You… toy with this expression, and make it yours, and learn what you can do with it, what you can do with youth. And even as you whisper, it is going, it is gone, and I am old, I am a wizened old man who has little teeth left, what do I remember? The wars this world fought? How I was young once?
As the old.
The youth, bloomed and withered, and you are old. Old and sentient. And wondering what you lived for. Everything in you is soft, pulsating, waiting, and you said, you lived for the truth, for the art, beauty, God, woman. In her soft feminine curves. You found her. You found her. Imperfect… and not who she was in the shower, or on the floor, or picking herself up… but the one who actually did… who sat down, gently, allowed her to grow old. Compassionately, asked, what she wanted from life.
And yet you… resist. You are not lured.
The artist in you rails. Flails. His limbs. His mouth. His bottom. You are god playing human.God playing human
Everything here is disjointed and confusing but there is a rawness about it that I like, the jagged edges that aren’t smoothed out but insist on being there, perspectives running into each other without any demarcation.
And so… I think there is something curious to the notion that how we view our gods, has a relationship to how we treat others. Is our god our Beloved? Is our god cruel? Is our god the pillars of modern day science or commerce and capitalism or both? What is it that we worship? What is it that we believe? What worldview… presides over the days of our lives?
My young self
made god out of the clay
would you like to be a metaphor for cruelty?
he smiled and said okay
and came to play.God as metaphor
To enter into the midst of life and discover that paradox lies at the heart of it. 2016 was the first time I discovered that I had been atheist/agnostic, yet at the same time, I had a worldview that god was cruel, yet it was buried in my psyche and when the line between my conscious experience and my sub-conscious blurred and faded… this was what I found. Upon reading Jung, I realised this wasn’t strange. Pulling apart my experience of religion, my childhood, my adolescent years and my relationships, how could I be surprised to discover this worldview existed and operated in me? It’s the remnants of what I might consider my early experience with patriarchy.
I acknowledge that… and I don’t judge that anymore. I don’t want to judge all the people that are operating and living their lives with this worldview… or that they’re trying to grapple with it. It’s admirable. I’m drawn, because there are two parts of me that still resonate to it… perhaps for that reason, when judgement comes to play in any form, I have been both the trigger and the person surreptitiously looked to for a fleeting feeling of being understood, of being heard and acknowledged. The discomfort grows intense for me… or the irony grows hilarious. In both regards… we are the person we most need our acknowledgement from… and that when we fear judgement from others… we are really being judgemental of ourselves… that some kind of pain is narrowing the perspective – a rusty story, a mental loop inside our head… and the other person has absolutely nothing to do with it… except be the trigger… or we are the ones judging others for being judgemental. Now… having been in both shoes… I find that quite funny.
Isn’t judgement a compass with the needle pointing at love?