Autobiography In Five Chapters - Portia Nelson I) I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost ... I am hopeless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out. 2) I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I'm in the same place. But it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out. 3) I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in ... it's a habit. My eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately. 4) I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. 5) I walk down another street.
"But my soul wanders; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand A ruin amidst ruins; there to track Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land Which WAS the mightiest in its old command, And IS the loveliest, and must ever be The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, The beautiful, the brave--the lords of earth and sea." - Lord Byron
I feel poetry exposes your soul an opening into your world I use poetry to get through each and every day poetry is my escape and gives me hope for another day. Those poems were very good and totally relevant.
This was taken from Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet. I think it's exceptional that someone else can articulate how I've felt with such clarity. No doubt, others have felt this too. 'Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.'
I am not in the habit of reading many poems but i cant help but notice how Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle into that good night" (Yeah interstellar...) matches with the situation of a NoFapper thinking of giving up after relapse or relapsing. Nice poems by the way
The battle: As these slow days grow slower darker even I find comfort in it these memories hit me like a match lights a flame. The only reason I'm still alive is a teeny tiny light shining. As I watch it the brighter it gets consumin my darkest space it feels weird unwelcomed. A feeling of change I don't believe I want it I don't want it near me its too late I can't find my darkness I've been defeated. Light is supposed to be good right? Well in this instant its not as it consumes me I lose myself it knows it controls me now at first I had control and comfort now I'm just doing what the light wants me too. I can't handle it all the very sight changes who I am myself gone I've lost it all. Can I ever find myself again or will it be forever this way? I don't know I'll have to see I need to find my balance again. The battle between my darkness and the light...
I wrote this recently, before I started any of this, but it fits quite well... --- To Fall; To Rise Oh, allow me to fall Down at your feet Allow me this weakness For the Berlin wall is now dust The Great Wall of China has it's cracks and cr um ble s I am no Rock of Gibraltar Allow me this vulnerability This open seam in my barrier For I can only stand so long Before the weight of my world Pushes me to the ground Let me rest the ache from my heels I cannot stand forever, but I will always stand back up.
Everything passes on and everything remains, But our lot is to pass on, To go on making paths, Paths across the sea. I never sought glory, Nor to leave my song In the memory of man; I love those subtle worlds, Weightless and graceful, As bubbles of soap. I like to watch as they paint themselves In sunlight and scarlet, floating Beneath the blue sky, trembling Suddenly then popping… I never sought glory. Traveller, your footprints Are the path and nothing more; Traveller, there is no path, The path is made by walking. By walking the path is made And when you look back You’ll see a road Never to be trodden again. Traveller, there is no path, Only trails across the sea… Some time past in that place Where today the forests are dressed in barbs A poet was heard to cry “Traveller, there is no path, The path is made by walking…” Beat by beat, verse by verse… The poet died far from home. He lies beneath the dust of a neighbouring land. As he walked away he was seen to weep. “Traveller, there is no path, The path is made by walking…” Beat by beat, verse by verse… When the goldfinch cannot sing, When the poet is a pilgrim, When prayer will do us no good. “Traveller, there is no path, The path is made by walking…” Beat by beat, verse by verse. Traveller, There Is No Path - Antonio Machado
It is strange - This world and being hu-man. Am I no longer suited To this suit of clothes? Perhaps my style is deeply rooted Transcending the X Y chromosomes. This sharp tweed jacket seems to say - "Rely on me to be quick on the controls" Let me show the way Even if I don't know. Allow me to open the door To entertain and to hear you speak. But forgive my fluctuant soul, My worn'n'torn trimming. This is not my home. - miracles aka...
A hokku for you (english haiku *five-six-four syllables*) Contemptuous Desires Destroy Narrow lives (Ahem, my syllable usage may be wrong it's been a long time since i've been tested on the subject but small changes of being one or two syllables out can be considered still within the boundaries i guess *gets me off the hook atleast*)
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. Invictus, William Ernest Henley