Philosophy – “The Connection between Trust and Education” – 5/13/2021

“It is more the human effort to trust, than to love, being what makes us such fragile and imperfect creatures. To trust, and then, to be betrayed on it, forces us to learn from our mistakes, or otherwise repeat them.”

– Modern Romanticism

Same as history repeats itself, mistakes too.

There are those who express what it means to love, though not so much on what it means to trust. It would welcome more of an earthly response for the latter, because it compares better to human nature. To learn, is to do so for what one mistakenly trusted. Trust is a better comparison to the human side, all due to what the “mistake” represents. That, to make one, is to reveal ourselves as imperfect. Then, to learn from it, means that we were never perfect enough to not have made that mistake, in the first place.

It is love that is divorced from emotion, because such is the perfect force. It is then that trust, being what makes a person learn, presents us as contrasted from God who’d be omniscient. If God is omniscient, then He is perfect. It is because perfection will always relate to the needlessness of education. Though, if humans need to learn, then it is all because of our emotions, being what make us imperfect and bound to make mistakes. Through our emotions, we error and are errored, and from our mistakes, we learn.

To believe oneself, or another person, is “perfect the way they are” might mean, in the most literal sense, that they no longer need to be educated.

We are yet loyal to those we trust, for this is the same as to make oneself their protector. Again, this is to make oneself imperfect, and also, vulnerable. As a protector, one volunteers to take perhaps the fall, the blame, or the hit for another person. Though, the protector is not indestructible, all due to their vulnerability. A protector is not perfect, because their greatest weakness would be to believe nothing can conquer them.

As it would be that protector’s greatest weakness, since those they wish to guard are the focus for what should never become conquered. Since it is this, it is never themselves who they are protecting.

Though, to learn, would mean to be more fragile by way of a potential betrayal for that trust. It is then to learn, that from such a mistake in being loyal and trusting to a wrong person or even a source of information, grants the greatest lesson upon them. That, to not repeat the same mistake, brings about the connection between trust and education. If the mistake has been repeated, then nothing has been learned.

It can be safe to admit that one had “mistrusted”, at the point of betrayal, only ever after the traitorous deed had been struck.

Education is at the center of trust, especially upon what is specifically trusted. We’ll believe we should love through unconditional means, though it is instead that human trust with those conditions attached. It is especially after past errors were learned from, that such conditions are placed. It is then that those conditions are there to protect the self from further harm.

It is the case that we can love all people, equally. Though, it is never the case that we should trust everyone, with the same equal measure, without first admitting that we should also be ignorant. As in, ignorant of those we trust, and the same for ourselves.

Love Quote – “Why a Man Protects a Woman” – 4/18/2021

“There is nothing more repulsive, to the man, than the urge to retreat back to himself. What is himself, if outside of the she whom he loves? If he had loved, then he’ll not love himself, ever again. To truth, there is protection of it. There is concealment of it, of her, of the one he loves. To protect, is to keep modest the vulnerable one from the afflictions of danger. For that is where a man knows truth, and thus, never lies to himself. Why else does a woman wish for honesty from a man? It is because if he is ever honest for himself, then he lies to himself and to her.

A man is most himself when he cares not for himself, and always for her. In love, a man would sacrifice what he cannot ever conceive to be a loss.”

– Modern Romanticism

Love Quote – “My Loyalty” – 4/10/2021

“Is there any wonder why I live? Is there any answer to why I love? For her, I will speak the words of bravery. For her, I will become frail. For her, and for no one else like her, I will break myself a thousand more times, so that she lives.”

– Modern Romanticism

Quote – “As Intimacy is Electric Connection” – 1/15/2021

“Love has a connection through electric intimacy, though does not let go for truth to soon be within another person’s hands. This betrayal of trust is no different than data being sold or simply stored at bases, during when information is given for the simple sake of what is inevitably short-term ‘interaction’ or ‘connection’. Unlimited data is limited, in the same sense as when intimacy is only ever a one-night’s stand, while the person who one connected with now runs off with the other’s secrets.”

