Addicted

If a person could somehow find a way to go back in time to various points in her life, and see if there were ways to do things differently, it would be, well, to put it ridiculously obviously, incredible.

While it is somewhat comforting to live in the knowledge that it is through mistakes that we learn best, I still cannot ignore the longing to retrace my steps back to certain points in my life when I had made some really bad decisions and ..errmm.. unmade them. You would probably be laughing thinking that I should grow up and face my decisions, but can you honestly tell me that you have not wished the same with your own life?

No, the simple truth is that we have that longing. There are a lot of things I have done that I wish I had not. Mistakes, inaction, indecision, bad calls, bad judgments...I can safely say that most of those were due to ignorance on my part. I suppose, to a certain extent, that those mistakes are forgivable, because I simply did not know better than. After all, hindsight is a ridiculous thing to be harping about. All that a person can do given this situation is hope to learn something new about the way things work, and about themselves as well.

There are other mistakes that I cannot pin on ignorance. Mistakes that are much more harder to swallow. it is something more akin to addiction; you know that it is wrong, but you still do it anyway. An addiction is never an excuse, it is an act that we are completely aware of... we know the damage it causes, the heavy price it carries. Our conscience bears the guilt and that guilt will continue getting heavier the longer we go on.

Those are the kind of mistakes that can really get to a person, drive them to extreme measures.

We would love to think that those are the kind of problems that other people might have. Alcohol addiction is something the fat dude next door who beats his kid does, or the lady who is almost always drunk and sleeps around. Smoking is something that ass of a boss does all day in his office, when he is not busy pushing others around. Drugs? Well, those would be the people that you want your kids to stay away from, because, after all, your angelic kids would never run with that crowd, would they?

Here is an unfortunate reality check; we all have that problem. Whether we like it or not, we each have that tendency to falter to a particular urge that we might call an addiction. It really could be anything, from something as innocent as ice-cream at night to something not so innocent such as porn addiction. It could even be something insidious, such as the tendency to screw up relationships for inexplicable reasons. We just cannot help but say things that would make our loved ones angry. It sounds weird, but it happens. Why else would people have affairs simply so they can come back and pick fights?

I have been down this road a little too many times for my liking. Doing things that I know I should not be doing, especially involving others. Sometimes, I wonder how it is that I am capable of such acts, despite the fact that I am totally aware of what the consequences are. Socrates would probably say that it might be something hidden deep inside me that I am not willing to face yet, even though I should... repressed memories, so to speak. That would be the reason that many people suggest to explain why we do these things. Try as I might,I have not been able to pin down anything in my past that could explain things or shed some light.

As with any addiction, especially those that we are aware of, the only way is to somehow drag ourselves to say no. Sadly, there is no shortcut, or noble, introspective solution here... because we already know what is there to be known. We already know it is wrong. We just have to stop doing it. I am trying as hard as I can, and so far, it has been a decent effort. But so far is the operational concept. it is definitely something that needs a lot of effort and will-power.

However, the key is very clear. It might not be easy to overcome an addiction, but at the very core of it, we MUST WANT to overcome it. We know that something is wrong, we know that we should try to do the right thing, but the only thing that matters is that we want to do the right thing. Only then can we even start working on our issues. That is the first step.. and, as cliche as it may sound, that first step is always the most important and the hardest.

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Sell-Outs

Sometimes, it is important to realize that things that need to be said must be said. It is not simply enough to want success and respect; these are things that need to be earned. If a writer wants her book to be important, she has to first be honest with herself and be certain with her intent and motivations. A musician who seeks to compose a meaningful song has to search within himself and find what he seeks, and not make excuses of lack of time or acceptance. Anyone who seeks to make a difference has to first and foremost come to terms with themselves.

Only then can whatever pursuit they embark upon truly have an impact.

Too much of or time and effort is wasted because of needless, unnecessary and ultimately harmful compromises. Compromise is only useful in relationships; even more so in politics. Not while doing what we love. An author cannot make compromises with her material; it is her prerogative to say what she wishes to say, exactly how she would like it to be said. A reporter has a duty and responsibility to report the truth; all else comes second. If a message is there to be said, and whoever is aware of that message feels that it should be passed on, then it is important that they do so, without being pressured into silence or censorship, regardless of the nature of the content.

A message may be offensive, obscene, prejudiced or malicious; but it is only a message. The important thing is our own maturity when such messages are made available. The person who exposes such information actively took the decision to do so, perhaps feeling it was their responsibility to do so. They made that choice and they must be mature enough to take responsibility for it. Just the same, for the rest of us who receive that information, we should be mature enough to judge that message for what it is, and not for anything else. By doing so, we should always look at ourselves, if that message does indeed make us feel offended or shocked; not just be quick to blame the source of the message.

