eyes that feel, body that aches

Depth. Warmth. Mystery.
Too much. Too much of it. 
Sometimes i feel like I’m going insane.
For questioning—
the how i feel quite intensely
with no proper reasoning.
How the outsides quickly mirror the insides,
how the dreams manifest in real life,
how the symbols contradict
only to synchronize in time;
and how you never seek for signs
but have them knock on your door
way too many times.
How you sometimes deny
the magic and the fire
as it burns you to death
and to be rebirthed with its own light.
Dying and living—and a loop that is never-ending.
The crying to bed at night
and the waking up with swollen eyes that feel its aftermath.
No, I don’t see it.
I don’t see why.
But i was given two sides of the coin of life.
The duality of which, i have to master in time.
No, i don’t see it.
I don’t even get it.
But i was given this depth of feels to be felt,
and maybe not yet to understand
the sudden body signals,
the splenic insights,
and the ancient whispers of light.
No I don’t see it.
But the eyes that feel and the body that aches,
has always been right.

A Poetic Message for the Visionaries

a work of art and a work of heart

Recently, I’ve been having this constant visits of ideas that pull me into creating more and more inspirational videos that promote love and authenticity for the most part. This one is a spoken-word poetry entry that I made for the visionaries out there who dream big and are so passionate about life. Hope this inspires you to stay true to what your heart is telling you to do and to embrace your visions without any inhibitions. And please, enjoy the flow of the visual representation. 🙂

Writing on a Blank Paper

Dance. Flow. Magic.

The sound of the nib as it merges with the blank paper, the friction it creates that casts spells of magic in all of its content and the ecstatic anticipation of what will occur as they merge into one: this… is my writing. Not my exact way of writing, but the writing that unfolds within my writing. Like bright speckles of light that glow in each words, as it flows freely from left to right, creating a symphony of rhythmic dance without even knowing that you’re already dancing your way to finishing a story, a piece of poetry or maybe just random lines like this one.

Allowing. You just allow it. This is how a writing unfolds within a writing. Something else that’s quite hard to define or label was commanding you to write in the most artful of ways that the confinements of your own mind couldn’t even fathom the depth it creates. Often times, you even surprise yourself.

How magical. How splendid. How ideal. Does it happen all the time? No, it does not.

That harmony sometimes goes haywire and out of balance. And more often than not, the more you want to write, the harder the words come out. The blank paper sometimes stay blank, and you stay staring at it for even hours. Clicking the head of the pen, watching the nib goes in and out of its body, with a soothing sound that calms your insides as you wait for the magic that usually takes place. But no, there are times when the fairy muse doesn’t show up to wave her wand of magical congruence unto your hand.

I know this very well. I had magical moments where a writing happens within my writing. A powerful manifestation of visions. A natural flow. A beautiful alignment that even surprises you with one synchronicity after another.

And there are “unmagical” moments too, where nothing takes place, where nothing seems to fit, where i feel stuck in my own head, but i write anyway. I get on with it. And i don’t give up.

You gotta keep writing too. Whether on a literal sense or on a metaphorical, more in depth way, it’s yours to take. Write your own life on a blank paper each day. Some days it will be easy-peasy and violà there’s your piece of story to tell. But some days it will be hard. You might be stuck too. You might even hate yourself for not knowing what to do. But there’s beauty in it. And I don’t need to elucidate for you what this beauty meant. You’ve got to find it for yourself—like how i constantly write on a blank paper—whether in the flow or not, learn to love it equally, as it both serves a purpose to our own personal mastery.

Don’t read this if you’re highly sensitive

This day felt like a day of survival. A day of waiting for the sun to set so it can rise again tomorrow. Such a paradox really but earlier i was getting a little impatient, yet again. Things don’t seem to be working. Walking along this path that has little to no form of lighting. It’s too dark but holding on tight with this wand of faith handed to me by God when He instructed me to go to this direction. My grip is tight, a bit afraid that it slips off my hand. ‘Cause it’s the only thing I have that keeps me going. To look past the limits of my eyes, to search beyond the unsearchable and to try to grasp the shaky uncertainty that tests me.

