Diatribe of Nonsense

I see a ray of light that comes in through a crack in the drapes. It pierces the darkness, minuscule motes of dust float amongst diagonal lines of shine. It doesn’t seem real, whatever real is.
What is reality anyway? Is real, or reality, that which we perceive with our senses, or what is chosen to be objective? Is it agreed upon notions? Concepts that what surrounds us is authentic and tangible. Real; a word that seems elusive, it doesn't hold the sustenance it had before.
Now, what if we all agreed to not take what we perceive as there or here, we can join hands and exclaim, "nothing is anymore!". Would we all evaporate into atoms, a charge that could somehow emit photons? Puff! Back into the realm of the outer universe. Is that what beholds my sensations, that light is another humanity that puffed into energy. Would it really be that easy, just every single human holding hands, hoping, praying that reality is no more. I don’t know, seems like it would be an interesting experiment, someone should take that up and give it a try. Doesn’t seem so bad, it sure would relieve a lot of pressure.

Anyway, back to light. Is light just brightness? Traces of electromagnetic radiation, and all that madness. I do appear well within my senses that I'm as far away from being a physicist as I am to being a horse, so take the frugal words exuded here with a grain of salt, or a spoonful of dirt. Quite frankly, it all seems like magic, so please do not kill me over such an oversimplification.  

So, is that it on light and its definition? Is that the final term. A conclusion with no argument or defenses.
Could a song be light? Some tunes do tame the darkness.
Could it be love? There is certain light-ness to it and holds the power to bring some out of the shadows. Only some though, and I do sure hope my turn comes to step out of darksome.
What is light to a blind person? Can a proper description be enough to capture its essence.
What about light for the painter, when they use the color white, or yellow, or whichever they choose to represent the dazzle of a star's brilliance.

How much could I go on to find the perfect expression, to define the dawn, that after a night with no moon ends, it brings perfection. When the horizon is dressed in colors produced by light's reflections. I see the traces of luster that come in through my window, and think of the brilliance the dark universe sends with no questions. It seems that permanence rules on a scale that dwarfs all perceptions.
And, annoyingly so, I keep finding spells and rhymes that leave me knocking my head with no answer. It can't be helped. Such as when I look into eyes that do not glimmer back with affection. Because there is a light that shines in two magical orbs, stuck inside a head and mind I wish to know, the light I wish to see and it does not show.

-A.Garcia

A Song

It happens; the sensation when you hear a song that astonishes the very depths of the soul. The rhythm in tune with your mood, heartbeat in sync with percussion. It demolishes feelings, crumbling an already fragile psyche.

And you are left craving more.

The lyrics both haunt and elevate you, seeming ethereal. Focus is hypnotized, the hijacked neurological faculties mesmerized by the shear force of musical notes. It’s on repeat, staying on track, constantly pounding in the canals that run through the ears, a heart perceiving that perhaps you will never have this pleasure replicated.

Such as love in the midst of a deep, dark lonely well.

Nevermore will a sound so exquisite bless the senses. It melds together with such perfection, you’ll wonder if the spirit died and it’s dancing in heaven. Such harmonies must only be reserved for the gods, right? Oh, what a blessing.

You will never feel the same again.

But then you do, another song meanders into your spirit once more. On a journey through the mind, it lodges itself deep in the vessels that carry blood through your core. The heart! It’s on fire and it can feel again! The sensitivity to a tune you accepted would stay foreign. It happens; the sensation when you hear a song that astonishes the very depths of the soul.

-A.Garcia

Tripping

Think I must’ve been tripping
No other way to describe it
Heart hectic like a woodpecker
A sweet nectar that is intoxicating

The warmth on my hand
I knew it all just had to fit
Smooth lips that beckoned
My soul had a big bang

Heart raced forward
Bursting through blood and muscle tissue  
It sprung wings and raced towards erudition
An hallucinogenic spell made of a word

Oh, lord almighty
Save my soul from all that is vicious
The sidereal like fever of affliction
Guide me, holy ghost in a translucent nightie

Found my hands white from gripping
Found a way out of this rationale prison
Found a path that led to acceptance
Even if it felt like I was tripping.

-A.Garcia

Meaning

Life has no inherent meaning.

I do not find that statement cynical or disillusioning. On the contrary, it feels me with hope and wonder. Even when existence can be bitter like the cheapest rye.

For if life has no assigned value, no simple definition, no mathematical formula that can sum it all up perfectly, then it means it’s flexible and malleable. An extended hand always willing to say hi.

