Stew

Recently I find myself immersed in many things I was not a month ago. I've been studying, meditating, observing, learning. I have been stewing the juices so to speak. Soon enough the flavor will be impeccable.

Among studies, I have picked up Buddhism, which I find both foreign and familiar. Foreign in the sense that it reflects a culture not my own, and that it also reflects many pieces of myself I have not seen before. Familiar in the sense that I find myself many steps further down the path of enlightenment than I could have thought, and that it reflects also the pieces of myself that I have seen reflected in many other pools along such a path. I find the study of this spiritual journey fascinating. No, I do not consider myself a true Buddhist, but sensibly we are all Buddhists in some form or another, according to Buddhism that is. Buddhism is not a religion, rather, it is a spiritual assessment test. It helps to prune the mind and set one on the path to a greater mental consciousness. So no robes and beads here, but it does lead to the second of my recent endeavors.

Mystical as it may seem, meditation has piqued my interest. Thus I find myself as of late sitting in the afternoon sun or before a lone candle, clearing my mind and counting my breaths. Not only have I been meditating along a spiritual path, but also on along the plane of reality. I have too long waited and watched in from this room and through the eyes of a young man. I have forced myself from several avenues of pleasure, and taken up practice, of both spiritual and realistic means, to ensure a future for myself. Perhaps, as lazy as I was through adolescent years, I have learned enough to put into practice. Time will Tell.

I have observed or rather, witnessed a few things lately that have stirred emotion in me. I have unearthed a little motivation and have begun to drip my creativity into notebooks again. Doodles, poems, names. Through watching movies, people, reactions, and discipline I seem to have absorbed a bit of each into a repertoire of sorts. Perhaps again, I may put into reality that which I have craved to learn from all these years.

Now I know I speak almost in riddles. Very high and fashionable, foolishly wise-sounding, but I can think of no better ways at current to relay these feelings I wish to remember. The changing of boy to man.

(Yes yes, America and the Drain will continue eventually.)