Sean Alten


[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.14.8″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”RGBA(255,255,255,0)” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.14.8″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.14.8″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.14.8″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”Open Sans||||||||” text_text_color=”#FFFFFF” text_font_size=”21px” background_color=”RGBA(255,255,255,0)” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]


There are these days that kind of blend into a muddled state of apathy. Well, maybe not apathy exactly. Wandering through the day with a conscious effort to stay as far away from what my heart is feeling as possible, while chipping away at obligations seems like a futile endeavour.  It just doesn’t elicit any real emotional connection to any act. And I stare at the same spaces with the chatter of a lifetime in my head while I try to focus on just completing something. I mean is this it? Is this what I am here for? It is tiring. Over and over the same patterns even when I try to dismantle the mechanisms of each one. They persist. It is the lot in life I have. Hard work seems to be getting me no where. Push to become more compassionate. Focus on just being better and treating the universe better. All around is chaos and I cannot quiet my mind enough. The outside world seeps in through the walls and ceilings and rips the silence away with screams and the chatter of unsettled minds. Trying to concentrate is difficult as my mind is always pulled out of it’s comfort and into babbling fragments of ideas. Lost is the original thought that I was trying to convey. It’s there still but I’m trying to kick it back to the front. I can only sigh at, again, the futile efforts to feel comfort or in any sense, a refilling of love. Of some kind of connection that is free from misrepresentation, foolishness, empty hearts and false pretense. The idea of it is not lost, but the depth of it’s empathic well I have not seen, nor felt for some time. A glimpse I had at the surface seemed only to tease me with something I could never have. Something that would, as with the entirety of my existence, leave me like the rest of them. It’s a place I’m always coming back to. There is only me. There is nothing else. My mind. My heart. There is no comfort in long ventures into alone-ness. Into emptiness. A place where it is not apathy but empty. A glass sitting on the table of my life, unused but only temporary by those whose pursuit of the golden ring allows no conscious relation to feelings, instead focused on the finder. The knower. The seeker. My brain keeps going and going and hunts for answers to any question that randomly flies through my thoughts. That time spent seeking the answers, even if unfound or unresolved, become the commodity that people just seem to want. Not me. Not this heart. Just the facts. Used again and again and slowly emptied of trust. Not just in those people, but in this world. This universe. Caught up with nefarious motivations that, over time spent in the void, become easier to notice. The irregular movements. The eyes. The voice. The tone. The cadence of their body and words. Is it paranoia? Or cynicism that guides my understanding. Is it understanding? What am I seeing? Why do I keep on seeing these patterns in people. Do I seek them out? It just seems like this path is being revealed as loops and scratches from the past. I fight to hold onto my footing. I fight to hang onto the ladder. The wind whistles and the ground shakes repeatedly in efforts to knock me down. In the end it’s me who does it. Well, I see it coming somehow. I hate that. I hate that foreshadow of a demon. It hangs there above everything and opens its wings to reveal to me the future. Cloudy and full of instability no matter how I fight. Do I become the reeds in the wind? I have tried that and all there are leads me to the palace of stolen fragments of my heart. I feel they are gone and with each passing day I am closer to the last chapter. The coda. Trapped as I am to helplessly watch, no matter how hard I struggle or commit to efforts. There are deflections everywhere.  Why was I put here for this? What was, or is the purpose of this? The term activator came to my ears some time ago and it seems apt. Is that what I am? Not for me but to push people to become? To provide, no matter how unknowingly I have, the information or ignition to their spark of passion for their own path, desire, or endevour. The common thread is they all have become better versions of who they were before they met me. I was drained of empathy and compassion to boost their ability to distinguish what they didn’t want. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m here to fail so many times, so that those around me can see the things NOT to do. The pitfalls to avoid. They didn’t help me but they will help you to see the truth in your reality and move forward on your path to eternal happiness. Yours. Not mine. I just revealed it to you somehow. But I still sit at the same place in the world. Staring at the walls of failed, desperate and inconsequential lifetimes. They seem so small anyway. I never really accomplished anything. Just a plethora of mistakes and failed attempts. It forever banishes me to the shadows of despair. The palace of lost dreams. I paint the walls with my mistakes. They are memories that will haunt the halls of my life and unsettle any who walk too close, too long. It seems I am only good for short moments of unreciprocated love. I keep trying. There is no try I hear you say. But that’s what there is. I do try. Over and over. And I am still lost, alone and abandoned by the universe that brought me into being this time around. I don’t know what to do anymore and I am getting so tired.