Tag Archives: Consciousness

Manifestations of Reality

If not in these types of manifestations we see life then we see our mirror selves being reflected by other people. Our insecurities that arise with each and every push and pull of emotions whenever you see a certain person, for example someone who is more capable than you are in things that you endeavor. But these things, these chains of perspectives don’t have to be bound by a single force of thought that may gradually elevate itself in an inverse manner throwing yourself to negativity and letting yourself become the thing you used to hate. There is more to see even in a droplet of water sitting by a leaf on the branch of a tree. Occupying that single space with such natural effortless grip of unseen friction between the water and the surface of the leaf. The water droplet, bending the light into little unseen spectrum by the eyes, magnifying your vision by imagination even if your eyes see nothing, the very thing that you can imagine it means the thought is on the hands of possibility.

If life can be seen as repetitions or patterns in nature then we can fully see life in its own beauty. Aesthetics teaches us that beauty and meaning are product of unified objectivity and subjectivity. There must be a standard for such things and it is where art draws the line. However, the basis of judgement is not synonymous to appreciation. Judgement brings us to the point of decision where we conclude whether an object is a work of art or not. Whether if it transcends you to another realm or successfully meet the standards that are raised to qualify a thing as art. Appreciation comes from the audience and not to the art itself. To the subjective perspective of the person consuming the aura the art tries to create. In these notions we see that there are actually patterns that persist within nature that help us get along with our lives and living it without noticing these repetitions lead to lack of life appreciation and judging our life as dull and uneventful.

Because life is a work of art. It is the spirit of events that transpires in your very being. It is a living thing in itself that manifests in your body and mind. It is a thing of beauty, of inspiration of nature within the very walls of our skins and inside our bloodstream as the oxygen rides inside your arteries carried by your red blood cells all throughout your system to keep you alive as you go on with your lives and zoom out to see yourself ride public transportation that will take you to work or at school and both both of these worlds sustains life. The life of a human being and the life of civilization, respectively. These parallel universes which are the microcosm or the macrocosm of another in a systemic pattern that create life or the things that blooms and creates a collective consciousness in its own self.

These different realms of realities coexist in a single continuum that we call Life as white light is divided into different colors of the spectrum. The universality of Nature is beyond gods and goddesses. It is transcendence that humanity is capable of. This kind of higher state of consciousness is necessary to be the agents of the Earth and create to be the Gaea’s children for the early Greeks and this thought is highly surprising that we, ourselves exist in different universes in one single motion from the Big Bang until now as we circumnavigate the world and we sit on our cozy couches, everything is happening at the same time.

This is a door to another perspective. Just like how great movies let you hang on your seats and leave you breathless until it ends. You transcend into another realm. Into another perspective with another experience of life by two hours. As you watch everything unravel twenty four frames per second, we have twenty four hours to capture a day. Movies and books are so dense that you just keep everything away for a moment to catch up with the life you have left in exchange for a captivating novel or story because you see the world in an entirely different perspective.

The constant intrusions of nature to art and the ability to see every inch of pattern that describes that this is the beauty we should see. The beauty of process that are the echoes of every final stage of the artform. The process in which the artist sways with madness and consumed by his own reality is where beauty originates. Because in each stroke of the paintbrush and layers of color resides another reality that instigates the art to be. The words and phrases in every novel or poem hides the very thing the writer wish to remain unsaid as secret, kept in every space he put in paragraphs and verses; in between every words that come from a thought is a manifestation of an idea. An idea that was once uncreated, unseen and undetected. So we all begin there. From a single abstract idea by your imagination that was once wasn’t true but is now. Intangible and perfect ideas from Plato’s World of Forms that are now concrete with its own imperfections and beauty. Life is an artform.

Everything else could be a window to another door. And it’s not complicated when you start to see things and be consumed by the patterns when you see it everywhere. Because that’s how nature creates beauty through art.

It doesn’t matter how your life should end but the quality of life depends on how you live it.

Make every step in your process be meaningful and step up to the standards of beauty through art.

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Catharsis

I see it being built, in the eyes in a mirror

reflecting the house inside made by bricks,

woods, and stones replaced by

the fires of guilt. Caught in the echo

of the phrase remained unsaid,

keeping me trapped inside the burning

house that was never a home.

 

Now the ashes are falling

and the the fire lines began to recede

as the rain starts to pour, washing away

the mess and turning it to a solid slate

of rock that I threw on the lake, disturbing

the calm waters, forming ripples that gradually

elevated itself from the shore, rising in itself a wave

of revenge upon the instigator.

 

Entangled

by wires of the thoughts like threads of silk

spindled and shaped that of a spider’s web

leaving me suspended on the ground of the

forsaken, forgotten and free. My skin

touches the angry waters like a breeze

of the wind. Weightless and unmoving

and I realized it is the water that I am breathing.

 

Let out the light of obscurity against my skin,

constantly covering me as a comfort, a cushion,

a solace of embracing silence. 


In The Eyes of Another

Another truthful gaze, he started to raise

The questions in his head while I look him in the face.

He blabbered words, lines that I can’t make sense

Watching him leaving this reality’s pretense.

 

With an outcry, his thoughts set the world on fire.

Of the universe, he felt them all conspire,

Against him, against everyone else.

Seeing them all light up and burn to themselves.

 

He left the rage and watch him stand up,

Took him a seat and brought him a cup,

Of water with ice on the sides

As he stare at me with those beady eyes.

Image

 

I just realized I was taken to a dream

A madman’s fantasy heating with steam,

A reality entirely different from my own,

Something I know of, forgotten, engraved in stone.

 

After he’s done, he started to lean closer,

To my ear as if anyone will dare to come nearer,

And hear him speak as he dropped the tone,

He threw the cup to the mirror, it broke and I am alone.