“Waves crash down, unrelenting, unending. We are stone shaped by the force of its abuse; colossal mountain ranges eroded to jagged shorelines; aged cliff tops, decrepit and helpless; earthen cadavers now ripe for mining to the very core of our souls. Or so we would have you think. Magic is willpower. Willpower is magic. Self-knowledge is the key to the perfect control of the will. After destroying the decades of our youth, after being crushed under the pillars of heaven–the bonds we make and the bonds we break ever come crashing down.”
What follows is a selection from The Sacred Lost Tomes of The Ryan, the brief and terrible history of which is glossed over here and here. Attempting to be a poem, this piece was written during my sophomore year at the University of New Mexico, and is perhaps overtly influenced by all of the Nietzsche I was reading at the time, specifically Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Human, All Too Human, and The Will to Power.
though not so
devoid of word
as my head.
as i sit contemplating,
will to power advancing,
life to live regressing,
surge of chemicals in my head
unwinding and wielding me
toward a state of welcome insanity.
there is certain comfort
in my inability to be
as is, to exist with
what will be.
to limit myself,
and accept that this
is all that is.
this is the best mine
can ever see.
there must be something more here for me.
© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
“Do you have courage, O my brothers? Are you brave? Not courage before witnesses but the courage of hermits and eagles, which is no longer watched even by a god.
Cold souls, mules, the blind, and the drunken I do not call brave. Brave is he who knows fear but conquers fear, who sees the abyss, but with pride.
Who sees the abyss but with the eyes of an eagle; who grasps the abyss with the talons of an eagle — that man has courage.”
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I can easily get too caught up in the poorly written melodrama inside my own mind and forget that everyone has an oftentimes silent struggle with which they are dealing. Here’s a rare moment of mostly selfless empathy and encouragement to all of you who feel overwhelmed by or consumed with something vexing. You are a fucking rock star, and you’ve got this bitch! 😀
I got a lash stuck in my eye today. It wedged impossibly between the lowest part of my eyeball, just where it meets the lid. To reach was insurmountable. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.