April 30, 2012
To move from a static position requires bigger effort than to simply accelerate when the object is already in motion. Bigger effort does not mean the subject have to exert huge power to kick start the motion, though. Small but steady pushes are never worthless as long as the object actually makes a budge, however small. Through the minute movements the object gains momentum and is able to roll forward with increasing pace, making any further attempts to push noticeably easier.
But sometimes you just want to sit and think. A cube is much more of a challenge to roll than a sphere, therefore you think of ways to roll it efficiently. Whether to cut the edges or use a crowbar. Whatever works, as long as you actually make a move. Thinking alone does not solve anything. Standing up and pushing does. There must be a reason Sloth is included in the 7 Deadly Sins.
But again sometimes, you don’t even think. You just stay, blossoming with joy, growing and unmoved. If you are content, then staying is always enough.
April 15, 2012
Somewhere back there I started losing and loathing composure. Somewhat strange to prepare for living the way it should have been lived. Somehow the place I always come back to becomes a trial to the mind and soul without ever knowing for sure where should I call home.
Fortunately, happiness helps as a getaway.
April 10, 2012
Dreams. Literal dreams, the ones you get in your sleep. Or perhaps in your half-sleep? As of lately, my dreams keep interfering with the reality, at night, in the middle of the day, anytime. The state where you drift off for no more than a few seconds, a take-off from the grounds of reality, that is when the dreams would seep in. Forming a world in where everything seems familiar, always in the desolate tone of Wong Kar-wai’s Days of Being Wild stripped of all the intricate romance, yet never linger for long enough for me to remember anything when the world slapped me back to where I was sitting. Ethereal as it might sound, sometimes what is experienced there grips reality better than reality itself: perhaps it was an embodiment of every doubt and despair that I have, amalgamated into a world inside the head that never feels too far away yet can only be found every time the self is detached from the world of senses. An internal dimension full of fear, uncertainty, and doubt without collapsing into a lifelike nightmare. Somewhere unknowingly close that is yet to be explored.
Perhaps because the days have been good enough that the negativity of life have to find other ways to pull my feet back to the ground. Perhaps because subconscious contemplation reminds me that at the very heart of self, I am always a man of doubt.