Should i keep moving or should i go back? What if there’s nothing in there? What if I’m just wasting my time? What if my intuition was wrong? What if this isn’t really where I’m supposed to be? Will there be light if i kept on walking or am I just fooling myself?

These are my everyday questions. My everyday eerie movie. My everyday battle against the demons in my head that are seemingly obsessive. Well, maybe the rollercoaster effect is to blame. The highs and lows of the ride that give the same amount of shitty feeling. The seesaw syndrome of my extremity. Of my duality that makes and then breaks me. It’s just, hard—To live in the present moment. To just be. But I’m trying. God knows I’m trying. But sometimes the pushing to be present hurts. Maybe because it requires of force. Not like a normal gravitational pull like how i am with my writing, with my words, with the world i create out of my imagination. But I’m not allowed to stay there for long. I HAVE TO stay in the present reality.

And I guess there would really be times like these where I couldn’t get my shit together and that I have to push things. And I think this rythym of pushing with so much force will never stop hurting if I don’t stop trying to control things the way i want it. And hell, I know this already, don’t I? Why do i keep on doing the same old shit?

Earlier i thought to myself: this transformation journey sucks. It fucking hurts. The breaking of old patterns just so i can be better. The changing of habits just so i can be consistent. The allowing of things to unfold at the right time so i can be patient. The loving myself first so I can love others more. The building of self-worth so I won’t be needing of validation from other people anymore. And the fucking slowing down and the fucking details! It sucks. It hurts. But it’s essential for my growth. And it’s all for my highest good. Fine. Let me convince myself of this positive fucked up self-help theme of the world right now. To be self-reliant, to know how to self-regulate and to be self-aware! They sound so simple but it isn’t.

P.s. I know this too shall pass. I just had to blurt it out and felt like posting it. If you reached until this postscript, then i guess you’re not highly sensitive at all 😁 (But please excuse my language.)

Pps. I’M NOT GIVING UP.

The silent Mayhem of beautiful Minds

Never in his life, did he thought too much about romance, until he met this woman who made him wonder whether it’s hysteria or love. He debated his way out of this comedy in his head, thinking it’s impossible that it’s the latter.

No, how could it be?

How can someone you just met a few days make you feel heavy in your heart but ironically makes you want to feel the feel of it? He asked himself this question in his head while she talked about the book she was reading and threw some lame jokes he labeled as boring. Well, that’s just his way of teasing her—to battle against the strong wind that brings him closer to her, like she’s a destination. A place destined for him to live in, or perhaps maybe a home. But he fights it, he fights the urge to look at her more than just how he used to look at girls.

She rolled her eyes and turned her back as a sign of unspoken surrender of losing a debate with him. And then sighed a deep sigh for an ambiguous picture of a future together. With her right hand sandwiched between her right cheek and her soft comfy pillow, she looked past the window and wondered how many girls he had slept with. With his charm and wit, she bet he could’ve easily made his way through their hearts, like how he managed to do with hers.

But ofcourse she would never admit it, she was quite smart enough to know it’s wrong to tell him how safe and heavenly she felt sleeping next to him and observing how his soul of masculinity seemed to overpower his femininity—in the sexiest ways of humanness. No, it’s wrong, what if she scares him away?

She liked him, well, she likes him very much but she feared the idea that he doesn’t like him the way she does.

Little did she know, that he cogitated more than she did as he studies the artistic view of her naked flawless back when she turned around. He wondered how come he’s so drawn to her, not just with what her skin shouts, but more with the language her eyes speak that required neither words nor voice. He wanted to trace his fingers from the abstract beauty of her nape down to the edge of her spine to savor the perfection of it but hesitated for a split second because he thought he should just play it cool.

Or should he, really?

Would it hurt much if he would make an exception? He thought, maybe she wouldn’t mind so he stopped battling against it and moved as close as he can, spooned her with his warmth and breathed near the outlines of her left ear.

The hair of her skin stood like it’s being magnetized by a powerful invisible sense as he embraced her from behind. He whispered something to her but she didn’t mind listening—the beats of her heart was louder as it raced like there’s a zombie apocalypse, like she should run for her life, or should she?