If someone were to write a book on the importance of homosexuality, and publish it for the general public, they should not be harassed for it. Most of us know that it would be wrong to judge that person and punish them; most of us know that it is within their rights and that what that author is doing might actually help certain groups of people. We know this. We also know that knowledge alone is not sufficient, because that kind of unfair judgment and punishment still happens. That kind of tyrannical silencing still happens.

We do hide behind the supposed ‘needs’ of society. We should not say or do certain things that might disturb the peace, or ‘upset the natives’ so to speak. The flaw here is plain to see; the assumption is that the natives are backward and immature, that even the slightest mention of anything controversial would give rise to trouble. Whether or not this is true is not the point; the fact that by making this assumption in the first place actually perpetuates the situation. The ‘common folk’ WILL become immature and stupid an ignorant if we are constantly sheltered and protected. There is no need to point out just how shallow a lot of us have become because of this.

Why do our musicians beg for support and fail to get any substantial audience? Why do our authors fail to reach any relevant public attention? Is it because they are not good enough? Or is it because that they simply are not being allowed to say what they need to be saying? Perhaps it is a bit of both. We accuse people of selling out whenever they seem to be simply pandering to the masses and not being honest. If this is the case, than it seems we are nothing more than a society full of sell-outs; never being brave enough to say what we KNOW should be said, yet still desperate for attention and success.

We should never blame authority for being suppressed or silence. It is our own fault.

Steadfast Tin Soldier

This is a very old children's tale, by Hans Christian Andersen. But it

is not only meant for children alone; it is powerful and meaningful. I

remembered this story while taking a walk by myself one late evening.



THERE were once five and twenty tin soldiers, all brothers,for they were the offspring of the same old tin spoon. Each man shouldered his gun, kept his eyes well to the front, and wore the smartest red and blue uniform imaginable. The first thing they heard in their new world, when the lid was taken off the box, was a little boy clapping his hands and crying, “Soldiers, soldiers!” It was his birthday, and they had just been given to him, so he lost no time in setting them up on the table. All the soldiers were exactly alike with one exception, and he differed from the rest in having only one leg. For he was made last, and there was not quite enough tin left to finish him. However, he stood just as well on his one leg as the

others on two; in fact he is the very one who is to become famous. On the table

where they were being set up were many other toys; but the chief thing which

caught the eye was a delightful paper castle. You could see through the tiny

windows, right into the rooms. Outside there were some little trees surrounding

a small mirror, representing a lake, whose surface reflected the waxen swans

which were swimming about on it. It was altogether charming, but the prettiest

thing of all was a little maiden standing at the open door of the castle. She,

too, was cut out of paper, but she wore a dress of the lightest gauze, with a

dainty little blue ribbon over her shoulders, by way of a scarf, set off by a

brilliant spangle as big as her whole face. The little maid was stretching out

both arms, for she was a dancer, and in the dance, one of her legs was raised

so high into the air that the tin soldier could see absolutely nothing of it,

and supposed that she, like himself, had but one leg. “That would be the very wife for me!” he thought; “but she is much too grand; she lives in a palace, while I only have a box, and then there are five and twenty of us to share it. No, that would be no place for her! but I must try to make her acquaintance!” Then he lay down full length behind a snuffbox which stood on the table. From that point he could have a good look at the little lady, who continued to stand on one leg without losing her balance. Late in the evening the other soldiers were put into their box, and the people of the house went to bed. Now was the time for the toys to play; they amused themselves with paying visits, fighting battles, and giving balls. The tin soldiers rustled about in their box, for they wanted to join the games, but they could not get the lid off. The nutcrackers turned somersaults, and the pencil scribbled nonsense on the slate. There was such a noise that the canary woke up and joined in, but his remarks were in verse. The only two who did not move were the tin soldier and the little dancer. She stood as stiff as ever on tiptoe, with her arms spread out; he was equally firm on his one leg, and he

did not take his eyes off her for a moment. Then the clock struck twelve, when pop! up flew the lid of the snuffbox, but there was no snuff in it, no! There was a little black goblin, a sort of Jack-in-the-box.; “Tin soldier!” said the goblin, “have the goodness to keep your eyes to yourself.” ; But the tin soldier feigned not to hear.; “Ah! you just wait till to-morrow,” said the goblin; In the morning, when the children got up, they put the tin soldier on the window frame, and whether it was caused by the goblin or by a puff of wind, I do not know, but all at once the window burst open, and the soldier fell head foremost from the third story. It was a terrific descent, and he landed at last, with his leg in the air, and rested on his cap, with his bayonet fixed between two paving stones. The maidservant and the little boy ran down at once to look for him;but although they almost trod on him, they could not see him. Had the soldier only called, “here I am,” they would easily have found him; but he did not think it proper to shout when he was in uniform. Presently it began to rain, and the drops fell faster and faster,

