I sometimes wonder why we people have such a hard time “showing their through colors”. I can of course dig around in myself to find out, and tell you what my “true” is, but I am not crazy.

Today’s poem is from Day 1336.

They turned off

their light

insight

I can’t see

just

dark eyes

I can’t imagine a person, who would tell everything they consciously know, and think at that moment, to an other person. There is of course no way you can tell, we can’t read minds so we assume that no one shows it all. Even if someone tells you all their darkest secrets, you still don’t know that for sure. We have to assume that we all have something hidden for the other.

Maybe this is the origin of the myth of the “soul-mate”. I would tell myself everything gladly, if I could meet myself, a soul-copy so to speak. There is no other like us, but what if you find a partner that comes close, one you can forge a bond with, a bond that is strong enough for you to let go of all that is cooped up in you. I don’t think relations , every kind of relation, would last long if you let it all go uncensored, even if love is in play…specially when love is in play. I am afraid that we all go to the grave with unspoken words.

It could also just be me, having this particular need. Maybe I have to become Catholic, and take the the judgment that I have sinned for granted.

There are all kind of different people, when you meet them for the first time. Your first impression, and judgment, is the layer you make, for the most part your self, you “pressed” it on them. It is hard to judge someone you just meet without comparing what you see with what you have seen before. It is not something you do consciously, for the most part. Try, the next time, to look at someone new and don’t think: that’s a woman. “She” can turn around, and be a man with long blond hair. It is a simple example that shows that we make a judgment based on prior knowledge, in western societies, long hair is more associated with woman, we learned that. The same goes for other external, and internal signs, we see an outline, or hint of a character trade, and a judgment forms. The real person is hidden behind several layers, some you made, and some that the person you meet, made themselves, to hide behind.

The poem from today is from Day 1333.

I see several layers

when you paint

me

your picture

~

but why did you stop

I always look forwards, to the layers that come, when time passes.

Everybody that looks at my pictures knows that I like objects that are often overlooked. Lately I have been taking a lot of pictures of doors, widows and other things connected to a house.

If you look at the picture above this text you will see an old drain. Maybe it’s because I am a carpenter that I see what they did to mount it, and repair it. Like the little screw that secures the pipe to the squire attachment on the next pipe. I not only see these objects, but also the work that someone has put in it, and the thought processes that might have been going on to find solutions for some challenges and mistakes. It’s the same for the windows and doors, they all have stories to tell and hours of work stored in them.

You can also look at the cracks in the paint. Are they there because the paint is old , or is there some movement in the bricks behind the plaster where the paint is once smeared on. Maybe the ground underneath the house is slowly shifting, or…or…well you get the point. These objects have a lot of stories in them, if you are interested and look at them.

The poem I found for today is one that I have written for Day 1318.

Even a fake flower

will one day

be loved

for its purity

Years ago I bought some fake flowers in a thrift shop as a joke for my girlfriend, who doesn’t like fake flowers. It’s also a private joke between us, because we from Holland are known to be cheap, and I was always complaining about the expansive flowers that came all the way from a warmer place to the North of Norway, where they got sold, while already halfway trough their life. After many years these fake flowers slowly grow (haha) on here. I think because there is a specific story attached to it that has inflated the real value.

People are interesting, some more than others. Objects are interesting to, some more than people than others.

There is something curious with our past. On the one hand, we do have a factual past, where all the things we have ever done are true. The other past we have is the one that we remember, and to be more specific: the one we remember on the exact moment we do the “remembering”. The reason why I specify the memory of your past at a specific time, is because it changes over time when you, for example, get confronted with contradicting facts or because you slowly and physically deteriorate.

The thing with your factual, point to point past, the one that really happened is kind of mysterious. You can imagine that there is such a…thing, but also not. It’s just strange, you know it all happened but there is also no one (thing) that knows it, or has recorded it.

An example can be when you move your hand upwards in front of your eyes. You know it happened, you saw it with your own eyes just a few seconds ago, but there is also no way for you to exactly describe the trajectory your hand made, it’s remembered past. You may get close, but the exact trajectory is lost forever. Where is that exact trajectory? I guess it’s gone forever, just like your past.

So you have a past, your real one is gone forever, but the one that is important, is the one that you remember, and…constructed, probably for the most part unconsciously and/or passive.

The inspiration for today was from Day 1312. The poem touches on what I have written above, but also goes further by pointing out that our past is made more colorful in the act of remembering, and this coloring will be projected into the future when we envision, and tell our plans.

When we erect

with remembrance

colorful scaffolding

~

we can already see

the shape

of what we wish

One of the recurring themes in my writing is the idea that we are “made” by the past in general, and our own past specifically. I don’t think that many people have a problem with that idea, they might have a problem with the amount of autonomy I subscribe to us, while steering our own history, forwards.

It is the whole idea of free will, do we have it, or not. You can think, write and talk about it forever, but in my opinion it is impossible to give a straight answer. For practical reason we assume that we decide the things we do on a daily basis, and most people will agree that the things “we do” in the long term are more guided by what kind of talents we have, our family history, where we are born etc.