Isn’t this moment something she would want to freeze if she could?

#fiction

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Wrote this at almost 2am here in Iceland, ugh I couldn’t sleep 😂

Of what’s keeping me awake

Words keep me awake. They always ruin my ultimate goal to create a normal sleeping habit of sleep-early, wake-up-early kind of thing. I’ve always fooled myself that I could do it, even my boyfriend almost always roll his eyes in incredulity. Hell, it’s f*cking hard. The eyebags are even worse to look at when you wake up, looking all worn-out and restless despite the idea that you also get atleast seven hours, albeit inconsistently. And yes, the morning after effect always makes me regret staying up til like 3am just to give words some freedom. And yes, I blame the words. These words that give me such indescribable aching pain in an unknown part of my soul or maybe something deeper than that, if there is. Quite a challenge to explain. I’m sure artists (like my boyfriend who actually said this and consider himself a “night owl”) would agree to me if I say that staying wide awake between 12 midnight to 4 am usually gives birth to crazy ideas you didn’t know existed. It’s funny to think I was saying this, after an argument I made with my boyfriend recently when I encouraged him to sleep early to that certain level of absurdity, because even I couldn’t do it. Perhaps it’s that mad debater in me who always wants to win that took place in that “little debate” about sleep and oh yes, that’s a totally different story. I’m talking about words and what they do to me. And this is not just about “seeing” words that fly above my head in my consciousness but more. I don’t just see words. I FEEL them. And sometimes I find it ludicrous, most days I laugh at my own. I laugh at my own sense of folly for thinking that words have a soul, that they have a meaning, that they have a heart that beats of hope and of love. It’s true, that I sometimes feel ashamed with the idea that I exaggerate things uncontrollably and unconsciously but oh God, this is what completes me—as a writer and as a person overall. It completes me… feeling words and hearing them having each distinct sound and melody that compliments my current mood. How spectacular, I thought. To look at words as magical and mysterious—to that extent that they surprise me everyday of the depths of sense they evoke in me. Isn’t it odd? That having too much passion also has its consequences? Like the abnormal sleeping habits, obnoxiously looking eyebags and having a mind that wanders all the time and one that could hardly focus at times? It’s absolutely weird but you know, I thank the heavens for it. Not everyone, especially in this day and age, has the courage to speak proudly yet in the most modest manner ever, about what he truly wants and what makes him tick. Of what he dreams of becoming one day and of what he’s really passionate about. And what’s even worse, is some of us don’t even know what we TRULY want to begin with. Thus, I decided to talk big of what makes me happy, of something I wouldn’t trade for gold, of something I have in me that no one have the capacity to steal. Now, what’s yours? What’s keeping you awake at 3am? Is it music? Is it art? Is the the girl of your dreams? Or is it the reveries you’re having of being Number One? What’s stopping you from embracing it? Fears? Is it that fear of judgment that kills the strength in your bones? Damn it, that’s already a thing in the past! We’re now in this time where all the resources and even sources of motivation are open and available to inspire us to pursue our calling. Hence I therefore challenge you to conquer your fears and do the reason why you wake up (even despite the lack of sleep) with a full smile on your face everyday and do it with so much fire and passion that people would think you’re too much or maybe even call you crazy—and it’s alright. Atleast you know what you want and you don’t fake it. People who fake it sometimes make it, but you know, it expires. Soon they will run out of energy pulling up the invisible strings in both edges of their lips just to show people they’re fine. But not You. Because YOU know exactly why you breathe and you know that one day you will seize whatever it is that keeps you awake. I encourage you to do what you want and do it with so much heart and I promise you, you will never run out of reasons to live. Be passionate. Stop boring yourself doing the things you don’t really like. Like what my mentor said before, there’s no such thing as “lukewarm”. There’s nothing in between. It’s either you go up or you go down. Stop jailing yourself in that little box. Go out there, do what you want, and discover what life has to offer en route to your dreams.

(Above photo is an original Digital Painting crafted beautifully by the best artist and boyfriend in the world 🧡)