all copyrights – Ronaye Hudyma

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Some of these entries are from diaries started after high school; or random throughout the years; others are recent. They are not in chronological order, nor brilliant. They are innocent, amusing, naive or profound as I journeyed through existence.
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Nothing seems real and it startles me to remember that I am within time. I am suddenly filled with wonder at being alive and captive within the confines of space, the limitations of the mind’s clock.
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 Never before have I been so involved in life yet simultaneously detached.
The exterior presents a facade of whole commitment,
but in reality to be wholly in it is unwholesome.
Life is a lone journey of understanding where pain is the prize.

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Why this constant searching and rejecting? What gives me the affinities or revulsions?
They aren’t the product of conditioning–this I know.
And yet they emerge from whence? Karma?
I feel the purpose of things as part of a plan, not mere accident. Ours to use or abuse.
Ah, Life! How could it be anything but a classroom?

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Purpose in life necessitates pursuit,
but then are we pursuing purpose?

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So I asked myself……if my music didn’t exist… the words I wrote, the poetry, each memory that popped up so quickly into my field of awareness/consciousness–one by one, then vanished…..if all those things that gave me a sense of “me” that I grasped and held to my breast so dearly–if they didn’t exist any more….who or what would I be?

If these things came then left my field of awareness and the only thing that remained was ….that I was conscious of the awareness that was aware?….. I would be that.
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 So I said to my cat….”You’re not really a cat, you know.
And I’m not really a human. We’re in disguise, incognito.
Just pretending. We are one and the same.”

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I view my lifetime as a stranger would. Amazed of any sense of ME to it. A brief flicker of existence.

When I read my poetry or listen to my music, it is with no recollection–like I have no knowledge of hearing it or reading it before.

There is no “arrival point”, no matter what content you fill your mind with. This moment is it. All there is.

I had a very strange night last night. Consciousness looking at the world and the humans running around on it doing their thing…unconscious of it all.

It was a very impersonal point  from which to view. There was no Ronaye. Then ego came in and I was queasy.

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 I’ve reached a point in my life that frightens me into a thousand people–

all of which are, to a degree, variations of me; but there is always that element of surprise that prompts me to, on occasion, stand in front of a mirror and talk as I gaze intently at the stranger staring back

Somehow I feel as though I’ve entered another form thru some magical transfer. It is not only most confusing, but terribly troublesome.

I no longer understand.
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 Oh, what am I?

But there is no “I”.

There is only “is”

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Sorrow spills into the murmuring spring–

the waters that flow forth from the well of Being.

Let Karma carve the crevice deeper,

fill the pool fuller.

For it is from these depths of blackness

that truth will rise and resound.

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The white light escapes from the Known

and wavers afore mine eyes;

dancing beads of light

that hold the mystery of who and why “I am”;

A lure to knowledge,

a mirage never to be reached

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The pull toward unconsciousness is very strong.

The mind really wants to think. And the Being,

under its spell, considers it entertainment.

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To overcome that impossibility of a mutual

understanding between souls,

reach out for that which is most interior

and ultimate, the purist and most attractive.

Shed exteriority and incoherence which form

the basic pain of human relationships.

Feel the plenitude of our power effortlessly

ordered within our deepest selves.

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 REVELATIONS FROM A DIARY: Age 17 to 21

How do you account for an unprompted emotion

that silently creeps over you with an overbearing dominance—an unquestionable possession.

How do you account for a feeling of indifference,

almost to the point of nothingness; that sweeps over you spasmodically,

leaving a trace of nothingness—not to

be confused with weakness. I don’t know which one is worse.

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Awareness of self—how alone I really am. It’s not at all uncommon

for me to spend days completely isolated with no desire to see or talk with people.

Yet, in a single moment the want for someone to share a precious second, seems the all important achievement.

It will pass, but the longing is anguish.

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Despair, anger, fear, and uncertainty possess me. They cry out to be freed as they surface.

How I try to hold them back, but they are too strong.

How heavy my heart, so full of sadness that it overflows;

the flood of tears drowns all reason.

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My mind is no longer with my body—they are two separate things

Such longings, such strong desires they each have! They constant battle for victory.

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Attachment forms strings

that pull we puppets.
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The further I delve into the essence of being, the farther I slip out of radius from they that only seek the obvious.

The farther I penetrate. the broader my perspective. I cannot be content with the satisfaction of apparent needs; I must look past and through.

Though I climb alone, still must I strive without hesitation, without the delays of my own insecurities. I must not stifle my ascent with needless fears or uncertainties. Each realization is an awakening.

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I have released my spirit to the source that commands it. Obediently I follow its pursuit.

There must be no personal identity to hinder the creative act, for if I am aware of the personality of me, there can’t be the complete emptying to allow the spirit to circulate through the form in full freedom. These words have become an experience not merely an idea or an imagined vision.

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It is the Ego I that one must annihilate, for this alone is the element that obstructs the flow of liberation. No body, no circumstance, no object—it is the Ego I, the false facsimile of justification.

Sincerity must apply to every facet of my existence. I must think, speak, act with truth. It is the choice.

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Do you ever get the feeling that you are getting closer and closer, farther and farther away?

 

No doubt I shall experience unhappiness and turmoil, but only to the extent that I am not aware of their source.

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I am tremendously aware of patterns and progressions in myself and people; planes of awareness–our needs, our not’s, our never’s.

As you gain, so must you lose; as I take, so do I relinquish. Equally, I find as I become more, I become less in other respects.

You broaden, perhaps, spiritually or intelligently, but decline in maintaining a common value socially.

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