Chaotic Bliss

Chaotic Bliss (Our Aspirations)

Utterly swaying, this busy silence turns ever so gently in the back of my mind.  This gentle flutter of simple illusions. Illusions that depict a reality that is only but a fantastical flash of colorful lights. These lights flicker off and on ever so often, as to just taunt me so.  Their spark is so full of life and hope, a hope that will overcome anything no matter what obstacles may arise.  The essences they emit cloud any sense of logic and reasoning. But nevertheless, their smirk of positivity stays tattooed on the face that is ones dreams. It is constant, overwhelming, and always present.

This musical parade of expectations dance in and out of this sanctuary; a sanctuary of only cogent lucidity.  Their flagrant tip-toeing scampers about with little awareness of the pessimistic tenants who reside ever so comfortably in my mind.  They show themselves to make a point, they are a reminder of all that is, and what can be.  Illusions… maybe, but very much alive and untiring.  They are never dormant or passive, only driven entities with one goal and one goal only; to succeed.  Their presence carries limitless bags of potential. All that can be imaginable, all that is impending are formed from these minute imaginings.

To succeed will create uncharted chaotic bliss.  Both ends of the spectrum will be filled; there will be no going back, only forward.  A destiny fulfilled is only completeness.  Its chaos is a result of a culmination of events that have been entangled into one moment. The bliss is the sense of accomplishment, every piece of the puzzle transpired into a single experience.

This success will be proof that these simple illusions of color very much exist.  Their acknowledgment alone is enough to set fire to the acceleration of persistence, open the door to endless possibilities, and be prepared to endure only the simple purity of hope; which is the catalyst to all of ones dreams.

Spectator

She is constantly present. Whether you see her or not, she observes, she translates. Quietly she stands, allowing the wind to wash over her. People pass by in fast motion, oblivious to her being. She can almost predict what will happen, based on a simple gesture, eye movement, or the brush of a hand. It is fascinating just to watch, examine, and calculate.

People are loud, predictable, thinking her naive. Too engrossed in their own thoughts, their own opinions. Nobody can just “be”,just exist. Everyone is out to prove something, be better than someone, have more than someone. She is amazed how much is learned in just being present, silent. Thoughts are acknowledged with a nod, and then make their retreat.

Sometimes it’s all that is needed, to be present, to listen.