To Live What's Real

Thanks be to God that I have gained new sight and wisdom to life. Or rather that I have finally been able to see, after having been blind. And that I have finally been able to think clearly, after my mind having been muddled. Glory be to the Lord of the Highest Heavens, for He has taken me back under the refuge of His wings, stained as I was in blood and all manner of filth. I had once been living on the border of my life, always straining for the things that were always out of reach. But now, I am living what is real. Life that is centered around Him Above.

He has been a tree of many leaves, providing me shade from the sun. He has been a mountain, sheltering me from harsh, rugged winds. He has been a breeze, keeping me cool. He has been a flame, warming me in times of cold. He has been a light, showing me where I should safely thread.

Psalm 36:7, "How priceless is your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings."

Notsnhoj

the realignment of my senses

The days of gloom have finally come to past. Tomorrow will be my re-entry into the world. Once again, will I know life as it was. Once again, will I see the scenic views and hear the melodic sounds. Once again, will I smell the beautiful scents and taste the vibrant flavours. On the morrow, once again will all that was, come to be. I have lived a time of sorrow and lack. I knew neither relief nor joy. The simple pleasures of the day were a foreign article. I had neglected those close to me, and banished them afar. Those who sought me for comfort, I shunned. Those who sought me for advice, I kept silent. Those who trusted me, I betrayed with my indifference. Those whom I knew, I said I knew not. I was either blind or foolish. Maybe I even was asleep. But now the world has spun around, and I am facing the right direction. Now I embrace life with my realigned senses. I see the things I had been blinded against, and acknowledge my failures. Now I have acquired the knowledge of my wrongs and crimes. And the burden of that knowledge has pulled me under. Too long have I abandoned what was dear to me. Too long have I misplaced my priorities. At this time, I recognise the old goodness, and I will cling on to it like my life depended on it. For it does. For without the old goodness, I would be living the life of pitiful lack that I had been living for the past two years. My renewal I will treasure. And I fear not failure, for I know that that will never come to be. For new life and light, guidance and strength, granted I am, from Him Above.

Notsnhoj

the folly of mine own

It was almost like a dream, from the moment I turned and saw her face, and saw that the voice I had heard came from those lips of hers. Though there was conversation, I found that as each second that toiled by, my ability to speak was diminishing. I had ended the conversation out of haste, rather than following its natural order. Even as I hurried away, I felt as if the innards behind my belly had risen to my chest, and my lungs had entrenched themselves in my throat. My pulse had been racing faster than the paddling feet of a duck. She came and she took all away. My composure. My reserve. Mine self. The lady, with all her gracefulness and beauty, had flipped me like a coin. I was bowed over. My heart is hers. My mind too. And mine eyes. Here, take mine ears. And so followed the all of my entirety.

Notsnhoj

the dealings of shifty smiles

There are harsh words and crude gestures. An impregnable stronghold of persons, seemingly without fault. They turn the world around as They please. They are the axis amidst us, our fates binded to Their wills. None can stand against Them, nor have many achieved the desire to do so. Yet amongst the seemingly impecable society, there are hidden snares. There is something pertruding through that stiff human barricade. In the quiet, vicous and unwholesome vices reach out for the hands of associates. In the dark back alleys, They comsume one another. We know of the holy innocents whom They hate. We know of how these came to their ends, all at the work of Their hands. We know of the oppression that They bring, and of the fear that They cast. Yet who would know of the filthy dealings carried out within Their inner circle. It had surprised me. I had never knew. You may never have. Their shifty smiles that caused those shivers down your spine. Who would have thought that in those, They had hidden intentions for each other that may not have sat well within each other's hearts. You would have thought Them the closest of friends. Yet every curse uttered was meant for the brother next to him. Once the world had believed Them to use others for Their own means, but who knew that They did the same with one another. Turning ally on ally for personel gain, all behind a smile. Stabbing the other's back, all within a hug. No wonder you thought Them creatures of filth. So low is Their friendship. So base are Their words and promises. Hidden behind the veil of friendship, there are dirty dealings. Hand in hand, they sing with one voice, all behind those shifty smiles.

Notsnhoj

a splinter of amber

Upon what did I blemish my sense of taste? The bitter pill of sorrow? Of injustice? Or of betrayal? For what reason did it hurt so bad? That I would be rendered speechless, at the distasteful treatments from a friend. Or so had I believed him so. But what friend would have you constantly smiling at him with eyes sparkling as if he were the sun of your life? What friend would utilise of your help when of his grieving moments then cast you aside when you are of yours? That he would have you pining shamelessly for his supposed strong arms. Why would he be so willingly bask in the glory of you grovelling at his feet? That hi would enjoy you behaving in such a self-depriciating manner, bowing and apologising all the time of one or another of your traits that he finds an eyesore. The norm of a friend? Or are you instead slave to him? To scrape the dirt off his possessions and lick the grease off his boots, and still call them gold. And instead of the common gratitude, you recieve the now-the-common slander and spittle. Is this the sort of friendship people seek so desperately? A shame. I had believed so. Yet it would seem more likely that my unfortunate folly be turned to a story many comedians would use. A joke. Some would call it. I must admit that I am not entirely sure if I would ever hve the mental justice to turn back on this event in future times of ill or fortune. Whether for memory or reflection. But it must be known that the most straight-forward understanding is this: That this slight exists as a splinter of amber etched deep into my heart, glowing in the light that all manner of trust and friendship has been dispelled. His faithlessness has enforced an alteration in policy. We live in a world of difference.

Notsnhoj

the rains of Brunei

The thunders roar. The people tremble.

The rains pour. The cold instills.

Amidst biting cold and misty ravines, we lie here, a miserable lot. We are encaved within naught but a pointlessly thin layer of nylon. At least it serves the mundane purpose of hiding our eyes from the terror of the storm. Nevertheless, the howling wind has breached our defenses, with its chill tightening its icy hold around our throats. There is no way of escaping the drenching. It is so cold. There is no way of escaping the wind. It is so cold. There is no way of escaping the storm. It is so cold. For an unneccessary but existing obligation, we will suffer it.

It would seem that I have lost myself in a past long gone with the winds of history. I envisioned myself gathered into my mother's warm embrace and secure within the steady grasp of my father's hands. Just as it had always been. In these, all manner of comfort and security lie. Yet what used to be is no more. Now, there is only the cold and me. It is without of my nylon protection. And within it. And within me. It is so cold.

Notsnhoj

the sands of time

The sands of time. A term that speaks of a whole new grey world. A world where time has slowed to the point where each tick is a lifetime. A distortion on the face of a clock. A world where each day is a year, each minute is an hour, and each second a millennium. The sands of time. A world where humanity hangs at a pause to watch all the sands of the deserts flow through an hourglass. An age of ennui. The sands of time. An eternal pause. Of silence.

Notsnhoj ancuz Clapase
Saph-oins quinjyo nopa ul pevra"quinjyo veok pevra"malgeun.