– Modern Romanticism

Quote – “The Speaking Leader, is the Deceitful Leader” – Pt. 2 – 10/31/2020

“It is only in the aspect of sheer disgust that one politician will reference upon his opponent, ‘That was not the correct thing to say.’ Yet, it was the correct thing to say. Their disgust only ever emanated from believing an ‘incorrect’ form of political notion, was told. It was yet the correct usage of words, for to say anything wrong as a politician, as a leader, would mean to tell truth.”

– Modern Romanticism

Quote – “The Security of a Leader” – 9/9/2020

“A leader cannot simply stride forward into the future and expect his people to be able to follow.

A leader must look over his shoulder so that he can witness and understand the consequences of the path he has chosen.

To ensure that his people are still with him. To ensure that he has not become lost.”

– Path of Exile (Izaro Phrecius)

Personal Post – “A Thing about Ignorance/Prejudice…”

I began this blog with the idea of writing poetry. Then, it expanded into both prose and philosophy. I write through this blog to share a density of emotions and analogies, carried through the words.

As I see the world today, I am left with the conclusion that people are not close, especially when the focus is on what I call “surface details”.

“Surface details” are the divisions of color. “Colors” can be a race, a gender, a religion, etc. All colors should be referenced as a mask, to conceal truth. What truth? The truth that is in the heart. We have to know a person, be close to a person, trust a person, to understand them, and have the knowledge of them. Not to ever manipulate them, though to feel empathy for hurts, and heal those hurts through love.

Why would anyone wish to focus on their color, when they could take off such a mask, to show the truth of the heart?

As a child and adolescent of a white skin color, the majority of my friends were black. I did not care. I played basketball. I mingled with those who were attracted to that sport. It’s interesting to note, that even as I write this, such details feel so alien. Even now, I do not feel good.

To conclude the last paragraph, my best friend is Hispanic, while the love of my life who all 1,000+ poems on this blog are dedicated to, is Bisexual. But, I say, who cares?

Who cares about such surface details, which if a person is so comfortable in discussing, would make them prejudiced?

I hold a way of thinking that conforms with this blog, that any person is very much yearning for someone else to see their heart. They want that person to handle it with care, with compassion, with gentleness. Why would anyone wish for loneliness to counter company?

Why not see the truth of a person? Why not engage with them? If we throw around a slogan that says, “Only you understand yourself,” we are saying that no one else should speak to you. If we can only understand ourselves, and are openly admitting that, we are believing the entire world would be ignorant of us. We are then proud of another’s ignorance to us. That is a direct enforcement of prejudice.

Prejudice is ignorance, as ignorance is always aligned with fear. We are fearful, when prejudiced, because we do not have the courage to face what we do not wish to know.

Quote – “Why Beauty becomes Protected” – 6/15/2020

“We protect beauty as easily as we despise the sting of hurt feelings. We protect our inner selves, shielding ourselves with a mask of toughness. Though, for external protection, in the name of love, we protect because a lover has a need to be heroic. Love is what protects beauty. Love is all that protects beauty. As the mother will protect her child, or as the child will protect the small butterfly from the bully and his foot, love protects the gentlest, the frailest. We protect everything that is beautiful, because love does not want to see it wasted. If a woman is protected by a man, her lover, it is only because he loves her, finds her to be beautiful, and would be devastated were she to die. If a woman names herself to be beautiful, then she should know what beauty entails for all others who believe the same, of her. That, she will be protected, by others who do say the same.”

– Anonymous

Quote – “To Reach for Love” – 5/27/2020

“When we find that Hell holds more comforting flames than Heaven, we would be wrong in only one experience. Allow your heart to be truly captured by the stunning image of beauty. Allow this, and you’ll find those flames of Hell to be a coldness, to freeze your flesh into stillness, without much to forge, without much to reach for, besides the pain that slows your feet from walking. You’ll want next to see the sun, see the sky, see the blue that marvels your gaze. For that comes by as a memory, very different to the eclipse where you do not move.”

