This is an account of a suffering psyche.
I plan to restore myself again into being, I have not been myself for some time now. During my stay, I have found the act of writing to be of a soothing therapeutic effect. I intend to indulge a little more in my writing, I intend to indulge myself a little more in my therapy.
I will try to pour all my ailments in a way to regulate them so that I & others can render myself sane unto the most of turbulent of situations.
Continuing to write in this public blog alongside my personal one; may it be of the imaginable benefit.
It started with a craving, to what is good and what is “God”. To meaning in itself. I started there, I can’t remember a moment in my life where I could not search for attachment to meaning; to what is good and what is “God” in itself.
I craved existence, I craved life; having found that Life is not about living at all but about dying to Life.
Perhaps that was my underlying curse? The cause of the pains that lingered long unto the fabrics of my existence?!
That craving?! That everything feels more than what it is. I remember that nostalgically expressed into The Suspended Step of the Stork by Theo Angelopoulos:

I wish you health and happiness but I can’t take part in your voyage. I’m just a visitor. Everything I touch hurts me deeply. And then it doesn’t belong to me. There is always someone to say: “That’s mine!” I don’t have anything that is mine… I arrogantly said one day. Now I’ve learned that nothing… is nothing. That we don’t even have a name. And that each time we need to borrow one. Give me a place to look at. Forget me in the sea. I wish you health and happiness.

From “To meteoro vima tou pelargou (1991) “

Here it is, the ailment and the cure into one scene, ” Everything I touch hurts me deeply….Forget me in the sea.”
Perhaps the cure is a deep forgetfulness, a new life.
A whole new world, where all the pains are forgotten, where all feelings die to an ecstatic awe of an abject surrendering to meaning itself.
Perhaps the solution lies in the forgetfulness of the events.
& the remembrance of their meaning…
Perhaps the solution lies into a state of ceaseless synchronicity.

From “To meteoro vima tou pelargou (1991) ”
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