Providence

I have Providence
By my side
He never leaves
Nor forsakes
Abides his will
In all my aims
I am victorious
Through every trial

What I mould
What I make
The world may
Try
To bend
And
Break
But try it so
What they think
They shall fall
They shall shrink
I stand tall
Above them all

They will learn
From my ways
For ive observed
The true way
To live my life
Above the gloom
If they scoff
They choose doom
Where they lay
I will walk
Because i do more
Than just talk
I think clean
I think grow
All eyes can’t spell
What I glow
I radiate
Truth and light
For darkness falls
By this might
And after all
Is said and done

I am victorious
Through every trial
Abides his will
In all my aims
He never leaves
Nor forsakes
I have Providence
By my side

– Christopher Dumitru

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Entitled-to-my-title trap

*Note:

No sleep, its late. I had no real intention for writing this. Pure rant. *

I always struggle with finding the right title for my blogs. It feels like “finding” the right title is the wrong way to go about naming these pieces of thought. Although the thought is purely abstract, there is a sense of concreteness that a title establishes.

Let me take you with me a couple years back. In the christian circles I use to associate with at the time, they were obsessed with learning the meaning behind names, of course before I joined them I knew about these name-baring-symbols thing, so I didn’t find it all too exciting, but was shocked by the newness of their discovery. Don’t get me wrong, they were great people. When the names were defined, there seemed to be an air for finding a reason to envy that biblical person rather then celebrate the fact that there was a profound destiny transformation. I learned that people live out their names whilst ignorant of the meaning ascribed to it.

I see my name as a title my parents bestowed upon me; I merely inherited the meaning ascribed by the patron that defined himself. He must have done something in the abstract world to send ripples through the law of cause and effect that somewhere down the line compelled my parents to name me so.

I’m trying to name this thought, this text, this word, this series of neurones firing, this image of shapelessness.

The objective of this writing was to merely detail my struggle to find a suitable title for a blog I intended to write. So, rather than finding a title, I’ll observe what this thought fleshed out:

  1. Names have meaning
  2. Meaning is ascribed
  3. People are nameless until they do something
  4. A profound character is condensed into a name that bears the symbol
  5. This whole thing is just a thought
  6. This thought is not new
  7. People are named after people
  8. Things are named after people

How did writing this down make me feel?

  • I had fun
  • Felt like I just wasted my time
  • I feel like no one will read this, but who cares?
  • I did no research so I feel like this is just pure crap
  • Critiquing every little thing
  • unfulfilled
  • I like writing

I also think I’ve found the title, correction, I believe it found me. There is a few moving parts in this thought, and the thought is a bit wordy, and airy-fairy like, but nonetheless I think it finally came to me. But of course, now many possible names have come to me; white noise, noise, random, thoughtless, junk, the act of writing, the act of creating, the act of thinking, the act of thought, just thoughts, thoughts…

There is a sense of adventure in hearing for the title in the wind of these thoughts. For the most part of my day I’m alone, since I lost my job, and all I have these days are my thoughts.

I engage in conversation only after someone has set the foundation. Normally I’d just talk about what I think about all day (personal development), but it really seems like people get so stuck up their ass that they think I’m judging them indirectly. So, they choose to ignore me or change the topic completely. I digress.

I lost my job, I have my thoughts, and I’m struggling to just merely think of a title for the actual blog I want to write. I do want to write a motivational blog but this seems to be the junk I’m currently spewing.

This just struck a cord! What if subconsciously I’ve been dealing with a title issue? What if subconsciously I’ve been giving myself a lesser role in the Play of my life that I’ve delegated useless tasks to my character and am stuck? What if the current me was trapped in a persona in my work place, along with the attitude of working a mundane job, that is now rising to the surface in the lime light of stressing out because I don’t have a job? What if my stress is more associated to not having a title and less with not having money to pay my bills? Now that I have all the time to be a title-less character and just remain with the only one that seems to not matter: my name.

I, see.

Perhaps the biblical characters were trapped in their name fate but the new name gave them a new set of rules to live by. Perhaps losing my title enabled me to see the title trap. Perhaps letting go of my entitled-to-my-title mentality will let my mind be free to explore, never peak, and simply be. I can climb plateau after plateau. I can acquire titles rather than pin them on. I can creatively craft titles rather than splinter my mind trying to remain true to the virtue of whatever title my mind tries to build off of. I can observe what category my thoughts, actions, and emotions are under, and work to understanding them, which ultimately means, gaining a deeper insight into myself and the world around me.

Now I’m not feeling like this was a total waste of time, I appreciate just spewing, but this seems to have been a constructive spewing. In fact I wanted to write about focusing on goals but this was way more fun, and personally rewarding.

