I need not capture the butterfly, but be it
Some Poetic Writings of Mine!
#186
An uncapturable butterfly - chasing it with a net, trying to capture it, desperately wanting to feel that harmony as it has, a memory of a forgotten past, a forgotten way to be, a flowing river of passion you seek - but, after chasing it, time and time again, catching it in the net…
You realize, you weren’t looking to control, or contain the butterfly. And so, you inevitably release it, after spending so much time with it caught, but not free - you let it go again, and you finally remember, how to flap your own set of wings, and join it, and finally find what you were looking for all along - free as can be, you have learned your lesson from the creature.
True freedom is in letting go and simply just being, in releasing the net, not in pursuing to contain yourself, a moment, or a creature for that matter.
“I need not capture the butterfly, but be it - I need not chase the moment, but free it.”
#176
Analyzing rivers of thoughts, looking downstream, gently redirect, not too harsh or too direct to get somewhere else, but just taking one step to the right, and not making up a black hole within my mind thru fear and anxiety that unconsciously steers my boat, not even fear of it steering incorrectly, or that too would steer it incorrectly
#177
Breathing, floating phone, follows in the air in the night, exhales unknown vapor through its mouth on the screen, interrupts normal usage
#178
Growling, almost like a dog, off in the darkness, outside the open window late at night
#179
Gently, gently, it goes; flying alongside its friends, the flower takes to the sky - the wind, the flowers; we all play together
#180
Coming back to me, like remembering an ancient dream from my childhood, the simple mantras of life, bestowed to me by the air, enters through my ears and exits through my spirit, i can finally, at last, float along with the current, and murmur and sway to the heartbeat of song, of my surroundings, my met and unmet friends, dancing down the street, walking wherever their currents take them, an unspoken harmony - not beyond sight, but within; what always was right there before us, all along - the act of seeing itself, another sight to behold; the act of being, another ineffable act to cherish and celebrate - i love when we can find ourselves, when we can find one another, and rediscover in a brand new, fresh way of telling the story, the story being told, before us, through us, by us, for we are our own melodies, dancing and dancing down the street, floating and floating down the river - what a beautiful song, indeed; what a beautiful pulse, what a beautiful way to be, to be reminded, in this magnificent day, that all is attainable, that all is a friend beyond the illusion of fear, that all is okay, and will forever be, and be, in brand new forms, woven by the same formless stream that unites and forms all - liberation, through fluctuation and limitation - a gentle sway, a gentle redirection, not even fearing the potential act of fearing - an environment reflective of one’s own internal melody, as they are to it - a reminder from passing friends, fleeting yet eternal memories, in a place almost like a dream, now, but its ripples still affecting the new Now.
(Elijah Wood - Ontario was what i was listening to while writing this alongside a few other tracks by him)
#181
“Think about how good it’ll feel once you get it done!”
“Yeah… I guess that’s a good way to think about it. Kinda like a devotion for your future self, you empathize with them from the past… You’re kinda time traveling almost in a way, making a connection to a self who’s not yet existing. Do that in every thing you do, and you never really seem to act solely out of selfishness; just act out of devotion for others and your future self - seems to be the memo. Connections now, and for connections to come… Even connecting with those yet to come, whether it be your belated self, a friend, a group of people, or even a whole generation. Generous people time travel quite frequently, then.”
“Really?… Huh… I never thought of it that way before. :3”
#183
I’ve missed this feeling, this sensation of soaring, of swimming with no need to exert the body, and yet, here I am expelling energy, but feeling as if even more comes into me than what leaves - I am a transistor, inputting and outputting the energy of life itself, the energy that I am, and in my actions and my creation of art, I feel alive, I feel myself growing, as my energy inputs and outputs more and more by the minute - I am alive, yes; I am alive.
#184
I love writing, I love writing just to write with no time constraint, with nowhere to be, other than be, right here, in this very moment, doing what I love so much, and living for the love, living for the act, of simply being. To write with my spirit, and my spirit as the pen, the author, and the paper, I cannot explain the excitement and bliss I feel, knowing I can keep doing it, experiencing it in infinitesimally new ways, and the joy in being able to share it, inspiring others to take up their pens, their wings, and fly, damnit, fly, fly out to the horizon that’s peaked their interest for so long, but just barely out of reach - grow your wings of paper, and time and time again they may get cut down, but your words and your melody will still give wind to your sails all the same - all you ever needed, was to believe in your wings, believe in yourself, and take that leap of faith beyond the illusionary veil of fear - fly, damnit, fly, and seize the day you always knew within since your birth, you knew you could bring to life, and share.
#187
“And that is how I found it, by choosing to no longer look for it at all. All along, and without even realizing it; I was looking, for the state of not looking, of no longer searching.”
#189
“Watch the wave approach, feel as it hits you, but without tensing beforehand - accept the wave as it nears, accept as it hits, and let it gently settle down again, carried out back to sea.”
“Open your tightened fist, to a welcoming palm, and extend out your arms, and open up your body to all that may come. Be free.”
#192
The fishing village, the massive town, shrunk down onto but a few bits of land; visiting its people of the shore, its culture, tending to even those least fortunate… a reminder, a keepsake experience, of just how incredible we can be, just how unique yet connected we can be
#193
No more tending to the stability of memories, the inevitably remembrance of them - rather, they form naturally on their own, untended to - whether they do or don’t become birds of their own flock, releasing one’s grip on the formation of the echoes, the phone calls back to the past, setting up nostalgia for the future, will only inhibit the ability to feel those memories as they come, to form them freely without the stress that they must linger beyond their deaths, as they change to the next moment.
#194
How radically and marvelously absurd this existence is; creatures in the forest…
Forests?!
Cities!?!
Legs?!?
Fingernails???
Spoons??
The Auroras?
The hills, the mountains, the sky??
How absurd and ridiculous it is that there be color? That there be touch and sound? That beings swim in a sea, surrounded by their family?
Families???
To think that we’re oh-so different, to the creatures who play and run in the twigs and rocks out in the fields?
To think we’re not all living just as crazy of a life; life being the craziest, in every way that it is lived?
How absolutely incredible and stupid it is that giraffes have such long necks! That elephants have such long trunks? That tortoises carry an on-the-go home on their backs; that snails do too!
That stars burn of plasma, that chemicals and atoms and molecules exist, that you and I and all of us are made of them?
These little tiny sparks, these little tiny bursts of energy, somehow all wonderfully playing together, allowing us to even get this far in the game so that we may gradually evolve to have sight?
Smell? Taste? Feelings? Emotions?
So that I may even write this in the first place, and that you may even understand these words?
How insane is that? How mystical, how seemingly of fable and myth is it, that this reality we take so easily for granted, has formed at all in the first place, and that we are here?
#195
“At my funeral, i dont want ppl to wear suits and ties or black; i want them to wear their own clothes they love to wear as if one of their ordinary good days, to enjoy and be themselves - for their sake, for mine, for ours.”