#11.3.2018

[phototagebuch]

11.3.2018: Reisebüro Raab mit Ophelia

11.3.2025: Refugium

[ofcyrus]

who ;; @maeve-petre when ;; nov 3rd. 11am. where ;; maeve’s home

there were parts of his past he wished wouldn’t come back. pieces of him he thought he had left behind when he said goodbye to verona against his wishes. maeve was one of those people. his last memory of her. the train, his screams, her blurry face through his sobs as the arm of a conductor wrapped around him. forced him into the train. his crying not stopping as he looked at her through the window, tries to beg her to help him. to free him. but even then, he knew there was nothing to be done. cyrus would spend his teen years rotting away with an estranged family who, even there, hardly paid attention to him. 

it was his years alone that drove him to such anger, that fueled his need for revenge, his bloodlust. he was hungry for power and there was nothing that could quench that but seeing his mother rot. sob. beg for forgiveness. 

but even as those thoughts festered in his head, his heart rotting away with idealized notions of power, there was someone in the back of his mind. someone soft, and kind. someone who made cupcakes with salt instead of sugar. whose laugh filled whatever room she was in, who ran the streets of verona with him, holding his hand. showing him what it really meant to feel loved, to love. something his mother could never teach him. 

still, she softened his heart. without even being close to him, without having heard from her in years, she made him try to see the good in people. a skill he was adamantly trying to forget. and when he was back in verona, he knew the only way to truly forget about her light, was not letting himself go to her. not letting himself see her. 

she would stop him. surely she would. 

but after the events of the purge, there was a voice. something in the back of his head telling him he needed to go to her. he needed to check if she was okay. so he swallowed his pride, his plans, everything, and set out in the tattered and broken streets of the city. his feet taking him a familiar path, one he had no need to remember, but still walked it like he had been doing it every day of his life. 

he looked in the window and saw her cooking. as though he had never left. he smiled, and then stopped himself, quickly going to the bakery next door and buying her her favorite flavor, then going back to her front door, taking a deep breath, and knocking. he couldn’t speak when the door swung open. and so instead, he stood, looking at her with wide eyes, cupcake in hand, analyzing every feature that had changed over the years. and every one that looked exactly the same. 

[wienschrift]

WESTBAHNHOF

[wienschrift]

Modellhüte

[strivingforabetterlifenow]

Nano Day #3

Another day of shitty writing. I really don’t like anything I have written and I’m not sure I even like my story anymore.

I don’t know. I’m tempted to start off with a new story, but that means that I would have to catch up with 5,000 words...

Anyway. Here is my progress for today. I just made it to 5,000 words. 

[ignis-et-equi]

I hit a tumble weed on the way home and it scared the ever loving fuck out of me.

[phototagebuch]

365/344: Im Gänsemarsch

[godsnameisjoy]

11 March 2018

40 minutes at bedtime

Ok. There is one thing that has been slipping my attention with regards this blog. It is often that I find my mind in the absurd subconscious almost as soon as begin meditation. I have been forgetting to mention this because a) I write the morning after b) I don’t bother thinking about ‘what just happened’ right after meditation.

Last night I did what is recommended by Paramhansa Yogananda. He has suggested that one should sit and remain with the after effects of meditation. One mustn’t get up and walk away after meditation. It seems to me that other than the Hong Sau, I don’t take any other suggestion from the guru. 😍

Last night I was lucky to have a passing thought : ‘What’s the highlight ?’ The response to that question asked by the conscious regarding the subconscious, was instant. The memory of a meditation is easy to recall closer to the minutes after meditation rather than 11 hours after the session. The response to the question asked, was this : ‘The pauses, of course !’

The breath, last night, hardly had any moving moments. Since I don’t have a gizmo to read the number of breaths I take every minute, I can’t say for certain how long my breathing pauses were. All I know is that there were several breaths for which I waited for, indefinitely. The mind did wander within the deep subconscious, and return to a breath that remained calmly still even after the attention returned to it.

The question to me, is this : ‘should I push the agenda of seeking the silence within the paused breaths or should I not push the will to do anything at all while abandoning vital functions during meditation ?’ Intuitively speaking, the answer is the first option.

Some degree of will to forge towards the unknown, better be used. It is pretty obvious to me that the will cannot be used to the point of strain. Meditation cannot afford to be an adrenaline pumping effort. It cannot afford to be a ‘let the next level of depth come whenever I am lucky’. The effort tonight has to lay within this range of will power. ‘Hope this thought comes as a reminder when I need it the most.

Have a good day.