– Anonymous

“Chapter Two – Placement” – From “An Unfinished Book” – 5/27/2020

It is somewhat often that a man will find himself to be nestled near to silence, as if his arms were wrapped about the form of a woman. Her comfort is brought into that solace, that silence, because she seemingly has nothing to fear. What of Anton?

He raises himself, to form steps with the carpet beneath his feet. It is worth noting that a smile has etched itself into his features, for but a moment, before departing into the musky air of this bedroom.

That was a smile holding words of its own, one that said, “I am nearing a time to talk. To talk to a one I trust.”

Upon his knees, down to mingle with the curse that is his pain, down to sing his words out from his throat, he hurls himself from silence into a time to speak. Even if to God, the answer-less being, it is a time for Anton to express deep woes and heartache.

Answer-less, though not without impracticality by those answers we are not used to. That is, every emotion that branched from the seed of love, are things without answer. We expect answers from God, though to what end are we able to realize that some things cannot be answered, in the way we want them to?

Anton comprehends, down upon his knees, nothing of God.

To Him, it is a flurry of voices that spew from Anton’s lips, towards a kingdom he’s never seen, though is hopeful does exist.

Anton speaks syllables only deserving trust by something of a being without form. God, without form, would not crave, nor use prayers for knowledge. For is not a human’s craving to know, simply craving? It is, because we can hoard knowledge as easily as we hoard the currency a pauper is starved of. A human may offer bread, the practical means of a pauper’s answer to his or her hunger, though in what shape, to what form, to what design, does God offer bread to the loner without love?

To what Anton says, streaming through from his lips in the emotions of a river, coming from his eyes in the form of a river, leaking from his mind in the memories that travel like rivers, “I am here to loathe what I am.”

They are words expressed, on evidence, from deep grief. They came through as but a whisper, telling some kind of tale that could resonate with a number of people.

Love is all-powerful, though it is fear that is all-consuming.

Why do we speak so much on love, despite knowing little of Anton? Would it be because of the formless being he speaks to, upon his knees, with hands clasped before his eyes, representing love? Love comes in no form, for we do not love the form, though do respect the form. We love the face, the recognition of what we comprehend, and does not confuse us. For would a mother be confused at the sight of her child? It is never the case.

Love wraps itself around the hungry loner’s shoulders, though not to feed their bellies. To imagine the hospice, full of patients ill with disease, what would be their greatest suffering?

Is loneliness not the greatest suffering of all men and women? We want what we want, though sometimes deign ourselves to want what we find impossible to have. Though, to stare in the eyes of the one we say helps us, would it be done without love?

Anton speaks again, “I am guilty of only one thing: that I wasn’t there when she slept.”

Not there when she slept? Still too vague, for then he says, “I was near to beauty when it slept, though when I came closer, she turned to mist. God, to what realm am I supposed to meet something that vanished? My love breathed her last into the air, for her to then welcome herself through the open window, and never once more, speak. Silence is what encompassed me, on that day. Now, silence is all I adopt, all I realize to be something for me, never again to respond to the wind’s call, nor the ocean’s lapping.”

He ends with, “If I can see something that I have missed, then may I be blind too.”

All minds begin with a light, until shadows are cast from that light. All beginnings are formed within a halo, the cupid, like Christ shouted to being the Alpha, though was also directing towards the Omega. Is it that we are speechless to what we may follow to the end, where we are blind while reaching the final moment? Anton realizes his own light is still the current, for he has begun at square one, after his experience in loss.

For he says, “She, the one to give me a light upon my trail, had nothing to do with the ending of my heart on its long road. Yet, I feel guilt, as I feel at fault for my negligence. My negligence, to do with how I did not speak much to her. My guilt is more to do with how I could not speak directly to her dying form, washed as it was in the white of a phantom. For that is what she became, as I know it to be.”

A life, began at a light. A love, ended at the final stop for a road, lacking light. No light at the end of the tunnel, nor at the end of their journey. Anton is merely the one to have waved a farewell to a departed beloved, before beginning a new light, with his mouth wrapped in silence.

