A mind's realm

Perhaps both Carroll and Orwell were right in the end. Concision must be one of the keys; not to make an idea easier to grasp but rather to allow words to keep their true meaning and everlasting strength that will get to you. And perhaps the careless overuse of words without thinking hard enough as to what we truly aim to express has led to writing perdition, which in turn leads to every word written to become weak and meaningless to the ear and the eye.

Ideally, one would have the fluent knowledge of every single language that exists in the world and gather every word that would complete the other fully… Then we would, maybe, achieve a perfect language and perfected expression of the mind. Perhaps, if one was to express anger through words and convey that feeling completely, they would use many different words from various languages whose words contain subtle variations and would add the forever lacking element preventing us from truly expressing what we had in mind.

Creating a universal language based on the best of every existing languages would symbolize the highest state of an ideal called harmony, or cohesion. From then understanding would flow much better and there would be less room for hostility. I suspect that every single human being, apart from the mentally weaker, perhaps, understands the other perfectly well intrinsically; it is the words we utter or write that lead to confusion. They are never a good enough medium to convey a thought.

But what is a thought, and is any of my thoughts different from you or my neighbour? What if we all had the same core understanding within, the same pattern of thought but languages and the choice of words from the start only serve to create a widening gap between my understanding and yours?

Within the realm of my own mind, it seems possible that it is truly an infinite realm in the sense that my mind goes on as another person’s mind begins and so on. And so it appears that the realm of reason might well transcend all that is material and palpable but we end up negligent of it because our eyes are not merely the windows to the physical world, but the very means of self-deception drowning us in constant illusions.

We seem to think that reality can only be perceived through what can physically be seen, touched, heard or experienced. Therefore reality is what it is according to a very limited state of perception, limited by the physical realm. The mind can transcend all rules and coupled with the power of imagination it knows no limits. Though it would be deemed removed from ‘reality’ because imagining a flying horse is not possible- it is not part of our physical reality- why could it not still be what is real and what we actually see with our own eyes the true illusion or dream?

The laws of gravity tends to prove that we, as beings in the physical world, are indeed real and the flying horse born out of my imagination is in fact the illusion or dream. Gravity gives to our living experience a sense of consistency and a sound base as to what can or cannot happen. If an apple falls from the tree it is doomed to reach the ground unless some physical factor prevents it from doing so- such a my hand catching that apple as it falls. On the other hand, it seems that one has yet to see a horse flying away through the skies. Because the mind is never constrained by any rule and only limited by the unknown, it can defy every single physical limitation and one would readily add that in any case what is spawned from the mind can easily remain just inexistent- a figment of the imagination.

But then… If I truly believe that the mind’s realm is indeed as real if not the only real realm, then I shall put all my energy into making that horse fly. If one has a strong enough dream or thought then one is likely to pursue it to the end, and this in turn might explain the strive people find within themselves to create or better what surrounds them, for instance. One man dreamt that one day he would fly, and others after him also shared the same dream.
Today we can fly.

If the realm of reason, coupled with imagination, is capable to fuel man’s drive to make ideas and dreams a physical reality then what is more real in the end? Is the core of reality born out of our own minds and then translated into a physical reality? Is it really impossible that what I see within my mind could be more intrinsically real than what my own eyes show me everyday?

16.30: Sitting under the apple tree
The sun merging with the sea
Spreading its fiery wings
In endless whorls and rings

Of doom, a hazy dream
Rocking the flawless beam
Of dying light and shimmers
Within the mind of dreamers

Under the apple tree the wings
Of birds, a cloud of feathers
In the misty grim lingers
Beyond the earth and sings

For all to hear and see
But blind is the heart
And misled to depart
From the dying apple tree

inner thoughts

The little girl within is always so frightened and she doesn’t even know why exactly. Life itself petrifies her. People and society in general puzzle her. She feels so vulnerable, drifting along a path she never meant to take while lacking the human chapter on adaptation. So she always questioned everything and could never find a clear answer, but she kept trying because she is stubborn and doesn’t think there would be sense in doing anything else but question if understanding is still out of reach.

Others begin to question things at some point in their lives, but soon they seem too disheartened to keep going. Why can I not give up myself? Why can I not "simply" accept things as they stand? Why can I not believe in spoon-fed truths and why do I feel that powerful need to find out for myself even if it means that in the end I will unveil very little?

As I began reflecting on my true self it soon became clear that there was never one side or two that made up a person, but rather a myriad of sides much akin to that of a rough diamond buried far too long in the muddiest of waters. Because my own self fascinates me I end up mesmerized by all the simplest of things from nature to the core of humanity where each component that forms it is another mind made up of another myriad of facets so different and so alike at the same time.

And then I keep seeing God on a deathbed and I worry that society could now go either way: either bury the illusion once and for all and become so much more or crawl back into its nest much like the little girl within me is dying to do to escape the cold, ruthless light of Truth beyond all illusions.

But one life. ONE life. That is all we have. One life. I want to make sense of that one life I have, the only one I’ll ever have. I want this more than anything in the world, and therefore I will transcend any fear I may have. I want to see beyond that veil of illusions pulled over my eyes since I was born and I want true knowledge, the one you gain by going through any reasoning yourself- not a borrowed version or shortcut to knowledge.

Can it be done? I do not know, but I sure will let you know, though I doubt anyone truly ever wants truth.

Truth, in the end, is another empty shell of a word full of ideals that sound good to the ear but that very few have the guts to search to the end.

Fragments...

... Of thoughts.

Beyond the dive into nothingness where nothing is or ever was, beyond illusions and pretence when no more is left than rubbles and what was believed to be once but really never was… A drifter in this reality and the next that should not be, that is what I is.

I am naturally distant, I keep feeling as though attachment is a weakness that is bound to induce pain at some point because everything one ever has one is destined to lose- so why get attached in the first place? My loathing of pain seems to contradict fully my belief that pain can in fact be a major striving factor. Through pain and hardship one can push his own boundaries and grow further than any other person immersed in comfort. Because comfort leads far too easily to contentment, or rather apathy and a lack of motivation to go beyond what the eye can see.


It seems I just don’t care about anything in this world and that this life is too ridiculous in essence –as it stands, or is made to be thought as- to be taken seriously. Nothing holds any great value to me, nothing real or material worth dying for… Not in this life, or reality rather, plagued with inconsistency and randomness at every corner. I can play along to an extent, pretend that I care, that I’m just like the rest- and I will give you a smile or two on the way to hide the sorrow eating at me inside. In the end, I will always feel like the odd one out, the one who doesn’t belong anywhere. Though I speak and write in English, and French will always remain my mother-tongue, neither could ever serve as a rightful medium to express my true self; and I suspect the sorrow I feel inside stems from a suffocated mind dying to break free from a prison of words and illusions it was born into from the start.

The drifter. Only another drifter could understand the pain, the torture of living for real. Because I see reality as it is, beyond the layers of illusions that allow others to bear it without questioning it so much… And I don’t like what I see, not one bit. Take that one step aside and look at the world: what do you see? If you are blind chances are you will see nothing, but if there is even an ounce of logic left in you then I promise you that you will be left reeling at the sight of the sheer randomness and nonsense that goes one and makes up our lovely little world full of man-made beliefs and placebo-like tricks to numb minds.

Chances are that there isn’t another drifter. I am the only true drifter in this fucked-up world, the rest is part of a cheap game of chess where one clear aim at least seems to be to make the pawns believe that they matter when they so obviously don’t- and never will.