Mind and Matter

Everything in the world boils down into two categories: Point of view, or matter. Point of view is a personal stance, idea, belief, or perspective that is formed by thoughts and experiences; whereas, matter is a physical attribute that is tangible.

When it comes down to personal stances, nobody should expect anybody to have the same opinion because nobody is the same. Twins are genetically the closest of any two people and yet, they are not the same, but they are similar. Yet, are humans so different from each other? Age might be a factor towards point of view because age refers to a specific space in time, atmosphere, and lesson. Every child has dreams, and every adult has regrets. Regrets cannot exist without first having dreams. The way a child versus a grandparent thinks is vastly different. Differences also occur between cave people and modern day humans because modern day humans have taken the earlier lessons and applied them towards people of today. We no longer worry about the same issues, like fearing fire. Point of view uses similar ideals for problem solving and rule setting.

The ancient Greeks are known for establishing rules and regulations to live by. It was through them that a code of conduct was established and is used predominantly throughout the world. Even so, this is just one point of view; it’s a belief. Everybody believes in something. Even a total lack of faith is impossible because nobody knows for certain what is after this life. There are many possibilities, and the only certainty is that one day, our physical bodies will stop working.

Food is matter and it sustains our physical bodies. Food keeps our blood pumping, our cartilage attached, and our bones from not breaking. When our bodies die and decompose, this is still matter. We become food for another upon our burial. Our bodies break down into dirt. Worms and bugs eat us, birds eat the worms, and a while ecosystem emerges. If we are cremated, this is just a different belief and we become a whole other form of matter. We become particles in the air through our cremation smoke or by our friends and family spreading our ashes into the air. Air is mass. It’s not always solid although it is trappable in balloons. The air changes color. All forms of matter change. This is why there is fog, or why the sky is not always blue. We might not be able to touch it, but it is definitely there.

Beliefs on the other hand, can be stretched across the globe and it’s like a rock has been shot through a sling shot. The views will change and they will develop; they will get smashed down and condensed. They will be picked apart, dissected, and all of it will simply be boiled down to an opinion, and there are numerous amounts of those. Some opinions or beliefs can become extreme and that is where things become dangerous.

Almost every religion believes that there faith is the correct or right way, but each of these groups contain the base root of a belief. Beliefs can become tangible because the worst wars were fought over the belief. Intolerance makes people decipher their beliefs, but some things are meant to be left alone. By categorizing everything, differences are created where they may not have existed before. For instance, the ocean is blue, but what if it was really red, or pink, or orange? In my mind, I may believe the ocean to be black, does it make my opinion true?  Belief and matter are not the same, although my beliefs can turn into matter: my thoughts created my pen to move just like an actor’s thoughts brought him his lines on cue or a director’s script to life. Thoughts are beliefs that can turn into life and they can become tangible.

People labeled as crazy or insane, are not crazy or insane by their own standards. Their imaginary friends, or even enemies, they socialize with are very real. The images played in their heads are real to them. If there are nightmares, the whole other reality may become inescapable. For instance, sick people can often times make themselves even sicker. Whether or not their thoughts are accurate or there is any truth to their belief, their thoughts can enormously affect them. It’s amazing that an opinion based on theories inside of somebody’s mind can create physical ailments; doctors can take internal photographs of these consequences of thoughts. Humans must use more than just ten percent of their brains, huh?

Every living being has the same core belief: to live as long as possible. However, humans are the only known creature to commit suicide. Disregarding this alternative point of view, I am no different from somebody living in Japan, Russia, or Africa; I am no different from a fly, elephant, or tree because all wish to live as long as possible and will fight to the death if they believe that they will win the fight.

Humans have a slightly different perspective compared with other animals. For instance, dogs cannot see color. Obviously they can see, but just not colors. I believe that they simply see what we cannot because I have seen dogs stop and bark at nothing that I could sense. I also believe that dogs do not care about the same colors of man. Humans seem to be the only ones who are truly colorblind. Our classifications of race, our boxes of age, religion, sexual orientation, and financial status is overwhelmingly unnecessary.

I tell myself not to worry about any of this because I am only a grain of sand. If I meshed with another grain of sand and we coagulated with more and grew larger, we could hypothetically become the wind in a tornado, snow for an avalanche, or reflection of glass. We can shine and change the images beyond us, sometimes effecting massively and irreversibly because once something exists, it is in existence for anything to decipher it or alter it. It can become matter and anybody can judge it by condoning it or condemning it. The reflections of glass can be broken causing shattered fractures of pain, or it can reflect nothing but light, emulsifying and creating something better. Differences can destroy or embrace depending on perspective. Who says that we are all so different when inside we all bleed red?



The Arrest

I was in an argument with somebody. In real life, this is not something to be arrested for, but in my dream, that is exactly what happened. I was then sent to  an all female prison. It was large and my cell was in the back of the prison, farthest away from the entry door. There were a lot of floors in the prison, and mine was not at the top floor, but quite close to it. The cells would be opened and everybody was free to wander the halls. I left everything in my cell and sort of floated through the halls. There were these beams that were supporting the structure that we were meant to stand on, to walk over. There were bedroom doors on the wall side of these beams, and I was jumping from one to another. It was a graceful jump, a jump of knowing that I was not going to fall. I was not going to get hurt. It was not quite flying, but close to it. I was floating. There were showers and my supplies were not where they should have been. I was wandering the concrete halls looking for something colorful, looking for the rest of my things, but I found none of them.


