Not So Silent Night

How I walk alone on this cloudy night

Wandering through a field of plight

The fog has settled on either side

The place where all my demons hide

They follow behind me everywhere

But are afraid to come out in the clear

And to the front darkness looms

Where I am sure that flowers bloom

Strange machines buzz far away

Their vibrations carry on foggy haze

Lightening bolts strike all around

They electrify the neural ground

The signal travels down the roads

It stimulates the resting nodes

I watched it pass below my feet

Onto the horizon and come complete

Then the lightning struck once more

And in the distance thunder roared

Yet still I walked down the nerve

Where impulses shoot around the curve

Synapses spark and flicker and stunt

As I exited the rear lobe for the front

The fog was thin and easy to breath

A warm wind blew and rustled the leaves

Further ahead was a spherical glow

Where light radiated from an oval hole

So I walked up close to inspect it

Through a field of mirrors that reflected

An upside down picture of some sort

That twisted and turned through the port

Of vibrant colors and a beautiful face

Before briefly shifting to a secluded place

They focused back on the eyes then the lips

As nerve endings sparked and moved finger tips

Then the portals slowly went black

As lightening struck from front to back

The neurons buzzed aroused with vigor

When the portals opened to display a stunning figure

They drank in the sight than returned to the eyes

Shut for a second then opened wide

Suddenly all the neurons started to ignite

They lit up at once and slowly grew in light

The eyes below fluttered rapidly

Then they opened glazed over happily

The portals I looked through closed air tight

While the neurons behind me reached maximum light

An electrical field spread throughout the land

Triggered by every connected sensory strand

I felt the earth tremble and shake

It erupted into a massive quake

Slowly the neurons calmed and glimmered

Then the portals opened upon eyes that shimmered

She held the gaze for quite a while

Before rolling onto her side with a smile

The arm was thrown across her back

Then the portals closed and all went black.

I tried to wander out but could not find my way

For the mind I explored had shut down ‘til day

Jason Cholewa, Ph.D.

The Swing

Perhaps it’s only in my mind's creation

That the world has made a few too many rotations

If in one eye the globe looks all too small

It’s because the other eye cannot see at all

And if I could only see the truth

I would not be standing upon the hanging booth

But as the noose is pulled tight in place

And the black bag is used to cover my face

The crowd chants and applause the act

As I calmly await the floor to snap

And the preacher man says his final lines

And tells me in the afterlife I’ll burn fine

Under the mask I loose sense of sight

But in the darkness feel one last fight

The preacher asked if I had any last requests

I muttered in a low voice, there’s not time to rest

 

They cut the rope and there I fell

And I felt my self sucked down towards hell

But a burst of light entered the mask

And I suddenly felt up to the task

For I struggled hard against the chain

And this Austrian voice entered my brain

"You can do it" he did say

So I gnawed at the rope until it did fray

And I kept on chewing until it broke

And the crowd kept chanting, "We want to see him choke"

But I kept on chomping until it snapped

And as I hit the ground I tore off the mask

My face turned red and I fiercely cried

While the chant of crowd slowly died

And I yelled "is this how you want me"

And they replied, "Yes", and the bastards shot me!

Jason Cholewa, Ph.D.

Nothing Happens for a Reason

Lately it seems nearly everyone I talk either leads in or finishes our conversation by saying: “Everything happens for a reason.”  And I was beginning to believe that.  It made sense.  And the circumstances I faced certainly supported that explanation. 

But no more!

I do not believe that, and I never have, nor ever will!  We are not puppets dangling by the strings of fate, controlled by some great god.  The events of our lives are not predetermined by some master mind creator for purposes that we will forever struggle to understand.  

Though we may try, and invent elaborate stories to convince ourselves and rationalize our actions, we humans are not above the laws of nature.  I believe that events occur in our lives and we respond to them.  This is the way of the universe – cause and effect.   And we have two options: we can ignore the natural response; we can overlook the phenomena leading to the event, cry or chalk it up to fate, and continue traveling lost in the maze of questions and suffering.

