The Monkey Mind

Life. We are living at a full stop. Waiting for the pandemic to pass. Life to resume back to normal. We have hope, well HOPE! Capitalized and bold, that's how we HOPE to start our life after that full stop. And as we focus on now: that "." Our attention is captivated and held as a prisoner Our perspective is pulled into the full stop, which was just a dot, that smallness transcends into colossal awareness. The circle of darkness becomes darker and darker, as more we focus our lens. Surrounded by the darkness, there is hurt, there is pain, there is death We could smell, the stretch of decay. We could hear the cries of sorrow. And feel the aura of loneliness.   The heaviness becomes heavier as it weighs us down deeper and deeper into the darkness. We become more aware than ever, attuned to the small changes around us, eyes closed, mind open, we reach out towards the core of that existence In the beginning, there is fear, but as time becomes irrelevant, it gives way to patie

Emily Holzer · Robert Schumann - Träumerei (dreaming)   " Grief. No words can define it or phrase the meaning. Only when an immeasurable loss shatters our mind, our 'self' submerges in the very depth of personal hell, then, we are one with grief. Memories of the past increasingly assault our vulnerable minds time and again, until something vital breaks inside of us. We lay there broken, submerged in the personal reality. Time is timeless. The world is colorless.  Food loses taste, dreams turn to nightmares, emotions become chaotic and everything worth counting on is worthless.  Nothing matters anymore. Only memories of past, they come and go as guest uninvited.  As rivulets of saltiness overflow from the very windows to the soul, we become numb, desensitized, until, we reach void, the complete silence. Little by little we start to understand what is important. We realize how lonely we are even in the midst of well-wishers, how mortal our body is, how short life can be..

reminiscence · Chopin – Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2     "Stop dreaming, and you will have nothing but hands to swipe away your tears..." Dreams are hopes and aspirations we treasure, perhaps more than ourselves. In the quietness of the night when all the living sleep, they come to life. The sub-conscious comes to play in the field of the mind. Without trying, we weave ideas within ideas, the magical universe of dreams, man has so imagined, but could not make it real, is the sanctuary without limit man imposed on the self. Like butterflies, the Deja-vu flashes by amidst the fragrant flowers of memories no more submerged in the depth of mind. Time is irrelevant. Only imagination is. It is the key to unlock the door of impossibility. Beyond their lives only treasured moments. And as we come to the surface of consciousness, we try to grasp that. But that is forgotten as we force the self to immerse itself in the mundane. Forgotten but not forever for they live on when we dream again. D