Reflections on writing

When I write something, it can not be possible that I might write not of my own experience.  Everything that I put on paper comes from the depth of my heart, my knowledge, and my ability to understand and interpret the surroundings, the life as a whole.  When I write, I write my thoughts, nothing else.  All the information that I absorb from life is filtrated in my mind, my consciousness and subconsciousness, and thus my views are expanded. 

Writing is not an escape.  Some people engage themselves in writing because of their wish to escape the reality.  They fantasize, let flow their imagination into the unexplored worlds, where nobody’s foot has stepped into, but all they find at last is the deserts.  The absolute deserts where they are forced to face the very same problems that they have encountered before they tried to escape from them.  I believe writing has to be used as a tool that helps to know the self much better.  How a person could better know himself?  While writing, the emotions, feelings and thoughts are put on paper.  They become clearer at last, after more or less struggle.  Sometimes it is painful to write the confessions, but we have to do that, for otherwise we would never dare to think of the issues that cause us the pain, shame, sorrow...  We simply do not let our thoughts to humiliate us, and therefore we choose to avoid such thoughts.  While writing, we at least have to finish the sentence, or paragraph, or the page even.  And thus we learn to overcome the discomfort of humiliation. 

Between subjective and objective there is no vital difference.  Everything is illusive and more or less transparent.  All phenomena, including thoughts about the man and his thoughts about himself, are nothing more than a movable, changeable alphabet. 

Sometimes I feel like every stone is alive, like every tree waves me hello not with their branches but with their hands, like every house smiles to me with the shiny eyes of their windows.  When I sit on a dune in the seaside, it seems that this is not the wind that blows, but a gentle lover that plays with my hair, breathes into it, and makes me to plunge into some strange state of mind, similar to nirvana.  I let myself float on the top of my uncontrollable thoughts, like the tiny piece of wood on the salty wave.  I let my thoughts carry me the miles away from the reality...  And everything becomes so relative then.  I am not longer I, but a strange mysterious creature, which possesses the features of a swan, tiger, dolphin, snake, and butterfly at once.  I begin view myself from another perspective, my understanding moves two or more levels up.  And I seize to exist.  That is, every second is born a new Me, who is somewhat similar to the previous one, but yet somehow different.  That difference is never seen at once.  It might be felt, but not very strongly, it is like a smell of watermelon – you smell it, but you are not sure whether it is not your imagination only.