A mirror reflecting infinity, a labyrinth that fulfills an ending full of surprises. And it bends, it twirls upwards like a vine climbing up an ancient oak tree, an oak tree that goes on forever into the sky.

-A .Garcia

Contradictions

Reading through my notes realization smacks me in the face,
it is riddled with contradictions
A messy mind set loose on a screen,
on paper and all around
I don’t even care anymore if what I write or say makes any sense, when in the mind’s eye it all arranges perfectly,
no matter how it’s bent.

And maybe I write all this for dramatic effect,
that although I’m as confused as a horse on a balcony,
puffing to release the pent up breath in me
trying to make sense of all the cacophony,
knowing full well the feelings that still remain,
sentiments that will never change.

Hoping you read this one day,
to sway you
convince you
any of you
that confusion discourages at times,
it's hard to let what's inside flourish
hoping your path crosses my way

-A. Garcia


The Mind's Anvil

I do not call myself a poet
Or a writer
Or a smith of words
Even though I like the sound of that in particular
Hammering away at an anvil of the mind, forging elusive words out of nowhere.

I merely place heart and soul on paper or a screen.
I speak of my heart’s desire.
Do not look for truth in what I write
Or fact or whimsy
Do not look for answers or solace for your soul here, my dear.
I only know of anguish and fear.

-A.Garcia

Fluff

I love walking

I love reading

I love writing

Still I struggle to do these, to accomplish one more step, one more chapter to read, one more line to jot down.

I love my friends and family

And I don’t tell them enough.

Why must I be so cold, if warmth runs through my soul.

I fill the days, fill the time and space with stuff, fill my head with not much substance, mental pillows, it’s all just fluff.

Is it like that for the rest of the world? For our feelings, our guilt, our joy, our love

For everything we’ve been bestowed

We love so much and do not show.

– A. Garcia

Autumn

The sun is shining again today

The sky is painted with hues of orange and red, the trees reach up and match the color above.

Wind lightly blowing, crisp and firm

Cheeks rosy-red from an ice cold shower

My friend the sun helps darken their color

It’s so peaceful and zen

Richness is all around and all within

What else could we ask for in this heavenly bliss?

– A. Garcia

Pictures On a Wall

A room, all must and dust

A thousand pictures adorn the wall

Ten thousand memories grow old

Once high and mighty

Now leaves you crying

The site of it all makes you want to fold

Into a million creased lines

Sharp and cutting

To dig deep and let it out

To let go

A series of recollections

You just don’t want to hold.

– A. Garcia

Please

Don’t let me down, You.

Please, whatever it is that out there, at one infinitely small point, put in motion every single atom in existence with a fury none could ever imagine.

With a force that is incomprehensible, all you see, feel and hear, was blasted into existence.

Please do not let me down, in all your wonder and earnestness, I know what my heart desires, please, do not drench this fire.

– A. Garcia

L

I don’t want to write anymore

about longing and desire

or unrequited circumstances,

because I dare not write the word again.

I will live, languish, and like,

but that other word,

I do not utter

I do not write

It’s not that I gave up

My soul is full of fright.

– A. Garcia

Not Here

Here is a cow, it moos and eats grass.

Present.

Here is a dog, it barks, sleeps and eats.

Present.

Here is a turtle, moving slow towards erudition.

Present.

Here is a bird, flying high and free, searching for prey.

Present.

Here is a human, it ruminates, digests and builds incessantly because it’s afraid of death.

– A. Garcia

The Myth of Scarcity

There is no scarcity.

There is abundance galore.

Cynicism, greed and division, rulers of all.

There is an overflow of love and peace that has been hijacked by a dark force. It pulls at our strings and untangles us whole. And, when we are on the floor, aching to blame, fretting and shivering, strings swept away by the wind, it will take our shriveled, motley finger and blame elsewhere.

Your neighbor, your coworker, your boss. The abuse you suffered and the loss. You’re to blame your lover and your child, or the stranger from another land looking for hope and finding shame.

And while we fight amongst ourselves, the planned coordinated fight, the event of a lifetime, a heavyweight bout, other mouths eat and laugh at our expense.

And while we point that finger at our neighbor’s face, laying on the ashen floor of a dead world, we will say, “we did it! we did it! we conquered fear and evil.” We will look around at ruins and scourge, wondering what happened in those moments of blind, irrational judgment. The cause of it all will be high on the mountain laughing amongst the gold that it stole, the prayers it misguided and swallowed whole, broken hearts decorating it’s core, all the treasures it took from our souls.

– A. Garcia