Big things. This feeling. That big things are about to happen.

Also. Yes. The disappointment. Nothing happened.

But listen. Big things. Are about to happen.

Could be good, could be bad.

But listen. Good things. Are about to happen. It’s more. Than just a feeling.

#Egodemic #Big #Things #Life #Poems #Sustainability #Purpose

It’s clear that correcting the attitudes and relations between us is the one thing that can solve our world crisis. It’s also clear that we can’t do it — don’t want to. It’s less clear exactly how far things have to go before necessity will nevertheless force us to leave our comfort zones and face the truth.

A friend, he said, is someone you feel inside of you, his desires in your desires to the extent that actions and words stop matter, stop being registered even; you merge into a common field of mutual care, interest, a mutual perception even.

It’s not very clear, well, not clear at all actually; it’s all happening in front of my very eyes: my thoughts and actions and the state of the world, it’s all there, but I’m yet to see a way of making good use of it; it all seems blurred. By my desires perhaps.

I’m a thief, a murderer. Trees, oceans, and people are dying everyday because of my bad attitude. Well, it’s not just me, it’s true. And usually I succeed in justifying myself. Which makes me, yes, an even grosser criminal. I’m not kidding. Well, I am — but no, not really. Sorry mum.

Okay, it’s obvious from what’s happening between countries and people, between me and you; our terribly bad relations are obviously highlighting a need of revising our intention: are we destroying the world and ourselves for a reason? Obviously not. But something’s seriously wrong here. In me to start with; but it’s all over the place.

There’s so many ways to view it, the fact that there’s only one way; there’s no way of telling if someone sees it too, no way of telling if the way is true, oh, until you see that they’re all taking it, they go, all except you, and you take it too, and it’s not you.

The borders between countries and between people are artificial. There are no such borders, we just have them to keep ourselves from running wild. Wilder. This strategy is obviously failing. Covid and other deus ex machinas gently highlight to us that it is so. We’re being connected by nature — with or without our voluntary participation.

In a way it’s cruel, the fact that I’m not able to choose where to go in life. I mean, I am who I am; and the choices I make are limited to what I am. Meaning, I cannot choose from anything else but what’s inside myself even if I’d really want to — want to be rid of it, rid of me, to get out. Not until I choose to.

Staffan Carle

Translator, forklift driver, father, student of human integral systems, expat in Japan

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