The Monkey Mind

Beautiful! It is a blessing to be able to adore, and be adored as..., beautiful!                                                                                                                                                        (PC:Ley Rish) Behold! so it is in the unfeigned adoration of the mind, its warm companionship, and the aura of its omnipresence that effuses the perpetual inquisitiveness, to know, to realize, to understand, and be placated about anything and everything which the mind adores as beautiful ..at least for a moment  And moments divided into moments, their precious content, explored in detail invites natural adoration for a mind so inquisitive. Moments when we are proud , moments when we are humble , and moments... when we are, at ease , the mind accompanies us, always, and in doing so, no matter what, the mind adores minds akin to itself, with thoughts so unique, never does it  cease to be bored or exhaust itself. Adoration, it is a contemplative recognition of

  " I feel, so I am" Feelings ... They are part of us, as we are part of them. From birth, in the span of being, and till death, have we ever been apart from them? How can we call ourselves, us , if we do not feel and delve deeper into the aesthetics of nature whose essence spontaneously vibrates and freely heals? Or simply instills in us to feel the subjective abhorrence towards the man's diverse-infinite decadence and disease? And as we grow or shrink, we judge so, those feelings we so feel, to be either good or bad, associated with pleasure and pain, that which is permitted and that which is not.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (PC:  Erebus MindSpaceApocalypse) Feelings... They are the colors that paint the canvas of

" Conviction is the aura of subjective truth, a man so willingly breathes..." Prayer is the foundation of faith. And it so exists, in the sincerity of a mortal's breath; long, deep, and contemplative. You may visualize life in its relentless pursuit of the fulfillment of never-ending drives; food that intermittently sates the hunger, sleep that quietly rests the fragile body, the applied knowledge that nails purpose in the fidgety mind, fiery sex that frees the spirit from its inherent mortal trapping for a while, more or less.  It is breath, and the process of breathing, in its steady depth, the prayer of mortal discovers consistency...that atheist sighs and yields willingly unto his faith of faithlessness. If you are wondering who that atheist is, obviously that ignoble person albeit hypocritical, is none other than me, the author of this ruminating writing Yes, an "Atheist".  and not a day goes by, that I do not pray .                                      

                                                  In the early morn, at a crowded underground train station, a family of three had found refuge. The ponderous environment coalesced the ancient air which smelled musty, with that of the neoteric tenant, the human smell that wafted from unwashed bodies. The poor light had become a playground where fleeting shadows played hide and seek, with the dim lamps dispersed unevenly on various corners, uninhabited as if awaiting for grim reapers to walk out. " Evermore " *whisper* Under a flickering light... ...foreheads gently met each other, small belonging to a pitifully crying child, and, broader wrinkled in grim worry, to a middle-aged man whom she desperately clung to.  Her small clumsy arms barely encircled his burly neck, yet they refused to let go, as her teary voice incessant with desperation, uttered shiveringly "V ater, geh nicht, Bitte-Bitte-Bitte"   Yet, her squeaky voice weakened to a bare whisper, and unto silenc

"I am not my own, how can I be yours..." she whispered intimately with a voice soft, emphasizing in a tone gentle, but punched hard in its truth,  it hurt, hurts still, like hell.  Even after all these days, weeks, months, and years...                                                                                                                                                                                               (pc: İclal Doğru:https://pin.it/2EOlRZV) At that moment, for a second, my heart stopped... And for another one more, my mind went blank... and, all, I could do was to hold on, to my sanity from getting lost, that shattered into pieces of myself, by those words.  My searching eyes found hers, hers that was clear brown that shined with a determined conviction of what she truly meant. Those eyes, they pierced my soul, sundered my mind, broke my heart apart, like never before Her message was clear, for her eyes spoke volumes and volumes' unlike any people I

No Tomorrow. Promise solemn rang true to my ears...,   without accompanying sound ,  with  the heaviness of its solemnity reverberating from body to soul and soul to the body, as along trembled simultaneous, the heart's temerity, I felt... the unwilling liberation of the soul and unbinding of bodily chains, like never before, as the spirit wavered, in-between the light and dark; the purgatory ...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (PC:ZeinaH: Pinterest) Yet that liberation demanded a price, so did the unbinding, yet unready I to pay, unready I to yield,  I tried, how I tried, but temptation overtook my conscience, I failed, I gave in, so I did; pay and yield for a moment of liberation, a second of unbinding, the shame of ecstasy; material desires offered... I grabbe

Absence. It exists. Lurking in-between thoughts and actions, anchored under the shadow of moments time passes on, it oscillates in each breath. Breathing; in possibilities, out disappointments; what could have been and what could not.                                                                                                                                                                 (PC:scott c.) Unstoppable.  Like it's nothing, it intrudes. It rebels, it declares guerilla war against the might of structural mundanity, the ordinary. That ordinary which we resist not, accept yet unwillingly, with a sense of inevitable helplessness. Yet, the feeling of sheer absence even inundates the inexorable inevitability. Escape. Desperation burns with each ticking of the clock, we cannot bottle it up inside our self. So, we search, and as we search, for our true self, which in the past was sidelined for the sake of a future which promised "milk and honey", we are made aware o