Shadow collection #36 (September 30th)

Many funs were had at the Puyallup Fair!

Hello my dear friend! We meet again! But at the same time you've never left my pocket in the first place, phone. I just haven't written things using your writing things apps. It's been an unproductively productive ten months since we've talked last, and for that I apologise. Stuff got in the way. It tends to do that. Well, onwards and outwards we go in the exploration of the shadows! Today we are returning to the shadow roots. No more insane photograph dumps this time. Those got old fast. Those burnt me out and got me out of the habit of blogging real words and coherent thoughts. It was during the times when I was absolutely undecided and immature, heading in all the wrong directions and doing all the wrong things, and suspecting nothing of it. Those were the days, when we were yound and so very stupid, says a young and still a stupid and such an unexperienced person. We'll see how things go on. I hope all is well, me from the future. HI FROM THE PAST future me... if you are ever nostalgic enough to come back to this. Always wanted to do that. Anyway, READ ON!



The longer I live in this world, the less meaning adjectives appear to have. I notice how adjectives can do no more but subtract from the meaning of an event or deteriorate the strength of the most exhilarating feeling. It makes one understand how very basic and so very insufficient a word can be. Moral of the story - GIVE ME THOUGHTS AND FEELS SHARING DEVICE NAOOO!



Human peoples are soft in the face. I'm a fan of soft in the face people. That is all.



Bodies might be the only things we really are, and we might fall apart leaving the world forever, our atoms floating apart, becoming parts of other organisms and other objects. But there is always that one tiny straw at which we grab with such precision. A soul. A part of us not seen. Our essence. That cluster of energy that makes us go. The driver of this fascinating meat suit. If the only ones possessing faith believe in such existence, at heart, in our deepest hopes and dreams, we are all faithful.



All things you've ever known reside in these illusive, no-place-in-particular things, scattered all around our brain. Memories are all we have of the past happenings we've lived through, past lessons learned, past dreams experienced. Every single place we've ever visited and every single person that we've ever met reside in our memories. The thought is absolutely terrifying. One can bump his brain in just the wrong way, and poof. In a blink of an eye gone is the loving mother's touch, your terrifying, blissful first kiss, that little comfy corner you curled up in as a kid, the ungodly expensive education, and all of the most amazing people that you've ever met . Poof. And what if your luck is even worse and your brain forgets the languages you've strived so hard to master? Or how to move? Or how to breathe? Memory is what justifies and sustains our existence, so what happens if it is no more?



I wish some dreams could last forever. I wish the closing of the eyes returned me back. The land that lingers on the edge, dream's images still slowly fading. But never is it meant to be. The road cuts off forever. Never am I to see what magic could have happened there, never to face the unimaginable beasts I haven't met.



Another day, another shadow. Each and every day, nearly infinite in number, haunting me as I'm awake and as I go to sleep. The lone escape I've found - meditation. Not the weird, flaky kind of a pretend meditation, that most practice in this time devoid of spirit, but the genuine thing, passed down the generations by the monks and the wise men of the most diverse beliefs from the most diverse of places. It helps me find inner peace and discover the observer that I truly am, separating the forever babbling inner monologue each one of us possesses and the part of me that only gets uncovered to bathe in the attention it deserves during these sessions. It helps me see what has before remained unseen, and if attention span permits, it sends me down a rabbit hole of feelings and experiences indescribable by words, the bottom of which I have yet to glimpse. Of course this all may seem insane to generations lacking spirit, but to me it's very real and more than justifies the time I spend. I've recently discovered that Im a creature which longs for atmosphere that's just right. Just the right smell, the right taste and the right feeling of the air, is what I need to feel at home. This practice does just that. It calms not only me, but all around me as well. It makes it personal, it makes it still, it makes it peaceful, makes it beautiful, and makes it meaningful. And even if this all is in my head, so what? After all, the world is but a feeling our heads interpret. Or so the age devoid of spirit says.