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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Alternative Suicide dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: col13x
    Elite Ratio:    2.26 - 119/300/559
    Words: 1107
    Class/Type: Random Thoughts/Serious
    Total Views: 729
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 6011



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsAlternative Suicide dots
    -------------------------------------------





    I have never had a spiritual teacher, though there have been plenty of “ teachers ” of the ilk spiritual who’s reliance on dogma and assumed authority, gave me; in my youth, pause and cause for thought. Little did I know back then the devices of indoctrination.

    I have never had a spiritual teacher. My parents taught me little about life and they taught me much about fear. To them love was a reward, a reward one received if you were good. Love was to be professed in tears or hidden away in silent stoic non emotional postures of half smiles. Love was remembering birthdays and buying Christmas presents, for which you became so grateful. Love was that hide away of sexual congress, never to be spoken about except in the terms and context of “ the facts of life.” Love, to my parents was an ideology that came a poor second to the law of supply and demand and survival. No other wisdom did they impart except “ work. ” The be all and end all of their structure, which gave them meaning and purpose and by which the money they received, would help them to love, life and thus show their love to their children.

    I have never had a spiritual teacher. As I grew older all those that I loved turned their backs on me. And I, like some closet homosexual or lesbian making their confession was turned out, away, cast out of their loving unit. A child never to be contacted or talked to, or talked about again. I became a scapegoat for everything they could not explain. The accused, without defence, which all my family shunned. I say “ all ” those I have loved, as the same pattern repeated and repeated through my adult life. So many lies have been told about me that now it is pointless to contradict or even try to enlighten those who listened and believed those lies. Entrenched now, they are, in the easy excuses the lies provided. In my most desperate and loneliest times there has been no one, no shoulder to cry on, no hug of comfort, no gentle words, no helpful words, no words of strength, no good advice, no analysis or constructive criticism, no acceptance. I have sat alone in my solitude and my silence, in an isolated bubble of non-truth and learned to hate and despise this notion of love. And so, there is nothing of me, which has been brought, or given over to, the recognition and importance of, my own self-love. All I became and all I am, is a weary tolerance of myself, I am dead inside.

    I have never had a spiritual teacher, one that would come lift this dark conception from my eyes and give me some clarity. No one has ever shown me the other side to the story. No one has ever shown me or taught me how to truly see me and so I have abided in my own worthlessness. No one has ever loved me, including me.

    I have never had a spiritual teacher, and so I have struggled to learn of these things of the spirit myself. I began when I was young, I am now much, much older. I have been drawn into nearly every avenue of research. I have relied upon my own intuition and imagination. I have dug and shovelled myself through the mire of bullshit, indoctrination, misdirection and misinformation and still I search. And still like the hermit of my own life I am alone, even though I have touched upon a very present and all pervading unity; which reaches both inward and outward in a magnificence of universal identity, a single solitary, ONE. Even though this perception gives the greatest import to individuality, to purpose of being; to a field of such marvellous complexity which is, in its essence, so very simple. Even though every galaxy and every star beats with this same pulse, this same dynamic consciousness, even though at times it seems like a screaming splinter of truth knowing inside my head; still; I am alone. I move through this field of the sleeping and I know its every mundane rule and law. Like a parasite it sits at my shoulder, whispering its empty words of sickness. A chattering
    ten-word demon monkey of banality. I have learned that it is a trap, a trap for your mind and your soul, it is cunning, clever, underhanded and devious. This trap has all the propensity of its namesake, with teeth of steal it holds fast and in every instance of a person’s claim of freedom, it closes fast, shut and snap around you and chews at your hunger and your thirsts. It is vicious in its dull wittedness and oh so acceptable with its velvet claws of comfort; and yet it shreds your humanity with a ferocity the like of which we assign only to nightmares.

    No, I have never had a spiritual teacher and maybe I am lost, maybe you feel the same.
    Maybe, like me, you are alone in this world. Maybe you, like me, feel the pain of so many things that strength alone has made bearable, though in your soul their weight grinds into your heart. I search for the love within myself, the love which reaches past concept and into present, real, overflowing emotion; it doesn’t come. I find myself becoming less and less communicative and more and more independent in my solitude. Though for a smile, some light or deep conversation, longing brings tears to my eyes. To be in love. With another, with myself, to be alive.

    I cannot remember who wrote, where, or when I read these words, but they ring louder and with more poignancy than ever before….

    “ If I could only just turn my back on it all, even on myself and simply walk away.”

    The time for walking away is fast approaching. I will leave this life of electricity and money. I will take what I have and place my feet on the road. I will put my faith in life and begin a journey of discovery; to what ever end it should lead me. I think, I am as tired and worn out of this trap as anyone can be. Time indeed, to go and find my heart and perhaps I will find my life.












    Submitted on 2010-09-25 10:49:32     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I think this is terrific work. I see the darkness in it, but I also see the longing for the light. Im 48 years old and still trying to find my way through all the BS. Sometimes its just a matter of keeping on walking.
    | Posted on 2010-10-12 00:00:00 | by joeyalphabet | [ Reply to This ]
      This is a very dark piece. Its filled with all the reasons to quit or to move on-whichever the intention of this peice. It reminds me of a book called "Sunset Limited" by Cormac McCarthy. you should read that. Very similiar, if you havent already read it. But i think we call all think this way sometimes, people that really really think hard on everything.... thats all, i like ur style of writing, almost narrative. You must have wrote this in a state of mind very dark, it shows. Or maybe its just me, i dunno. Im favouriting this peice thogh. Very strong work.
    | Posted on 2010-09-27 00:00:00 | by MidnightSun89 | [ Reply to This ]


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