what is left unwritten?

dear friends,

Do you hear the drums of war?

War appears inevitable.
'A war for our very souls?' speaks a ghost
and then begs the question: "what is nöesis?"

Corazon, the heart, 'I am here' says we. Here, in the Philippines, I sit with the world and I keenly try to observe closely in all it's madness. There is a child's voice calling for help; the inner child. There is a strong desire, a maddening flame, wounded. An exchange of heart? An exchange of soul?

Here lies on Victoria Padilla's gravestone:
"LOVING MEMORIES NEVER DIE AS YEARS ROLL ON AND DAYS PASS BY"

We are born to be loved and forgotten. We yearn for what we fear. The ego, in its earnestness, attempts to create a legacy for itself for its own instinctual desire, to live on. There is a deep-seated anger that sits within our existence. I grow frustrated trying to express such a flame as it burns me so. Earnestly, I try, to release this eternal flame.

This drive for life, is that what angers me?
This drive for life, is this what loves me?

A family’s tree
Descends down to me.
How fair to see...
How far we go?

... To let a tear fall.
Oh, how should I know?
To listen to a call.
To listen to a cry?

One day, we will die.
Today, I seize life.
The drive, allow to seize me.
Go forth, pull back. Stop!

The drive for life, it cannot stop.
Skip a beat, spill some tea.
There, in strife.
I call on life!

"Love your eyes" for what they see. Love the Soul. Your Soul is your world-view as eyes are the windows to the soul, a noetic thought!

SOUL = WORLDVIEW
Noetic; relating to mental activity or the intellect.
Poetic; having a beautiful or expressive quality.

'Poetry is an all out war for the soul as it pertains to nöesis.'
"Nöesis, must it be that urgent?"
"What is nöesis?"
'full immersion, pure awareness, pure love, noetic thought found in poetic essence, the press and readiness for death, resonance, pure resolve, faith, essence, deus sive natura, kind genuine compassion, wonder, madness for life, sacred blankness, the dialectic of the soul.'

All is fair in love and war.
What of poetry?

your friend(ly)
jakester

‘Binibigyan mo ako ng kalayaan’ dedicated to Kalaayan C, the streets of the Padilla clan. Watch this video for more of my experience in Quezon City.

Aim: how to make sense of noetic essence of self; to hear yourself speak

Immersive Music Choice

What do you leave unwritten?

I imagined an untimely demise; an unexpected death, a promise ring never knelt, the widowed fiancée whom never married. These are thoughts I desire to be left unwritten (yet, here I am rebelling against myself once more, my own desires).

I do not desire this fiction (but a part of me desires to go beyond my own desires). It's madness. I hear the song of Achilles, of his need for glory. He who defied the king of kings. The subversion of self-importance leads me to desire what is undesired on the surface, of what is unwritten; my weakened heel. How do I write between the lines without sounding mad?

I am uncertain in my desire. This much I know. I do wish to remain coherent. I will say it straight: there is a sinister appeal to such an untimely death that would give more weight to my words; a weight to the promise ring, to my life, and to my soul. I do not wish an early death (I must remain appalled by such a thought of self-narcissism). Why would I write such a thought?

It's pure laziness, rather, slothful ease: Acedia. 'It's the easy way to the depths' I say as I fall into my own conviction: 'it must be you to take on the inquiry, this dialogue of the soul.'

Acedia is "the failure to be sufficiently active in the pursuit of the recognized Good" stated John Ciardi of Dante's Divine Comedy.

I let the disgust linger. These are ugly thoughts. I must not grow attached. Yet, I must find the right inquiry to find the source of this ugly truth. 'Is my life after death so important to the world and its people?'

The Sun blinds me above the dark clouds of the Laguna campsite, warming the body who writes. A heavenly interruption, a "synchronicity" some may say! The truth, like an eternal flame, lames me so. I find warmth in these desires and ambitions: 'Why do I have this need 需要 to make something of myself, to have others miss me so? Why do I desire such a void?'

"You desire Love. You desire a void that highlights your worth, your love. You desire a void that gives life to death itself. A memory that lives on."

I notice life. I see death. It is all inevitable. I desire life. I do not desire death. Do I fall into my own self-trickery?

We try to read ourselves, to find an answer. To provide proof the inquiry is worth pursuing. There is this "thrownness" to our born existence; we are thrown into this world from non-existence. 'How some may mourn!' a life worth living?

We did not intend for this, at least seemingly so, on the surface of self. This is what is sensible to us. But must the soul be sensible for us? Dreams are free from sensibility. Perhaps we are more real in our dreams!

'I run amuck in my own tomfoolery!'

The Madness of Roald Dahl and Dante's Divine Comedy appear fully to me in Cebu City. We box in the ring. We find Madness in the ring as we try to escape the box we set ourselves in: this box of self! Are you boxed in by your own madness, your own foolery, your own love, your dreams and desires?

I imagine James and the Giant Peach. 'Love is madness' I laugh and jest towards the truth I imagine. I am camping in Laguna, the great mountains southeast of Manila, five hours away. Why do I write these unwritten thoughts as my dear cousins cook tilapia? Why do I give space and attention to this madness?

"You must tend to these thoughts as if they were a garden," the Sun bleeds out from the clouds once more, blinding me slightly as I write, letting blue ink flow, bloodletting the soul.