Love is the only certainty the imperfect human cherishes, leaving to themselves the fear that decides for them the way to protect what may be lost. We are, when in love, heroic. We are splendid heroes, deserving though only what deemed worth protecting.

Anton, gilded in gold, silver in his tears, and bronze for his flesh, is a man whose heroism escaped him, along with the object to protect.

A beloved, bent low to for an oncoming vow, to keep on protecting, until the death of that love, by the death of one stopped heart. Love leaves all opened gaps to be closed, by the arms of the beloved coming to close them.

What wounds does Anton now suffer, in how no one, besides him, besides perhaps the vision of God, can come to offer aid? No new love is what Anton currently wants. His pain, written over his face in smears, is not to be healed in an instant. For the cracked heart to the full heart, will be eternally dependent on that which is lacking.

He says, “Oh, God. I am a man without much sin, though with many regrets. I regret I would not listen to her, for my ears were not good enough, so much as they were indeed able. My love bleeds for me somewhere out there, within your kingdom, as I am here, bleeding out to her.”

He ends with saying, “I am still too much the one who wallows in his own grief, forever disarranged among the spilled flowers from their vases. That is because I am deeply embedded in seeded memories, that won’t sprout unless I nurture them with my tears. Oh, God. Forgive me for whatever you can, in whatever you in your formless self have grasped of my words.”

He moves, from the praying chair, to a bench that rises from the floor about a foot and a half, and has been placed before a mahogany wall.

It is to be said, now, that Anton Action is a dweller in a city of Germany. Berlin, as it is, as he has remained there his entire feeble existence.

Anton has moved, as we have said, from his realm in prayer, from his speech in prayer, to be rested atop a bench that we have said is apart from a mahogany wall. Though, it is apart from his own bed, where sheets are nestled, and a quilt is atop those sheets in somewhat disarrangement. It could be assumed that this, too, is a semblance of what Anton remembers of a loss. Of a beloved, to whom he desires to be remembered in every direction. While he has lost sight of her, he has not lost the fondness of her remembrance.

Who was this woman? Pray tell, she certainly must have held the utmost importance to Anton, for we can see of his eyes, during this moment, that tears have been draining. Draining, and falling over his cheeks, to his mouth, to his chin, for he has not deigned himself to swipe them away.

Quote – “As Men Weep” – 5/21/2020

“The saying remains that we are not a reflection of a social realm, though it is true instead that society is a reflection of ourselves, of our own hands, as it is in our own making. Why men weep, said to be rare, is not a teaching by society. In fact, it is a result of what men are, known to be strong, though to never express emotions as profoundly as a woman. Is there any problem in a woman expressing her emotions, as often as she does? Are we next going to say that the expression of emotions, no matter how often, is somehow a wrongdoing? Are we to say that humanity is a beast? No. It is to correctly say that a woman brings out the humanity in a man, through what she feels, through what she experiences, through what she understands.

A man will weep, though only in the open to express his brokenness. Without strength, as in, without his strength, without his woman near to him, he is broken. Love is, to a man, something that cannot be fathomed, until fathomed. To a man, love is something he’ll never realize is his utmost importance, until he finally allows himself to experience it.”

– Anonymous

Poem – “A Dying Father on the Back of a Wounded Woman” – Romanticism – 5/18/2020

Who do you grieve for,
When the night has no stars?

When the ice of the silent universe
Encompasses the space in your mouth,
For whom do you scream?

He died
To your satisfaction.
He bled
For your wounds.

He left,
With the wetness of your appetite,
Still remaining to dine.

I once was trapped in the four walls of a womb,
As I am trapped in the four walls of a house.
Blood smears the walls as I can barely breathe,
Let alone see
What a monster you've turned yourself.

Do you love yourself?
You will not forgive yourself
Without the cunning for a million more matters
Used to silence me.

We are brittle beings
Needing protection.
As I am a petal
Offered a thorn.