Or, we can respond and adapt.  We can look back with intro- and extrospection at the metamorphosis that occurred in our minds and our worlds to yield the event, and learn.  We can cleanse our minds of the guilt, anger, and sadness, and with a still mind take heed of the lessons and help ourselves and others.

It is the butterfly effect (thanks Tash!).  The caterpillar must be internally courageous as he enters the coxcomb, for he shall soon die.  But by letting go of his past life he can emerge a new being: a beautiful and free creature.  And then he can set forth on the winds of nature, ever floating with the currents, never against, satisfied of life and fulfilled of heart. 

 Jason Cholewa, Ph.D

Webs: Between Our Ears and Between Our Hearts

Weave a web so bitter sweet

The web's been woven around our feet

A web so tight it holds us down

Like hot air balloons still on the ground

They tell a tale that’s half way sung

A tale like such will always stay young

The tale of a being and what he endures

But in a life of pain nihilism is the cure

They spin a reel, and round and round you go

Forget the spin of the earth, but that's our life in whole

And now you carry the lead civilization holds dear

Chained to your back and manifested in fear

They sew a knot that’s in fact unbreakable

To step back inline and become untraceable

And you sing to yourself and are on your way

And you throw out the stale food on your tray

But a cry for rain is bellowed throughout

This land so barren, this land in drought

A land where enlightenment is sought by few

Where artificial desires are pushed upon you

You flout the instincts that allow you to feel

And you carry their burden in a bag of steel

You believe inside the bag resides your soul?

But you think to open it an impossible goal

So weave your web, not let come undone

Weave a web like everyone

To keep out the pain that gives life character

And masks the eyes of languid America

Now weave a web sweet child so dear

And hope that it is done before she is near

For if she can squeeze through the holes in your web

She shall certainly mistake you for the dead

But, I say pass off their demons and their nets

And use your instincts to unwind the webs

To be shed of the spirits that complicates it

And what ever fears you have child, face it.

Jason Cholewa, Ph.D.

Crisscrossing Paths of Happiness and Melancholy

Who among us still sees the signs detailing distances and destinations?

Who among us still travels down the paved road?

We who yearn for enlightenment are but explorers in this lush rainforest of life.  Who’s to say what trail we should take? Are we not all lost; searching for that fabled city of peace and paradise within the dense jungle of the mind?

Yes, we are all lost; our maps tossed aside as we stepped off the pavement and realized how outdated they’ve become.  The paths have all crossed, zigzagging unseen beneath the rainforest canopy, many leading to disappointment and despair.

How many have taken the wrong path, maybe following someone at a fork or wandering blindly to nowhere?  Or perhaps we’ve traveled knowingly down it; caught up in some novel feeling of love we walked hand-in-hand to a dead end of despondency.  And yet others ignore their instincts; unable to accept themselves they’ve pressed forward on a crash-course to ruin.

Not all of us will make it, in fact most will perish; some faltering but minutes from accomplishment, others falling prey to the beasts of the jungle, while the rest lose hope, give up, and fade away into the dense vegetation.

And where is this elusive path they speak of?  It is true many have crossed it without even knowing, but surely none of us actually followed it.   So should we turn about and seek the comfort of the paved roads?  Our paths constantly fork but who’s right is it to say which to take?  If it is not the beaten-path dug in by the dragging feet of others that leads to our Utopia, then should we perhaps yield to our will and follow a fresh, unblazed trail through the wilderness? 

Yes, that is to be my course of action.  To walk the path of my instincts: a path which, although uncut, flows as care-free as water down the stream bed.  Which leaves but one question: If we are courageous enough to follow our own path through the jungle of life, imagine what sweet fruits we are to taste along the way.

Jason Cholewa, Ph.D., CSCS