I think that giving blame to someone gives us some kind of satisfaction. We all know the stupid, and blameless, stuff we have done in the past. We didn’t drive that car in the ditch on purpose, we were driving to hard OK, but 21 and literally driven by hormones, what can you expect. We all have countless examples of things we did wrong unwillingly, and still you feel guilty if your elbow pushes that glass figurine of the counter, and let it tumble to the floor.

Maybe this is on good grounds: you where not in the room, figure stands on the counter. You are in the room and leave a while later, figurine on the floor. You didn’t do it on purpose, and are not to blame, but the air you fill with your body, that sack of meat, is to blame for just being there.

You can explain all the reasons why someone does what they do, at the end, that entity (fancy word for sack of meat) was, or is in the world. Because it is in the world, things happened. It happened without a predetermined plan and intention, but it happened. Maybe deep down we all know this, this coincidental life. You can not blame yourself, you can only blame the other.

Inspired by Day 1299

There are two roads

coming together

in me

~

my past

and a past

~

my future depends

on how they are

joined

There are a lot of theories why marriage, or a similar relation, is important for raising children, your well being and for the society you live in. I never took the time to delve into this subject, to find out what others have written about it. From what I have gathered from normal conversations and the culture I live in, is that there is a broad spectrum of opinions, and though there are some groups forming in the different “areas” of that spectrum, it is quit evenly spread out. As I said, I have not based this on some kind of research, it’s just what I make of all the opinions I have heard.

In regards to children: In my opinion it is important to have some kind of role model that is around long enough for the child to form some kind of bond. We humans need of course a lot of help the first years of our lives, we would die if there was not someone around to feed us. Some kind of affection seems to be helpful, but the German boys in 1943, who were raised in model families, had no problem taking a job as camp guards in Auschwitz. Getting all the love and attention from both of your parents, is no guarantee for success, and spending your first 16 year in an orphanage is no guaranty for failure. There are so many variables that determine the “outcome” of your upbringing, a happy and healthy family life is just one cog in that complicated machine.

A normal upbringing is…what is a normal person? What is a norm? Is that not all the people, from one end of the spectrum to the other, and then you average that? I guess that only when there are an uneven amount of people on earth, you could point to one person that is standing right in the middle. That’s an impossible job, specially when you take in account the babies that are born every second. I make off course a joke out of it, but you can conclude: there is no average Joe (or Jane) P.S. Just had dinner and like we do these days, I looked at my phone when I was done. I was doubting about my use of the word “average”, according to Wikipedia the word median is better when you want to know what the thing in the middle is.

When I write these interpretations of some of my old poems, I never make a plan, I just start writing and see where it goes. I say no plan, but I know that I want to go in the direction of the poem, or at least, circle around it. Today when I read the poem from Day 1296 ( picture that inspired this poem is telling) I thought about the relations we have with others. Sometimes you have the feeling that you might walk in front, to protect the other for the hailstorm you both are facing, but the light touch on the belt is stronger then your will, it makes you realize that your not alone. I wanted to go here, by starting to talk about relations in regards to children. Forgot why, and I already past 500 words so I leave it here…hanging. P.S.2 It might have something to with the fact that this is the first time that I write before dinner, guess your mind is not the only thing that has to be full.

I might

be stronger than you

but you

tie us together

More contradictions in humans. We all know that if you are born in Japan, Canada, Syria, Estonia or any other country or region, that you have learned your own set of customs and habits when you grew up. You can divide it even more into the villages and cities within these countries, and what class, gender and race you come from. We all recognize these differences when we get confronted with them. Most of us will also understand why there are these differences, and the rest will probably to, if it is explained.

We probably learned why we should not like particular others. This dividing of people we encounter into good, neutral and bad is learned at school, and the house in the neighborhood we lived, while growing up, plunged from the womb into this culture. If life was this simple, we would still live like they did thousands of years ago, when you had to travel for days into the unknown to meet other people and their ways. These days it is much easier to come in to contact with other cultures.

One of the reasons why the scientific and industrial revolutions were at it strongest in Europe is because of the sea voyages around the world. Europe, the middle east and parts of Africa were already “used” to each other through their shared histories. They shared similar origin stories and philosophies, and in those 3 to 4 thousand years they lived with each other without ever questioning their status quo. When the seafaring adventures came back with stories of other, unknown cultures, a fuse was lit that would blow up this truce between the cultures and the scientist was born.

We could no longer believe what our traditions told us was the only way to go. If other, for us unknown, cultures can thrive and have long histories like ours, then we have good reasons to doubt our “answers”

What is the contradiction you might ask after this short history lesson: we learn our way of living from the place we are born. We come in contact with others, and learn the relativity of our viewpoints. This is how we, cultured animals have evolved, because we asked questions we live now in a much better world than 500 years ago. The contradiction is that now, a large part of the people on this planet still believe their own viewpoints, without questioning it. We all benefited from the progress we made, but this progress still rests on the shoulders of a few.

The poem for today is from Day 1287, it speaks for itself I think.

I unearthed

my house

and try

to be

~

human