care about anything but the flight of fancy? Do you know anything but the delicious rush of pure ecstasy? Do you even want to see the world around you? All that matters is the high... the jump, the deep breath that awaits. The problem is, of course, what is left behind. Who do you leave when you drop into that perilous though delightful dark of wanton abandon? Who knows what you feel in the end?

I know the end, you see. I have seen the deep of dark within the spirit... I see you all in your lives, hoping for something else, something greater even. The problem, alas, is the abyss. You cannot run from it, cannot go around it... once you stare into it... you have to face it. The plunge might be exciting. It often can be. Perhaps even... sensual to a degree. The sudden stop, though, when everything falters and flails, when all comes tumbling down... cannot be ignored. We must all face it, all of us, for we all drop into the abyss, sometimes far more than we would like. Do it enough, and you never come back... my brother did not. I nearly failed... twice. Others, they have their own stories of oblivion to carry with them.

I stand again. The wind, so cool upon my face. I feel the weight behind me, pressing me closer to the edge. I almost embrace it, for I have been in this place before and fear it yet again. What to do... What to do?

I can hope... but hope seems to have no more place in my world. It stares back into me, Nietzsche's words howling in my skull. What choice do I have? What choice do we ever have? I could tell you all everything... I could, but you have to listen with a new heart, as do I. At least I have the dreamy sensation of the plunge, the beauty of interminable bliss without and within. It is my respite before I live in the moment of my sins...

I have stared too long. And yet... I wonder if they see it? I wonder if you see it? But is it enough? Is it worth the fall? Can you hang on to one simple thought in the embrace of the dark? Will our own abyss let us this time? I have no easy answers. If I did, I doubt I would be standing upon the edge, leaning out upon the precipice, waiting to take that deep breath...

C.

Ascending Jacob's Ladder

'Love is the great treasure. It is what we come here to feel, and every bit of it that can be taken must be taken... Most everything is forgotten in death. The names, the facts, the achievements, the failures, all are left behind. But not love... Jacob's Ladder has another name in heaven. It is Love.' -- Whitley Strieber, 2012

I just finished reading the above book,2012, last night after buying it Friday night. As one might guess, it was quite engrossing and while not terribly plausible in places, appealed to my love of conspiracies, aliens, parallel universes, the apocalypse, and the nature of the soul. Indeed, the book revolves around the concept of a war of souls, a little far fetched at times, but entertaining. Still, I was a bit surprised to find such an engaging passage (the above one quoted) and one that mirrors much of what I think and what I write about the idea of the soul. While semantically different, conceptually I think the author and I are in agreement on matters of the soul, at least one part of it. And the idea of leaving behind everything except what matters most in our soul, in the core of our being is seminal to the idea of a universe that loves without end. The soul... the love that exists in the soul is the eternal part of our existence and the eternal part of creation. Love can be forever... it is immortal so long as it is freed from the bounds of mortality itself. I, and many other good writers, have thought eternal love a brilliant illusion... but we can sense it, can't we? That kind of love is freedom in the truest sense of the word. The strange thing is really that I had written about this before I even thought to pick up the book. While it dims some of my own originality, it gives me comfort that others might be able to see the universe in a similar manner and add their own unique light to the equation.

I wonder, how close are we? How far up the ladder, so to speak, can we ascend? Do we have the will to go further... can we leave it all behind for the sake of love itself? Can I? I have seen it before in the calm of many resplendent days, the beauty of an eternal sea, the rest beneath the shade of trees... They were but a glance of what can await, a promise of something that maybe only the soul can truly understand when freed from the bounds and concerns of mortal life. Except... our thoughts create love. It is our mortality that is perhaps the essence of love made manifest, or maybe love creates the soul. I think it is certainly the reason for the soul, but then all romantics think such things. A universe borne of love itself... a truth worthy of the journey we all face. I admit, all this can be quite idealistic, and I am maybe no closer to the truth than any other. Understanding and doing are two very different things, alas. Still, in the part of me reaching for the next rung on the ladder, the part of me that struggles in the journey to another place, to the heart of love borne within all of us... I know. It might be enough to help me move from simply understanding. I hope it can be for all of us.

C.

Walking the Long Road

Just an aside: I know this is the title of my blog, but nothing else seemed appropriate :)

The path we walk is lined with the voices of the distant past, our own past, the present, and a future which is always concealed until it merges with the present. Those voices are the words of time itself. They are the rocks we stop and pick up and examine along the way, a seashell that might be more enduring than another, a glint of starlight dancing upon calm waters, or the gentle calling of the wind from a distant, verdant shore. As we walk, we can choose to leave our own words for time to hear, for the posterity of those that might decide to pick you up one day and see how extraordinary you were to generations hence. Our legacy is not the visceral monuments of our arrogance and perceived greatness, but in what we carry with us... what is unique in all of us.

I have walked a longer road than some, and taking into account so many lives lost to the sea, to time, to darkness and to light, well, I think I am closer to its end. While it is true I still have much to learn, and I think of the humility of Sir Isaac Newton in that regard, I have seen enough to understand how little I really understand. Even in recent epiphanies and discourses of enlightenment, so much remains unanswered. This is well, though. The true mysteries await... out there. Another journey once I have reached my rest at the end of this long road. Perhaps I do understand one truth, though. When that new journey calls, I am ready. For all the pain, the hurt, the highs, the lows, the anger, the suffering, the love, the passion, the sheer beauty and delight this world has offered and given me, and for all I may lack in real wisdom... one day, it will be time. Few of us, I think, ever come to such an accord. While it grants me some peace in many things, I do have a ways to go in certain matters. But maybe that is what I must learn when I finally see what awaits beyond the heart of creation itself.

I have no idea where this sense of... peace, I guess, especially in light of many recent events, came from, and why I had to write this now. I admit, I have thought about this, seen some of it in moments of... self-transcendence, for lack of a better word, from time to time. I certainly see it in the words I have given to myself and others, and I feel it in so many places, some still hidden, others concealed... again, part of the beautiful process. So much has been revealed, how can I not embrace the eternal in all of us? The truth... the truth differs for each one of us, of course, but it is still the truth that waits. It waits at the end of all our long roads.

So, if this is my legacy... I think I can accept it.

C.

Silence of the Heart

Since my new blog has difficulty with adding comments, I thought I would add this new piece as a new entry and move fresh from here... maybe its better that way. I always enjoyed the camaraderie on this blog, regardless of present circumstance. Maybe it can help me again. So, on to a new philosophical extant of a piece that may or may not ramble... just a little wondering, not too personal :)

'Silence of the Heart'

Sit...
See a moment not yet imagined,
Hold fast in the quiet before dawn.
Drink in the wonder of creation
Lest it fall away into the void
between the stars.

Wait...
Were it possible to do so,
Reach between the seconds.
Yearn within an instant of revelation
Before it dwindles in the resplendent repose
of eternity.

Dream...
Seek an understanding of the heart,
Know what awaits amid such calm.
Give all to what can only be imagined
Perhaps then the illusion will finally
fade.

Love...
Even within the silence of the heart.

C.