What does it mean . . .

. . . when we enter into conversations for the sake of them? As if each is merely flexing their mental muscles, and trying to make some point, have the last word, come away feeling like they've gained the 'upper hand', for no other reason then they think they can. It's all pointless really. Post counts? Status? Ego? I'd say it's a waste of energy, but because it's so easy to become caught in doing it, it must be an energy that likes to express itself this way. Or maybe, it just reveals that there are no other ideas that are calling the attention at this time. Not the best reason for doing or continuing something that should've ended far sooner. You may have the last word if you wish. Thank you for reading.

 

Suddenly it's all changed again. What had been is no more. The interactions that seemed so real and intense, have become what they always were, fragments of a dream long past. Knowing I can do these things doesn't matter if I'm not always doing them. In fact, if I'm not always doing them, I start to forget who I am, and even that I always can. If it's not in my present, it doesn't really exist for me, and if it doesn't exist, there's nothing to hold onto. No idea of what is or can be, only what is now, and now, and now, and now, and now, and now . . .

 

Bringing things into reality is not an easy thing to do. Not because they are hard to create, but because they are hard to let go.

Whatever I imagine becomes real for me, and as long as I keep whatever that is in mind, the more real it becomes. But at some point, the idea loses its meaning, its urge to be fulfilled, it has had its moment in the light, and when it does so, what's left are the remnants of that idea, that old idea, that once had so much promise, that still exists to remind me of what had been, even though it now appears as something else.

If these ideas involve other people, who still see things from the same perpsective, then we are no longer the same, I am no longer the same, but they cannot see me, for I resonate at a different frequency. But I can see them, oh there are still clear, and they are expecting me to be the same as I was such a short time before. Why would things change? What does it all mean?

There is no permanence in even the feeling or idea that excites. It starts off so easily, so why not stay long, why disappear back to where it cam from? These things are not real, they come with the flow, designed to make ready, designed just to show, that we are only a dream, an idea, a small bit, I am me over here, you are there as you sit. From within we look out, from outside you let in, so we think we're together, at home or in sin, but this game is alone, as it walks its way back, to the shop it was made, to the place it will crack.

 

What I put out I get back, even if I don't know what that is. What I want is not what I get, what I get is not always what I thought I would. It can be good or bad or right or wrong, whatever it is it is only my song.

If it matters to be, the real you all the time, and that you is a changing, just as sure as is time, then who is the one that steps up to the plate, and who is the one who waits there at the gate?

Nothing is still and nothing is moving. Nothing is as it was, nor will it be as it might be. Who do you see when you look in my eyes, am I the one that you thought you would find there? Am I the one you expected me to be?

Does it matter who you see, does it matter who is there, won't you just decide anyway?