Thursday, September 4, 2008


Okay, so what do you think of when you think of individuality? I think about a bunch of things. Obviously, we think of being individuals. But there is a flaw in thinking that. It's not true. Sure, everyone STARTED as an individual, and maybe we are for a couple seconds every day, but in reality, we aren't. I say "in reality" because in non-reality, we REALLY are individuals. When we think, when we daydream, we are individuals. But the way we act....well, it's acting. We become a character in a play, anyone but ourselves. Out of fear, probably. In this modern world, we call people "individual" if they don't act like everyone else. But in truth, they are still acting. Sure, maybe their character is closer to who they were intended to be, but we can never settle for being ourselves. When I'm with people, I know that I'm not being who I am. I know that I'm being someone else. Sure, I try hard to be who I am, but I never hit the target. I could be anyone, ANYONE, but me. Maybe because it's like we're all painted on shoes. WARNING: THIS METAPHORE IS EXCEEDINGLY SAD. Okay, so maybe we are all painted on shoes. Everyone does SOMETHING to make their shoes look different, unique, but everyone copies the person in front of them. So when someone comes along and has a slightly different painted shoe, we either laugh at them because it's not in style, or we just copy them some more. So now you are probably looking for a happy ending....there is none. Because deep down, all those shoes are, are old runners. Old, torn, messed up runners. Worse, they are all the SAME. Sure, they could have been made by a shoemaker. They could of been hand made, rather than factory made. But they are still all the same. Or very similer. You have to get to know them to see that they are unique...but even then it's hard to tell. See, we aren't individuals anymore. No one is. We can try all we want and we never will be individuals. Never. It just doesn't work that way. Sure, we can be different. Sure, we can stand out. No, we can't be ourselves. The paint that we put on our shoes, it doesn't come off. Everyone has paint on their shoes, even if we didn't put it there. We all wear a mask, something keeping us from being ourselves. And that mask sucks out who we are; it replaces us. And once we have lost who we are, we can't find them again. They're gone. Forever. So people who are being "themselves" aren't. They are being a mask that is similer to who they might of been. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe there are people who are still themselves....too bad that in my perspective, these people are an hour old. But here's the up side: When we die, when we go to heaven, we will find ourselves. We will BE ourselves. Because I just can't picture any masks going into heaven, I just can't. It doesn't make sense. Therefore, we will be ourselves. There are a few times when we are ourselves on earth too...for me, it's when I'm listening to music and I can just stay in that happy place; I can stay and just listen. The same thing happens when I'm's's like being nothing in a room full of happy people. The happyness just goes through me in waves and there are no bad feelings; so anger. I kinda feel the same way when I'm writing here. Sometimes I think something that gives me magic-music shivers. Even though there is no music. But you know what? Thoughts are music in it's most basic form. Thoughts are a music that can flow through us, that can turn into a feeling that touches ever part of our body. Then when it goes feel refreshed. You feel happy, clear minded. Sometimes they come a sad understanding. Sometimes it makes me cry to have those little ripples of comprehension flow through me. Knowledge is a powerful thing. You can get all the answers you want and that would be knowledge. Intelligence is's more the questions. Wisdom is the questions within the question. They're all important, in their own way. But to me, none of them are important. I would much rather feel a thought rush through me than have a thought put in my head. Usually I can translate these feelings into words, but sometimes it's tricky. Sometimes they are too special...sometimes they are too beautiful, for my minimal comprehension to touch. For me to begin to ask about. Words only get us so far in life; eventually we have to use the glow in our eyes, the excitment radiating off our skin. Those are the thing that makes the impact, not the words that you say along with it. Now my hands are sore from all this typing. I just had to write this down. Wait a second...I have more to say. When those magic shivers go through me, it's like I'm in the lake on a wavy day. I let them consume me, assuming that sometime they will let me back up for air. Sometimes a bunch come in a ripples. Other times there is one massive one throwing me under and keeping me there. But there are some that sneak up on me. Those are wonderful. But the thing that makes them like the magic shivers is that they are out of my control. I can't force them to come faster or slower. I can't control them, the world around me does. I'm not the one forcing the magic shivers, they happen because of something I heard or saw. I can't force them. I gave up on trying to. That's it, and I guess there is nothing more to say...mostly because my fingers are gonna fall off soon...and I still wanna write in my journal yet tonight. So have a good night...maybe you'll even feel a thought.


Kenzie said...

wow you just jolted a powerful thought, its from when I was helping my sister memorize a poem, the poem touched me. It sent waves of feeling through me. The poem is called acordingly, We Wear the Mask.
Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

Love that poem, its really hit me, helped me, little parts always came to me when I needed then most. I dont know what you will think of it, but it has always helped me.

You also reminded me of why I love the ocean. When Im on our boat as fast as we can go, I can let go, I think its the one time I'm really myself, almost one with the ocean, the wind, myself. Nothing else matters ou there, no one really care.

Last you reminded me of a song that almost always brings tears to my eyes. It's All the Same by Sick Puppies is amazing, the emotion, the meaning all of it, I love it all.

Thats all...

andrea-la said...

I LOVE that poem...I'd never heard it before, but its...wave-making. And I love the ocean too...that's why I went with wave metaphores. When I'm swimming, I hear a song, almost. The rhythem of me swimming along with other beats. It makes a song, but it's so natural that some people don't even notice it. It makes me feel kinda powerful, in a way, and it makes me feel in control yet so so out of control. I like the ocean because when I go snorking (which I haven't done lately 'cus I don't live anywhere close to an ocean) I can see the world around me more clearly. I get a picture of a different world on the same planet. I love the ocean, and just swimming in general. It's amazing.