I desire love. I desire to be honest and earnest. Do I desire madness?
Much of what is true contradicts itself with truth. Love matters. Love makes us mad. Mutually assured destruction?

I fear I am describing lame truths that are so seemingly apparent, it does not call forth any worth. Obvious oblivion! I fear these are appalling truths that should not be written. Yet, it drains me to leave them in mind, unwritten. Does it help me to write? To make these unconscious thoughts conscious? What good does this awareness serve? Is there such a thing as the Highest Good?

I do not wish for defeat, yet, the inquiry calls on me to surrender, to lame my own wisdom by the flame. To seek blindness, a sacred blankness. The Sun beats down on me, I look to the flowing river of the lush mountains. A flaming river comes to mind. Nature, family, blood, trees, branches; the wind whistles with the water! Between the leaves, the wind waves to me. My shadow waves back under the sunlight as I try to sit and notice the surrounding beauty. How lame: 'how could I not let my spirit aflame!?'

"How absurd!" a wise merchant ridiculed the wandering fool, "the aim is practical wisdom, to seek wisdom itself, not blindness!"
"You know what is good, don't feign ignorance. You know what is right and of the nature of man's desire. Why have you allowed these books and poets lead you to overthought?"

'Blankness is wisdom, blind to evil' hears the divine fool; 'why do you jest at me?' I ask myself because 'I am a-wandering fool!'

Love is Madness. The lucky cat was burned by the fire, by Edward the Conqueror. Edward, a jealous husband?

'Her mind gets in the way of her heart.'
Little Lady Lovelace knew her way.
'Find what speaks!' I say.
"Lust reveals all!" mended the night; the desires of a saint and a sinner, how do they differ? 'Both desire love!'
"But the Heart knows the Truth."
'What is the Truth?'
"The truth is carved in many styles..."
'Like a gradable truth, similar to an adjective like redness?'
"Perhaps you do speak with more truth. Do you follow a scent of truth or do you feel the Presence of Truth?"

The lucky cat walks in the door from the dancing rain. Edward was slain by his Lady, love laced in suffering. Was the Mad Cat alive?

Do I desire to be a martyr like Arthur Boyle, the Knight King?
Do I desire altruism for the sake of the Good?
Do I desire glory and greed, this need for reputation?
(Is there any cause worth dying for?)

How does one escape the merchant's need for practical wisdom?

"We are psychically numb. We never see the night sky. We numb our taste with ice water before a meal. We numb ourselves to sleep each night."

‘We are numbed by the noise. Nöesis is the clearing of the noise, the detachment, the freedom. Nöesis is the opposite of complete numbness of the mind, and perhaps an understanding of the soul. How do we bind together what is unconscious and conscious?’

I find that having a noetic, or rather, a poetic sense, helps you bind two and two, to align with what is, with nature and the cosmos (within the Greek sense of the word). To notice and fully immerse within the beauty and sonder from your innate wonder. A divine taste or reverence?

...

We have lost our senses.

The hero kills the animals, to separate man and nature, on and on and on, in attempts to transcend. Yet, we don't lose our animal natures. Animus and anima? A deep sadness. The loss of beauty. The fall from grace, Icarus. A feeling of lost, a sorrow. Something is missing in our lives. Sin.

What deems a happy society? We live like kings but we are not happy. Our "job" is this ‘pursuit of happiness’ which is not necessarily a chase. Our work is the pursuit of happiness. To be in love with life?

“Innocence is the real root of our difficulty.”
Innocence is bliss, how ignorant!
A fight for narrative and control...

When Pandora's box was opened, all the evil contained within was released except for one: hope.

Hope is separated from us, trapped in Pandora’s box, like a carrot on the stick. We "hope for a better future" in churches and in signaling moral virtue. The evil that keeps you going while maintaining willful ignorance.

Do not gamble with hope.
Do not play hope chess.
Do not feign hope.

Pray and dream, but be wary of hope. Imagination is key.
Hope only gets you so far. Hope for the future; what do you imagine?
Find the Resolve and Faith to break from your ignorance.

It's better to think in future generations rather than thinking of the future, for the generations to come. We fight for future generations, not just the future. The "future" is much too abstract and floaty. A sin, a crime, a mistake has many consequences… onto the seventh generation, the generations to come.

"Onto the seventh generation..."

Poetry, how it shapes the object of our desires?

Anxiety has no object. Fear is essential for recognizing what in the world we need to be afraid of. War should be feared. Greed makes us impatient. We fall into rage to do, to make, to expand, to own, and to possess. We fall into madness because we lack patience and grace.

I am not anxious in going to war. If I must become a war poet, then so be it. Yet, I still hold this fear for war and for what it will lead me to become. I fear my soul will be shattered by the horrors. It's hard for me to imagine trying to dodge a draft or to hold on to hope for a "better future" when the drums are becoming so loud. I intend to learn from the Greeks of all their tragedies. If we are called to war by the winds, I fear that I will not be able to reject such a calling. The currents of my stream would conflict the wind, a turbulent sea! I may not agree but my ego wishes to protect its honor. I wish not to be cowardice yet honor only goes so far for a dead man.

The Ides of March is upon us, Brutus, how brutal!