The unidentifiable beauty in being restless.
Months go by without a real moment of rest. Yes, the body recuperates by being fed, having reasonable good nights of sleep, a few kinds of energy building products and painkilling pills. Somehow the mind doesn’t seem to be influenced by the maintenance of the body. The search for some breaking fluid to slow down these restless thoughts isn’t very successful, being busy seems to give some relief, but at the same time seems to feed the seeds of incoherently growing mental ivy.
It’s the mind that blocks the body, the ongoing thoughts of not knowing are paralyzing the fingertips. It’s some kind of mindfulness that overrules the attempts to seek for mindlessness. I see others seeking for a cure, some drowning these thoughts by flooding them with alcohol, some trying to dry them out with unreliable smoke. Temporarily solutions with horrendous anti-social side effects and regrettable outcomes that appear when the elusive dreams are over. Silence could be an option if it wasn’t for the internal voices that require loudness so they fade away in the background.
Concentrating on the things that give you pleasure is a tiring procedure, all sideline thoughts make a focus on a difficult task and are looking over your shoulder to capture a moment of weakness. There’s some kind of an automatic pilot that makes you survive in daily life, that forces you to do the jobs necessary to make ends meet. There are some who seek their solutions by starting a business in Central Portugal by buying a piece of nature, begging online for help to set up a meditation centre or other inspirational haven because building materials just suddenly appear by praying for them. Oh well, of course, there’s a payment by offering a free week or so of therapy when the business is a success, forgetting all about the real world and the value of things outside the spiritual dream. Surrounded by thousands of man, women and families who are trying to survive by working hard, taking any job offered for a ridiculous hourly rate, some think Portugal is the Walhalla in which elusive dreams come true and solutions are blowin' in the wind.
How nice it would be if you could convince yourself it will all be alright. To be sure that the realities of this world just disappear if you believe hard enough or by giving yourself space for your own creativity and harvesting what you need to move forward by dancing, spiritual ceremonies, yoga, meditation and so much more. You could shout out that you are looking for somewhere to call home in nature, preferably close to a wider 'alternative community'. That you are open to different living arrangements like a yurt, caravan, or even some illegal dwelling. You could try to convince that your ways of solving problems, like hosting conscious dance lessons, breathe and medicine journeys, for whatever purpose, are so special that others should provide housing and food to you. That society should take care of you when you get sick beyond your own spiritual and alternative solutions. Of course, you would love to find a place where you can contribute your energy, like in a garden, or while cooking, helping the ones that do work with their children, contribute to building projects, as in “alternative” living nothing is called just a job. In the end, you could be open to contributing financially to living costs for that dream place on earth that others created.
So why do these restless thoughts don’t crawl back into the dark side of my brain? Could it be just plain old reality? Could the message of a hungry feeling, send by the stomach to my brain, refuse to take some mindfulness ceremony as nutritious food? Why won’t the taxman take a nice spiritual candlelight seance as payment? Why should I be a registered farmer if I grow biological food to sell? The automatic pilot takes over, thank, the not existing, God. Tomorrow morning it’s back to usual, an eight hour work day, some payment at the end. No more imaginable rewards, no more fake gratitude, no spiritual blessings and unpaid energy spendings. Right, I guess the reality of daily life turns out to be the breaking fluid that streams thru my veins, let’s hope it soon reaches my restless mind...
It’s the mind that blocks the body, the ongoing thoughts of not knowing are paralyzing the fingertips. It’s some kind of mindfulness that overrules the attempts to seek for mindlessness. I see others seeking for a cure, some drowning these thoughts by flooding them with alcohol, some trying to dry them out with unreliable smoke. Temporarily solutions with horrendous anti-social side effects and regrettable outcomes that appear when the elusive dreams are over. Silence could be an option if it wasn’t for the internal voices that require loudness so they fade away in the background.
Concentrating on the things that give you pleasure is a tiring procedure, all sideline thoughts make a focus on a difficult task and are looking over your shoulder to capture a moment of weakness. There’s some kind of an automatic pilot that makes you survive in daily life, that forces you to do the jobs necessary to make ends meet. There are some who seek their solutions by starting a business in Central Portugal by buying a piece of nature, begging online for help to set up a meditation centre or other inspirational haven because building materials just suddenly appear by praying for them. Oh well, of course, there’s a payment by offering a free week or so of therapy when the business is a success, forgetting all about the real world and the value of things outside the spiritual dream. Surrounded by thousands of man, women and families who are trying to survive by working hard, taking any job offered for a ridiculous hourly rate, some think Portugal is the Walhalla in which elusive dreams come true and solutions are blowin' in the wind.
How nice it would be if you could convince yourself it will all be alright. To be sure that the realities of this world just disappear if you believe hard enough or by giving yourself space for your own creativity and harvesting what you need to move forward by dancing, spiritual ceremonies, yoga, meditation and so much more. You could shout out that you are looking for somewhere to call home in nature, preferably close to a wider 'alternative community'. That you are open to different living arrangements like a yurt, caravan, or even some illegal dwelling. You could try to convince that your ways of solving problems, like hosting conscious dance lessons, breathe and medicine journeys, for whatever purpose, are so special that others should provide housing and food to you. That society should take care of you when you get sick beyond your own spiritual and alternative solutions. Of course, you would love to find a place where you can contribute your energy, like in a garden, or while cooking, helping the ones that do work with their children, contribute to building projects, as in “alternative” living nothing is called just a job. In the end, you could be open to contributing financially to living costs for that dream place on earth that others created.
So why do these restless thoughts don’t crawl back into the dark side of my brain? Could it be just plain old reality? Could the message of a hungry feeling, send by the stomach to my brain, refuse to take some mindfulness ceremony as nutritious food? Why won’t the taxman take a nice spiritual candlelight seance as payment? Why should I be a registered farmer if I grow biological food to sell? The automatic pilot takes over, thank, the not existing, God. Tomorrow morning it’s back to usual, an eight hour work day, some payment at the end. No more imaginable rewards, no more fake gratitude, no spiritual blessings and unpaid energy spendings. Right, I guess the reality of daily life turns out to be the breaking fluid that streams thru my veins, let’s hope it soon reaches my restless mind...
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