as a casualty of hopes

15 04 2007

It had become time for other activities, ‘get back to yourself, let go, and stop ploughering yourself with thoughts about the unreachable’. Let go, this had become the main  obvious direction, sadly as it were. Dreams showed an ex-employer demanding justifications, and ex-colleagues not to be trusted, and a chase that proved to result in more disorientation than anything, somewhere in Belgium. Why Belgium? … In a garage, asking the way. ‘I’m on foot’ – ‘What, without a car?!?’

Bathing in the sun, the regretting and realising there was little or no control possible over the course of things started a reflection: how is it that we strive for things that really matter for us – at least things that we believe really do – and yet be left there, at the end of it all, powerless to make things the way we dream them? Are we all but casualties of our own hopes? And is what we hope for, in fact, precisely not what we really need? There seemed to be more truth and sense in picking things as they came along and presented themselves on the way. Pick the unexpected; in this was more truth in that it makes you react directly as yourself, with no disguise. Everybody having his/her personal agenda. This point had been forgotten and now was the time to re-realise it. But still, feeling powerless felt like something unfair.

So the conclusion of it all was, perhaps, what is stated here above in the first line: let go and just pick the day for what it has to offer. It might not be easy to manage at times, but most of the time it will. Self expression and your own personal path is what this is all about. The challenge lies in breaking cyclic patterns. Yet no clue as to how to deal with frustrations. And a huge, too huge, need for love. Ratio would give answers as an attempt to calm down the inner emotional being, and somehow it would soothe, but it would never solve. A real confrontation would. Through burst and pain and expressing and letting go and perhaps anger too. When and how? Hammer the nail.




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