The Lighthouse

Perched on a rocky outcrop, cast on the most desolate destinations, stand the lighthouses of this world. An old chunk of coal, whispering through the great ocean winds about times when the world churned with blacker gunk, tossing and turning in a malaise of growing pains. Even in the face of such obvious hazard, men took to the seas. Men do not settle easily. Driven by wild desire, or an inexplicable yearning to part with the soil he had toiled upon, to sail into the dark of night. On those seas, he felt the whip of the wind as it elevated his existence to unknown altitudes and cursed the cosmos as it brought him to depths he had not known.
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Your proprietier – caught in a rare moment of bother.

On the shores of distant lands there lie the bones of men never known. By its nature the pursuit and immersion into the unchartered, much was decreed to the sea. The sea is the great formless expanse and those who ride on her can bring back great wisdom at the expense of great peril. As one generation leaves another more wisdom, so the landmarks of light started rising on the shores of our everlasting homelands. No longer was the ultimate advancement through war, but an economic institution of trade arose to unseat Ares from his bloody throne. The light of the lighthouse was a faraway flash of comfort to the shipwrights, wrought upon the passions of tempestuous Oceana. When your hands are cold, and all the things you have cherished are so far away that they might seem a myth, who can tell how much a flash of light from another can mean?

When all has been said and done, how will we know when we have sparked in the dark night of another. Has the world changed so much that we no longer build lighthouses, but walls? The wars of man pass us by, while we are indulged in your own wars. Our fundamental nature becomes muddled by drama. All the tales of good and mischief crawl around us, just out of sight. We don’t maintain the lighthouses of our shores, rather walls. There is fear at the heart of every empire and fear always encroaches on the walls of the city. Without great kings to rule, the walls change the spirit of fear and foster paranoia within. Physical danger outside, mental danger inside.

If you remain closed you will become a victim of ideologies. You will stand, like a blind man, and rule what you have with one hand and at the same time take away what you have with the other. Ideas are the fusion of creativity. Ideas are the last bastion before creativity manifests into action. It provides promise and creates trouble. In most cases they are what they are, personalised alterations to improve the constitution of your life. A flirtation with something that can be felt, can be seen, but cannot yet be lived. Look around you, find physical things that can bring ideas closer to reality. Other people, find those fuckers, and get them to help you pull ideas into reality.

What is the point of becoming dogmatic? You will become blind towards existence, consumed by self-fulfilling prophecy. Totalitarianism will become your hallowed temple and if you obtain power on the back of those ideas it will rip all you have loved from your hands and still you will not see the reality of the matter. A persistent cloud will be between yourself and reality. A modern favourite is positivity – a dictum so simple it seems infectious. If the sun shines into your eyes you put on sunglasses, but when it doesn’t shine you don’t keep the sunglasses on. You reassess, you don’t keep clinging to a piece of driftwood while it drifts further and further out to sea. Swim, fucker!

Because sometimes life sucks and if it sucks, it means there is a degree of suffering involved. It feels like you are in an isolated capsule that is driven away from all you love by forces beyond your control. It stretches you apart and fills the gaps with things you never wanted. It creates an alluring ideology to become a victim of life, rather than a champion. It knocks down the doors that you put in place to keep the tide of change at bay. Blatant positivity will be a collection of rehearsed words, a poke to the belly of an angry dragon. Positive action is the game changer, a change in approach with an ability to deeply influence the state of our lives. Positive action ain’t action with a smile, it goes beyond petty semantics and rhetoric of the whimsical wordsmiths. It’s a state of motion when the dragon of life has rendered you motionless with fear. The sharp edge of the blade, tip of the spear, the parting of the sea. Liquid and in motion.

I don’t type to reconcile what is between you and the world, I type about what is between myself and the world. I type out snippets of my own psyche so I can go back and read them and see how change has carried me through time. To see how my ideas evolve and carry me towards my vision of what life can reveal. I have used it to attack a philosophy (?) that annoys me, to verbalise some of the annoyance. Why should the words be in the public sphere? I hope that someday they will promote discussion – they are basically an invitation.

I left home close to 4 months ago and the journey has been surreal. Mixed with the ever changing landscape of novelty there has been a supernatural sense of familiarity. These moments are scattered, but seem to be locked into places that I have been pulled towards, or that have pulled me towards them. Old ideas whispered into my ear, at a time I can no longer recall, that seem to have the prevalence of destiny to them. Dover, pictured in this post, was one of my first forages into the wilds of Britain. A weird animalistic instinct to inspect the borders of this new domain. It has not just been the places, but the people as well. I don’t yet have words for them, but I shall go to the ends of the earth for quite a few people that will read this. We are not bound by friendship, we are freed. Yet, we do not escape each other. Develop, so we may change the world.

The cliffs of Dover are the border of my home now.

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