The playful painting,
Mozart’s violin Concerto
Not had breakfast yet.
Catching differences,
So to feel superior.
What nonsense is this?
It seems that Lucien in Balzac’s Lost Illusions, is a classic authoritarian character. His attitude towards power is abject emotional submission. His is not submission for the sake of appearances, to protect himself like Mme d’Espard, but real emotional submission.
His character is so plain, as to perfectly illustrate the typical Sadomasochistic character with a vengeance. He submits to those in power, and feels pity, contempt, and a desire to humiliate those who do not have it. In the novel of course, power is represented by money, and social status.
This is how he gains the power needed to combat his insecurity. By borrowing power either from money, or from society. His friends in the Brotherhood however, seem to draw their power from an internal reserve, which them impervious to the temptations of power outside. It is to be noted, that during his quest and submission to power, he does not produce any great masterpiece of literature. His excess energy will naturally be diverted to the acquisition of borrowed power.
In fact, his Brotherhood companions had told him to live a life of struggle for ten years completing his masterpiece, not diverting himself into other things. And indeed, how can one do both? Once caught in the circle of quest for power, one’s productivity diminishes more and more. Consequently, a person’s self worth is in need of even more reinforcing, which causes the need for power to be felt even more acutely. This then, is the cycle.
The only solution, is to recognize that fulfillment can only come from inside by our own productivity. Then that is not borrowed power, but real power. The power to create, which is the greatest power of all.
A brief shower falls.
The sky, a sudden expanse.
The warm breeze hits you.
How shall I manage,
Leaving a life thought secure?
I’ll be true to me.
18th September
Higher and higher
Sublime and sweet the voice sings
Lifting and soaring
We torture ourselves;
Mostly it is a habit.
A secure feeling.
19th September
The Ethic exists
At any given moment,
and the moments change.
20th September
Walk the path alone
Each man’s life, his own journey
Unlived life. Huge waste
We must walk our path
It ends the same for us all
Why not be ourselves?
Length’s not life’s measure.
Celebration of life is.
Make and leave behind.
Chase the girl, win her
over. Who is the hunter?
And who is the prey?
21st September
We are not fragile.
Adversity does not kill.
It ripens. Allow it.
A dog’s devotion;
So little asked in return.
Aren’t we unworthy?
22nd September
Shall I serve others?
Who does a pinprick affect?
I feel, so I am.
All is fleeting,
What is there to hold onto?
Faith in my beauty.
26th September
Faith in abundance
Life inside and life outside.
To fuse with ourselves.
28th September
Gushing and alive
Recreating each moment.
I am the fountain.
Soft Afternoon sun.
Stretching time; Life goes on
A squirrel chatters.
The green of grasses
Murmuring waters sparkle.
The shadows of leaves.
29th September
The search for power
It takes us everywhere else.
When ’tis I who wields.
A sunlit morning
Sweeping the Road for the day
A futile effort
Lazy snow white clouds
A gentle breeze cools the brow
Hear the leaves rustle
Chirping birds in Spring
Life springing up everywhere
Dead TV chains us
Early dusk, dog barks
Pink clouds. The children playing
All silence. No thought.
Plants grow in the dark
Hidden from sight and knowledge
Nature needs us not
We are still children
Same motives. New Expressions
The truth sets us free
Lighted homes at night
Fighting Dark Nature outside
Are we not nature?
A spider spun thread
On a warm chair in the sun
Blowing in the wind
A fly sits on me
Searching for what, I don’t know
Does it know of time?
Chill Winds bring the rain
After the hot sun, the noise
Like happy relief
Can’t be inactive
So hard. Rain says “Don’t worry”
I will force you to.
The rain is messy
So we say. How is it then
Nature rejoices?
Thunder in the sky
Cool breeze laden with raindrops
Smell of fresh wet earth
Wet leaves hanging down
Quiet cool dark skies, and the sound
of dripping water
Smell of damp nature.
Mosquito sits on my ear
All still. A leaf moves.
Footsteps come and go.
But without hearing, can we
Sense someone’s presence?
A swing keeps moving
So what if we live and die?
Everything is One
The day is over.
I’m going forever it says.
Have you lived me?
A wet bench with trees.
A place to put up your legs
What more do we want?
A house stands empty
and the garden overgrown
The sparrow chirping.
So are we like rocks?
We care not for the outside
Yet even rocks break.
We think we have strength
Fools are we to assume this.
We hang by a thread.
Restless Festiveness
Cold fog in coming winter,
The smell of crackers.
Bubble of still time
With a cool dry evening breeze
Lazy nature drifts
There is a silence
through the movement, yet maybe
there because of it.
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