What positive emotion do you feel most often?
Contentment: the most sustainable of feelings.
What positive emotion do you feel most often?
Contentment: the most sustainable of feelings.
Of all the masters & all the slaves,
I find that mind fire burns in waves.
And sometimes the emotions derail
too quickly to lengthen the exhale.
Trees falling in the forest, unheard,
can still crush a nest of baby birds.
Turns out it's not the sound that matters,
but what the destruction leaves in tatters.
The phrase “Queen of Slaves” comes from a Percy Bysshe Shelley poem (Canto 4, No. 24)
Scarecrow, n. - that which exists
solely to evoke fear.
There are so many scarecrows:
global - the end of the world
as we know it.
societal - the end of the tribe
as we know it.
individual - scarecrows of the soul.
Scarecrows lead us into the worst
versions of ourselves:
The one who's stressed, and mean
because of it.
The one who imagines conspiracy
around every corner.
The one who sees threat in every
change & in every difference.
The one who wants an orderly world
of people just like themselves -
familiar, cozy, and lacking surprises.
Scarecrows even march us off to war,
and war should be the scariest state
imaginable --
death doled out on a random basis.
War should be the scariest, but terrible certainties
spur less fear than any old uncertainty.
Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know About the People We Don’t Know by Malcolm Gladwell
Body Am I: The New Science of Self-Consciousness by Moheb Costandi
The Exquisite Machine: The New Science of the Heart by Sian E. HardingOne false footing erases the screeched blackboard writing that'd formed in my mind & everything becomes a blank, white emptiness -- Not a good empty. Not a good quiet. The emptiness of blinding pain. That's the slow, cold death of falling into a drift and then cascading, tumbling, tumbling, in an avalanche. Wrenched asunder - or so it feels - and left to go numb in a silence so total that i know it's my first experience with true silence. We all fall down? That's what the plague rhyme says, isn't it? -- Madmen & Holymen, and those who take this fall and are twisted into a grotesque blend of both. Which way is up? Tiny seedlings can tell, but I cannot. I'm lost -- 50/50, I dig myself deeper into my own doom. My life trickles in a file of hours, dripping into that dim distance of non-time. I'll stay lost until the spring thaw when I'll ride the glacial runoff to complete my tumble as a gray and bloated thing.