Orange Needles

I was walking down the street and the street turned into the house I am currently living at. There were needles everywhere. They were the thin, bright, orange handled ones that many drug users have. There was a huge pile of them laying on the carpet, and each person who came by, I mentioned the needles. Instead of turning my way or acknowledging my presence, they ignored me and walked right through the pile. As each person walked by, I told them about the pile, but I still got no response. As far as I could tell, nobody was nicked by a needle, but it didn’t stop me from mentioning it.


My Worst Fear

I dreamed that my Mother died in essentially the same way that my Father did: somewhat mysteriously and shrouded in unanswerable questions. In my dream, my Mother died suddenly by a car accident or heart attack, quite possibly both. I head of the news through another party, a secret party, but I didn’t know exactly who it was who told me. When I heard about it, I was devastated and found my most favorite picture of her. I couldn’t keep the picture to myself and I decided to post it on Facebook. I placed her picture, of her looking royally at the camera with a handful of strawberries still attached to the root springing from her fingers. I left the most beautiful tribute to my Mother, but not one of my Facebook friends said anything. Nobody liked or commented it on it at all. It went unacknowledged. I left computer feeling extremely sad that I expressed my pain but nobody else saw the importance of it since I was adopted and shouldn’t mourn the loss of my real mother, the one I look and act exactly like. After leaving the computer, I looked in the mirror and started to apply make-up to my face. I penciled in my eyebrows and shaped them. I applied mascara and eyeliner. I looked beautiful for a face that wasn’t any longer my own, but inside I felt empty because of how much I miss her. To this day, I am worried that she will die and I will not ever truly get the opportunity to get to know her. We speak different languages now and we are a world apart.


Her Secret

She has a lot of secrets. She can’t tell them all, but she sits in her room, laughing quietly to herself about them. She pulls her legs up to her chest and embraced them tightly. She sets her head on her knees and stifles her laughs that are either on the brink of hysteria or excitement. Her hair matted over her paling legs.

She knows how silly it is, her rendezvous, but she cannot help herself. She finds her only escape are in those moments. It’s currently, the only pleasure she keeps within her life. If she had her choice though, she’d choose her own pleasure, another sort of happiness. She used to be an actress. She was well known in the local area and was slowly becoming popular enough to become noticed, except her being noticed was by the wrong hands.

She stops laughing because she thinks she hears him, and she is correct. His feet are pounding on the floor until they stop at the entryway to her room. She listened to them approach, and decided to keep her body in the same position but lay on her side because she was certain he was going to check up on her and she didn’t want him to linger for too long. She listened to the foot steps stop, and slowly sound away, a normal step followed by a slight dragging sound.

She knew why his foot dragged. She caused it and doesn’t regret it. The blood and scar that she imagines forming at the stabbing of the knife into his leg. It was his knife, but he had dropped it. She grabbed it and used it on him. So much blood, she remembers vividly, but it didn’t help her to get away. He still captured her and brought her here; wherever here was, she was still not certain. She devised a plan and started to carve out a tunnel by first pulling out a brick from the wall. She’d removed a little bit of dirt and hide it within her toilet bucket. He didn’t empty it enough, nor did she eat enough for him to need it emptied often. Still though, her room smelled terribly and she kept the bucket on the opposite side of her sleeping area.

She forgot how long it was that she had been here exactly, but she didn’t forget what happened to her whenever he visited. She couldn’t think about this right now. She didn’t want to think about it any more than it happened, and that is why she wanted to escape so badly.

He seemed to be alone, without any accomplices, and after learning his schedule, she started to work at the large brick. It was one of those huge bricks that were used for commercial buildings. She knew that she’d have to squeeze herself through the hole once she dug it all the way out. She figured that she would be a lot smaller by this time because he never quite fed her enough, and her clothes started to tatter and hang from her body. He gave her food sometimes and whatever drink he left behind. Soda, bottles of water, a little bit of whiskey. At first, she didn’t take any of it, but as the days rolled on and her hunger pains became denser, she accepted the food and drinks he left behind. She was worried about him poisoning her. She came to the conclusion that if he wanted to, he would have done so already. No, what he wanted was worse, he wanted her alive to act out his desires.

In her fantasies, she dreamed about the outside world. The world that she was slowly forgetting, and she dreamed about food and warmth. Yes, his body was warm, but not the type of warmth that was pleasant enough for her to want. She missed the sun and her tan. She knew if she stayed here that she would start to feel some sort of sorrow for him. She started to feel this way already and she didn’t want to feel this for him. She wanted to feel nothing, she had to use her acting skills to the best of her ability. She had to allow him the belief that she loved him even though she did not. The reason was because if he believed this, then she could escape more easily and be abused less severely for each mistake that she made.

She was exhausted by now. Her adrenaline spent and her lack of energy from food wore her out, plus the activities he made her complete. She knew that he would be visiting in a little bit. She closed her eyes and waited. As she waited, she had another thought about moving her bed to cover the brick hole. She’d have to remove the brick and placed it into a different area. She thought about this, to hide it under something, but she didn’t have much, just some clothes for when she needed something different to wear and the think blanket he provided. After her redecorating, she could find a way to make him stay with her. Sometimes he did this. When he fell asleep, she could clonk him over the head with the brick and unlatch the door to her freedom. She fell asleep with these thoughts.