till there was a regular torrent. When it was over, two street boys came along. “Look out!” said one; “there is a tin soldier! He shall go for a sail.” So they made a boat out of a newspaper and put the soldier into the middle of it, and he sailed away down the gutter; both boys ran alongside, clapping their hands. Good heavens! what waves there were in the gutter, and what a current, but then it certainly had rained cats and dogs. The paper boat danced up and down, and now and then whirled round and round. A shudder ran through the tin soldier, but he remained undaunted, and did not move a muscle, only looked straight before him with his gun shouldered. All at once the boat drifted under a long wooden tunnel, and it became as dark as it was in his box.; “Where on earth am I going to

now!” thought he. “Well, well, it is all the fault of that goblin! Oh, if only

the little maiden were with me in the boat, it might be twice as dark for all I

should care!” At this moment a big water rat, who lived in the tunnel, came up. “Have you a pass?” asked the rat. “Hand up your pass!” The tin soldier did not speak, but clung still tighter to his gun.

The boat rushed on, the rat close behind. Phew, how he gnashed his teeth and

shouted to the bits of stick and straw. “Stop him, stop him, he hasn’t paid his

toll! he hasn’t shown his pass!” But the current grew stronger and stronger; the tin soldier could already see daylight before him at the end of the tunnel; but he also heard a roaring sound, fit to strike terror to the bravest heart. Just imagine! Where the tunnel ended the stream rushed straight into the big canal. That would be just as dangerous for him as it would be for us to shoot a great rapid.  He was so near the end now that it was impossible to stop. The boat dashed out; the poor tin soldier held himself as stiff as he could; no one should say of him that he even winced.  The boat swirled round three or four times, and filled with water to the edge; it must sink. The tin soldier stood up to his neck in water, and the boat sank deeper and deeper. The paper became limper and limper, and at last the water went over his head—then he thought of the pretty little dancer, whom he was never to see again, and this refrain rang in his ears:—



“Onward! Onward! Soldier!



For death thou canst not shun.”



 At last the paper gave way entirely and the soldier fell through—but at the same moment he was swallowed by a big fish.Oh! how dark it was inside that fish; it was worse than being in the tunnel, even; and then it was so narrow! But the tin soldier was as dauntless as ever, and lay full length, shouldering his gun. The fish rushed about and made the most frantic movements. At last it became quite quiet, and after a time, a flash like lightning pierced it. The soldier was once more in the broad daylight, and some one called out loudly, “a tin soldier!” The fish had been caught, taken to market, sold, and brought into the kitchen, where the cook cut it open with a large knife. She took the soldier up by the waist, with two fingers, and carried him into the parlor, where every one wanted to see the wonderful man, who had traveled about in the stomach of a fish; but the tin soldier was not at all proud. They set him up on the table, and, wonder of wonders! he found himself in the very same room that he had been in before. He saw the very same children, and the toys were still standing on the table, as well as the beautiful castle with the pretty little dancer. She still stood on one leg, and held the other up in the air. You see she also was unbending. The soldier was so much moved that he was ready to shed tears of tin, but that would not have been fitting. He looked at her, and she looked at him, but they said never a word. At this moment one of the little boys took up the tin soldier, and without rime or reason, threw him into the fire. No doubt the little goblin in the snuffbox was to blame for that. The tin soldier stood there, lighted up by the flame, and in the most horrible heat; but whether it was the heat of the real fire, or the warmth of his feelings, he did not know. He had lost all his gay color; it might have been from his perilous journey, or it might have been from grief, who can tell? He looked at the little maiden, and she looked at him; and he felt that he was melting away, but he still managed to keep himself erect, shouldering his gun bravely.; A door was suddenly opened, the draught caught the little dancer and she fluttered like a sylph, straight into the fire, to the soldier, blazed up and

was gone!; By this time the soldier was reduced to a mere lump, and when the maid took away the ashes next morning she found him, in the shape of a small tin heart. All that was left of the dancer was her spangle, and that was burnt as black as a coal.





Taken, with great thanks and appreciation, from http://www.bartleby.com/195/9.html

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Time and Tide

Saltwater in the breeze,
Sweeps across his face, soft kiss on his temple
None too gentle, all so gentle…

Washes it all away, it does
Leaves a stain, within reach of a memory,
Pushing him into his reverie…

And you can almost see
Almost reach
To touch and feel
Where the sun sets and he wakes up
Greet the day

Bitter tinge of sorrow,
Of leaving the ones who gave life to him,
What does it mean to him?

Trying not to drown inside,
Ship sails across open water, hopes laid bare
He bids farewell

Leave him (let him go)
Time takes him (where he needs to go)
Let him (will he go?)
Time take him

Dreams Die Here Cold

This is not a question anymore,
I cannot change
Don't think I want to anymore,
not in this dream

When nothing hurts and nothing kills,
I cannot change,
Nothing kills this hurt inside me,
consuming into bliss

Stand so fast now
Undying,
Can't falter now,
please show me how...

Don't remember where I am,
Not from where I came,
See through my eyes, dear,
it isn't the same

Drams lie cold now,
You're crying
I don't know how (to go home now)...