Vocari Dei means "Calling God" in Latin. I took this title from a Pain of Salvation song, and, despite the plagiarism, this simple words carry a powerful meaning to me.
I grew up in a very religious environment, but my parents persistent attempts to show me "God's Grace" has failed. It is not that I don't believe in God or anything, I just can't believe in religion in general. It is very hard for me to see the difference between one's personal convictions and the real will of God. Or in other words, I simply cannot understand why an almighty God would use impure vassals to communicate his Grace.
My parents constantly say "Thanks to God this happened" when something good happens or "It was not God's will" when something bad happens. But in my eyes this is nothing but chance. The same concept applies to prayers. Wonderful things have happened to me both when I have prayed and when I have not, ditto the other way around.
Anyway, my point is: if God, does indeed, exists he is far more apathetic than what people believe. Perhaps God is nothing but the sum of all of our ideals and fears. It is very terrifying to think there is someone or something constantly watching you, and this being will be responsible for your fate in the afterlife. To me, this sounds way too earthly and human fabricated.
I, for one, will keep believing in God. But my conviction in his existence will, by no means, interfere with the way I will make my decisions or live my life in general.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Bright Amaranth Pink
Just as glamorous as Elton John
It’s listening to techno…
When you taste an angel’s dust.
It’s running naked through Rio’s Carnaval
Feeling the rhythm of Samba,
Disregarding all of the malicious gazes.
It’s closing your eyes
To live your oppressed fantasies,
Without the fear of being judged.
It’s the heat that consumes you
When you give your heart and body,
To your true love.
Bright Amaranth Pink is…
A trip to your unconsciousness
And a meeting with your True Self.
It’s listening to techno…
When you taste an angel’s dust.
It’s running naked through Rio’s Carnaval
Feeling the rhythm of Samba,
Disregarding all of the malicious gazes.
It’s closing your eyes
To live your oppressed fantasies,
Without the fear of being judged.
It’s the heat that consumes you
When you give your heart and body,
To your true love.
Bright Amaranth Pink is…
A trip to your unconsciousness
And a meeting with your True Self.
Well I guess I am back...
Apparently blogging is just a summer thing for me. I guess I got bored once again, and couldn't resist the temptation to create another blog. And yes, I was too lazy to repost everything so I just imported some posts from the old blog.
Once again I will promise to try to keep this one alive for as long as possible!
Once again I will promise to try to keep this one alive for as long as possible!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Winter's Wrath
Winter’s Wrath
He holds an old portrait as it was his child. He gazes at the window and sees the blue sky covered by thick grey clouds dimming the sun’s light. He remembers about the times where no matter where he looked to he saw life and vivid colors, and now he dwells in his fading memories. He reflects the day he had everything he could possibly want, and regrets, with bitter anger towards himself, how he only noticed the beauty of his life when he lost his most important belonging.
The cold air breaks into his cabin through the cracks in the wooden walls. He feels the air cutting thought his face as it was a bitter slap. He cries out laud in a desperate attempt to break Winter’s dead silence. The wind blows vigorously, now shaking the nearby trees as if It was trying to ease his pain by somehow communicating with him. He, however, breaks into an unexplainable swift insanity, destroying much of what was left from his possessions.
His madness urges him to uncontrollable impulses. Driven by his despair and lack of self-awareness, he runs outside in his bare body. He runs as fast as his degraded self can. He trips in a tree root near a frozen stream, and decided to stay lied down, patiently waiting for his fate. Suddenly, he remembers about the portrait in his right hand and looks at it for the last time. His eyes become as heavy as lead. He closes his eyes for the very last time, slowly prolonging and enjoying his very last moment and letting the snow embrace his naked body.
He holds an old portrait as it was his child. He gazes at the window and sees the blue sky covered by thick grey clouds dimming the sun’s light. He remembers about the times where no matter where he looked to he saw life and vivid colors, and now he dwells in his fading memories. He reflects the day he had everything he could possibly want, and regrets, with bitter anger towards himself, how he only noticed the beauty of his life when he lost his most important belonging.
The cold air breaks into his cabin through the cracks in the wooden walls. He feels the air cutting thought his face as it was a bitter slap. He cries out laud in a desperate attempt to break Winter’s dead silence. The wind blows vigorously, now shaking the nearby trees as if It was trying to ease his pain by somehow communicating with him. He, however, breaks into an unexplainable swift insanity, destroying much of what was left from his possessions.
His madness urges him to uncontrollable impulses. Driven by his despair and lack of self-awareness, he runs outside in his bare body. He runs as fast as his degraded self can. He trips in a tree root near a frozen stream, and decided to stay lied down, patiently waiting for his fate. Suddenly, he remembers about the portrait in his right hand and looks at it for the last time. His eyes become as heavy as lead. He closes his eyes for the very last time, slowly prolonging and enjoying his very last moment and letting the snow embrace his naked body.
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