View from the Mountaintop

For several years I have been maintaining this blogsite. During all those times most of what I have posted here are either rants on how I wish I could be a writer plus my inability to rise to the occasion. If there are some flashes of wisdom or subject worthy to be written, I could only count them by my fingers.

The point I’m driving at is that I still have to write about life, what I know and think about life; what for heaven’s and my spirit’s sake did I learn in this huge jungle of a classroom called real world.

To the intellectually challenged people, those whose philosophy about life begins and ends on how to make their wallets thicker, they whose lives are run by practical reason, I usually say to them – half for the reason on how narrow they think and half for my propensity to play the mystic – that I have sat like a buddha on a mountaintop watching the world below.

What then did I see and learn while I was on the mountaintop?

I would want to start with our use of word, this basic and necessary communication tool to interact with the people around us. Yet, on the second thought, what I want to relay with the readers is all written in the book of Don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements.

If one would read this book, everything that I learned on how we use our words is summed up here. It also summarizes in a general way the life that I have long been observing in homes, communities and work places.

It seems everybody is casting poison spells through words to their love ones, neighbours and co-workers. Most of the times he does it without knowing that he is doing it. An angry person can just flares up and say the most insidious words against anyone around him. For us this behaviour is normal.

And what would be more normal than the act of back-biting against anyone. I have long observed that if one could not get on the person that has slighted him or someone he envies, he would recourse his anger to get even by attacking the person through words he spreads around their community or work places.

This back-biting tells more of the person doing it. First it betrays his feeling of inferiority, envy and anger. But by trying to back-bite someone, he gets the illusion that he is impeccable and way above the person he is attacking. He feels superior.

This kind of behaviour is long considered normal in our world, or the real world as some would say. And I would not want to wash my hands and tell that I have sometime, one way or another, have used my words through this kind of behaviour.

Anyway, unfair and unhealthy as it is, I would say this usually is what is happening around us.

Short Kerouac Yakking

I really have nothing to say or write as I decided that I would go to the nearest net cafe at our place. Yet, there is just something in me that keeps on saying, whispering, prodding me on that I should write something, anything: just write.

I need to pound on the keyboar and feel again that ryhthmn made by the sound of it.

Drat! I have to write something, I keep on telling myself.

What is there really to write about? I used to pluck subject after subject out of the thin air and could make out at least 500 words about it. But now there is nothing. Nothing really.

What I am doing now is taking the easy way out, trodding a familiar path used and mastered: writing a morning journal (even if it is already noon and lunch time) or probably what should I call pure Kerouac yakking, talkfest in front of the computer; me and the computer (or the probable readers of this entry) alone. One on one.

I'm writing this with The Game featuring 50 Cents rapping Hate it or Love it in the background and the sound of the these little tods playing computer games.

Sonofabitch! There's really nothing to write about. My head is like a tabula rasa with nothing in it but blank whiteness. Nada. Nada. Nada.

There is nothing happening in my mind of what to write about.

What is keeping me from stopping pounding the keyboard is the pure intention to make this blog entry as long as it will take. I have to keep on pounding the keyboard, really pound the keyboard as fast as I could even without saying anything. Just yak.

And yak I stop now.

I Wish

Nowadays when I cannot write nor read, when doing this basics is difficult as if chipping a great boulder along my path toward my personal legend (owws, using that term learned and heard from somebody special) I wish that one day I will suddenly wake up with true knowledge on how to write and a subject for a novel.

I wish, as if waking from a deep slumber and unproductivity that I can really write, write as if I really know the craft. I wish that like magic everything that I have dreamt of throughout these years will come to reality. I will know the proper and correct grammar in my text or rather the kind of loosening of one’s writing tongue that I can just yak/pound on my computer and write as if there’s no tomorrow trying to finish a good, well-planned writing project.

This times is tough. All I can do is what Jack Kerouac says about writing: stick with it with the energy of a benny addict.

And I’m sticking with it with all my spiritual energy, hoping and praying to the gods that one day that I would wake up with everything I need to write will be there.

Tough wish, eh. Yes, indeed.

But as the Rolling Stones says: time is on my side.

Good well power words, something that you cannot get in the streets.