the ocean of consciousness: more than a body and a voice

16th January 2012

Link reblogged from the ocean of consciousness with 42 notes

the ocean of consciousness: more than a body and a voice →

i used to be in love with the world. everything was a vibrant color. rich reds, deep blues, earthy greens. everything was a song that could make you cry (in a good way). the sound of silence was something to look forward to because i knew my thoughts would fill the silence with beauty and i was excited to see what i could do with that beauty. man made non-tangible beauty; my mind was my favorite part of myself. i want you, the reader of this somewhat small block of text, to think of that feeling you got when you watched a beautiful, emotional film. the peak of that film, the most emotional part, there was some scene that made you cry, wasn’t there? maybe not sad tears, but more like completely alive and i’m-so-glad-i-can-feel-this tears. i’m-so-amazed-i-can-feel-this tears. i’m-so-goddamn-thankful-i-can-feel-this-i-don’t-know-how-it-happened-i-don’t-know-why-i’m-qualified-but-i’m-so-goddamn-thankful tears. maybe it wasn’t a movie; maybe it was a song. maybe it was both. some type of media entered you and pulled out something from under your surface and you were pleasantly surprised with the outcome. it was like that. every day. every moment. i used to be in touch with the universe. i used to be in touch with my mind. i used to be more than a body. i used to be more than a voice. oh god it felt so great. i used to be in love with the world.

time passed. a few numbers on the thing we call my age changed, but i don’t know how much that has to do with anything (though i like to place the blame anything i can think up). something terrible happened: my vibrant colors faded. slowly at first. every day the saturation in life would go down just a little. it wasn’t too noticeable as it was happening until one day i woke up and everything was almost completely in shades of grey. i got used to it until eventually everything was completely in shades of grey. and i was living in a black and white movie with no plot and no beautiful, emotional moments. there was no soundtrack. the volume must have decreased each day too; i could hear no music. i could feel no music. my heart sunk and all i could think was oh god how did this happen? oh god why am i qualified for this?

i feared silence because the thoughts that filled silence were no longer beautiful. they were either fearful, hateful, both, or nothing. some days it was literally silent in my mind and body and soul and whatever it is that i am, and those days might have been the worst. that kind of silence where all you do is stare at a wall at three or four in the morning completely detached from life because it’s easy to do and nothing else sparks your interest. the wall doesn’t spark your interest either, but it’s there and you didn’t have to work for it to be there. you’ve memorized the texture of the wall, the parts where extra paint was applied so a little paint glob remains like a bump on skin, the mysterious spots. i know my wall so well i no longer jump at the little black spot by the ceiling mistaking it for a spider. i no longer jump at much of anything.

i look out the window on rare occasions but it is always cold. it used to be warm and now it is cold. HOW DO I GET MY COLORS BACK? i scream to myself, i cry to myself, i whisper to myself. it used to be a question. i used to expect an answer to come along someday. then it just became a statement. i did not expect anything anymore. how do i get my colors back. i think to myself. dull and monotone and robotic. how do i get my colors back.

if you ever feel this way, please for the love of whatever you believe in, don’t ever let it become a statement.

keep the question mark. always keep the question mark. the moment you drop the question mark is the moment you

(i think you know)

(i can’t finish the sentence)

(i can’t finish anything)

(i can’t)

(i)

(no)

somebody slap me

i wake up; i go back to sleep

Tagged: ~

Source: theoceanofconsciousness

something to cry for and something to hunt.

the ocean of consciousness: more than a body and a voice →