POSITIONED TO WONDER
Stylised Photo and Poem Collection
Things are not right, a level anxiety sits in the air, never being questioned
Things are moving space to space, not able to keep at such pace.
The sounds of size surround my ears, forming a sense of unease.
Things feel ancient, inhuman, built by unseen fingers,
planned by loosened minds.
I lay under winding tops and above brittle bottoms,
oblivious to the inner workings of this organic kingdom,
Not knowing a stick from tree, a puddle from a lake.
Wisdom dots the wave length, entwined between things and objects
Around the mind of the forest, around the heart of everything
I once found myself wondering, looking for a reason to go outside,
To adventure from what was compressive, encroaching...
To walk the darkened tree line and moil through thickened unknown.
Things would be better, on track, fulfilling.
But yet with each step I take my stamina wains,
my mind becomes incessant, wondering.
Entangled with the titter tatter of troubled thoughts,
The pointless worries of distant concerns.
Time after time I fall into the same paradigm
Pattern after pattern set, a schedule marked,
and the problem never solved.
Things feel stagnate, cyclical,
never meant to change, never meant to be better.
I fear the worst, fear the encroaching tide of medericarty
Of sitting upon a pile built up by missed opportunities.
I am but a stuttering fool, unable to separate myself from familiarity
To loosen my mind from this brittle mindset, this incessant wondering.
Unable to steady my aim, to become seperate, distinct from my diluted wants,
to walk down emerald path, and moil through the thickened unknown.
Every action, every mistake,
struck with hand of stringent analysis,
Everything seen under the gaze of disappointment.
Preemptively marked with harsh conclusions.
“Nothing ever exists entirely alone;
everything is in relation to everything else”
every action results in another and another and another,
until where you stand lies miles from where you started.
But what happens when the wind stands still,
when the very whisps that guide you become slient,
and what lays beyond become invisible,
when my mind becomes positioned to wonder.
How will I reach the forest's edge,
find tranquility with what I do, with how I live.
How can I, when I am cursed with this pointless wondering,
with no aim, no end point.
Apathy settles the mind, coaxing it to stillness, equilibrium, meteroicortiy. One must embrace the loosened mind if they want to walk the darken treeline.
But it must be marked with purpose, aim, discipline.
If those values are not upheld, then one will sit upon a mound of disappoint,
crafted by the hands which once forged your future.