Whats in a title? What is a title? Why am I so caught up with titles? What have I learned while I struggled to create a title?

First. I think that there are responsibilities associated with a title.

Second. I think a title is an honour to have, and one ought to take it with a sense of pride.

Third. I think I need to define myself outside of the titles given to me. I think I learned that I need to let my mind grow outside of titles, to not be formed by the box that title puts around me.

Deep Tissue Scars

These insecurities were formed when I perceived myself with all the hatred my mother showed for my father. I know his issues, but he has been dead for a while now, yet his dead-inside lives on in me through my imagination like a slave bearing the mark of his masters whip, I carry the deep tissue scars.

Every day for three years I talked to myself

(who doesn’t?)

through the wounds of vague memories my inner dialogue intertwined with all that is miserable and personified itself in the perfect vessel, that for many years I’ve heard beaten down my back, as being my “father’s son”.

I don’t know anything about my father except for the stories filled with neglect could tell, and when I failed to please I was whipped by the lash of “…you have your fathers blood”.

Perhaps I abandoned everything; that reminds me of me because I was the rot in the apple of my minds eye. Perhaps my lavish taste for wealth is merely my attempt to be the opposite of the beggar’s way my father lived, but all in all I was living in the shelter of a fantasy.

The songs I sing, the poems I write, the things I numbed my senses with, all to avoid using conventional means of escape. Regardless, deeper I pushed the image of my father, that image that evoked a deep sense of worthlessness into my heart, with every song I sang, every poem I wrote, every other thing I used to erase that feeling of

(now that I can word it clearly)

hatred.

I know what I need to do to lift myself from hatreds curse. I see clearly now it wasn’t my father that strangled my potential, as racism is not innate but taught I was indirectly taught to hate myself. The hate that I have for myself is the same hate my mother had for my father which is now the same hate imposed on me. This hate appeared innate, but it was incepted, as I bore it through the years I poured it lavishly passive aggressively on those around me.

I need to let go of the hurt that they owe me, the consequences of their actions deserve the purest form of vengeance. But in my heart of hearts I know that as I continue holding in the hurt they are due, I lose myself,
in every morning,
my inner dialogue,
cursing every angst when memory stirs,
how I cut my thought off,
and pretend that they do not exist,
that I do not exist,
that my past did not exist,
that I can rewrite my life from here on out,
but,
there it is again,
my memory stirs…
I know what I need to do to lift myself from this curse.

But I bite my lip because it is too hard
I need to forgive
So that I can heal my deep tissue scars

Mind’s Eye Muse

Adulterated bridled breath
Spoke one story of the dead
About their elongated posture,
Fusing thorny thoughts in head.

Bleeding eyes in the Broken,
Mused the sickly lonely souls,
Caught in thoughtwar
In the darkness,
With each drag
They’re getting cold.

Exhaling with veteran labor
Watching the curl of every line,
He rides along each breath
Like one who’s never tasted wine.

The Judge – Verdict pt 2

The Judge addresses the Criminal:

What reason to forgive you
There is nought in me bad,
Ceaseless giving of my issue
But you gone robbed yourself
Dead

For can one stand against me
What soul can withstand time?
Though by ceasing to be useful
You’ve committed a heinous crime.
When you’ve counted what I’ve given,
You’ll see you owe a debt
Of that life you were given,
You’ll be your one deepest regret.

Verdict

Persuaded by the motion
Executed by the Judge,
The Jury is settled, for
The victim they won’t budge.

In the darkness of that moment
The things she went through,
By the voice of the evidence
The criminal is silent too.

Dirty Labour – Poem

Penned these thoughts with dirty labour,
Pins in notes that ‘I don’t care,’
Seamless anger from some beauty
Puncture wounds sent out from hell.
In the darkness holes they filled me,
Holes that filled this empty well,
Then some word spread far from danger
Spoke some truth that I can’t tell.
So I tried my pen to motion
And scribed nothing I could sell
Cause her word contained no letters,
No symbol that I can spell.

By her one breath broke these fetters
Giving strength to help end well.
Now these scars are not unfitting,
I have learned to bear my shame,
And for all those that are hurting,
I know I’m the one to blame.
It is hard now in this moment
Not to grow weary from the hurt
I wish now that I could fix you,
But my words are filled with dirt.

On the backs of those around me
Won’t trust my thoughts in light again,
So by her word that is so precious,
I declare that I have sinned.
So to death I put my old ways
To begin to live again:

In her word that broke these fetters
Penned my will to exude good,
I strive now for absolute beauty
For the world to be understood.

– Christopher Dumitru