Heart Beats Truth
I think I hear it... the beating of my heart I banished long ago.
I feel it, that sheer love, that brute want, that subtle impulse that was meant to guide all animals forward. No longer relying on that which defines the human, but instead on that which defines what occurs in nature, what naturally occurs, I believe I have found what is really right, what is correct, what is true.
I can't make a decision based on my brain because my brain distorts the present in an effort to change the future. It lies to me, woos me into its vision, and attempts to justify things when they finally go wrong. It's brought me unhappiness all these years, false hope that didn't pay in the end.
So I went to find my heart, to pull it from the depths of obscurity. And ignoring my brain that's in turmoil, both from disappointment and overwork, both byproducts of its master plan, I finally began to feel my heart reverberating against the empty chamber it fell prisoner to so many years ago.
And looking back, my heart has always been there for me. Imprisoned, suppressed, it's been speaking to me all this time, past the bars of its chamber, like a mother who leaves gifts by the fence of her estranged child's home, always caring, always there. And I can see the path it has lit for me, the signs it had posted in hope that I would someday realize and follow.
Curiosity comes from the heart, not from the mind, and realizing that now, the decision is clear. What I thought I wanted was all superficial. I never loved any of them. I loved things about them but never them as a whole.
I did love Penn, but that was a dream. Penn had the ideal qualities that I wanted in a college, and blinded I thought it would be right for me. But I was never interested in that in the first place. I never stopped to think what would happen if I was wrong. What if I was wrong about its students, about its opportunities, about the Writers House? I never stopped to ask myself what I would do if all my visions and hopes were shattered. All I cared about were its specific traits, and thinking that these traits would bring me happiness, I neglected to find out if the college as a whole really would.
Like the other colleges, Penn didn't inspire me. Penn didn't strike my curiosity. It didn't make me more inquisitive about itself or myself. I didn't care about what happened to me. And maybe in the end, I didn't care about Penn. Yes, Benjamin Franklin inspired me, but it was he who nurtured and will continue nurturing my mind and the essence of my being. And the Writers House isn't completely exclusive to Penn's students. If that was what I truly wanted from Penn, I don't need to attend Penn to get it.
Instead, the only school I really ever cared about was BU. There was a difference between the time I visited BU and the times I visited all the other schools. I actually cared. I actually cared about what would happen at this school, and I actually cared about what would happen to myself. I was interested, inquisitive about what the BU could offer me and how I could grow as a person. At the time, I was inspired.
I had so many questions. Even now, I still have questions. And when you love a person, do you not want to know everything about him? And I wanted to know. I really wanted to know. I wanted to know if BU was right for me, and do you know why I wanted to know? Because I actually loved BU, and this love was truthful and genuine.
BU is by no means perfect, for everyone, for anyone, and even for me, but it will help me develop as a person; I know. My inquisitiveness proves that a seed was planted within me and has been waiting for sunshine and water to grow. Desperate to escape the darkness that consumes me now, it hasn't stopped reaching for the light. And this acceptance was my sunshine, and the scholarship the water that is urging me to grow.
And I will grow. I know. Past the measly, superficial flower, I'll blossom into the grand tree that revels in all its glory.
I feel it, that sheer love, that brute want, that subtle impulse that was meant to guide all animals forward. No longer relying on that which defines the human, but instead on that which defines what occurs in nature, what naturally occurs, I believe I have found what is really right, what is correct, what is true.
I can't make a decision based on my brain because my brain distorts the present in an effort to change the future. It lies to me, woos me into its vision, and attempts to justify things when they finally go wrong. It's brought me unhappiness all these years, false hope that didn't pay in the end.
So I went to find my heart, to pull it from the depths of obscurity. And ignoring my brain that's in turmoil, both from disappointment and overwork, both byproducts of its master plan, I finally began to feel my heart reverberating against the empty chamber it fell prisoner to so many years ago.
And looking back, my heart has always been there for me. Imprisoned, suppressed, it's been speaking to me all this time, past the bars of its chamber, like a mother who leaves gifts by the fence of her estranged child's home, always caring, always there. And I can see the path it has lit for me, the signs it had posted in hope that I would someday realize and follow.
Curiosity comes from the heart, not from the mind, and realizing that now, the decision is clear. What I thought I wanted was all superficial. I never loved any of them. I loved things about them but never them as a whole.
I did love Penn, but that was a dream. Penn had the ideal qualities that I wanted in a college, and blinded I thought it would be right for me. But I was never interested in that in the first place. I never stopped to think what would happen if I was wrong. What if I was wrong about its students, about its opportunities, about the Writers House? I never stopped to ask myself what I would do if all my visions and hopes were shattered. All I cared about were its specific traits, and thinking that these traits would bring me happiness, I neglected to find out if the college as a whole really would.
Like the other colleges, Penn didn't inspire me. Penn didn't strike my curiosity. It didn't make me more inquisitive about itself or myself. I didn't care about what happened to me. And maybe in the end, I didn't care about Penn. Yes, Benjamin Franklin inspired me, but it was he who nurtured and will continue nurturing my mind and the essence of my being. And the Writers House isn't completely exclusive to Penn's students. If that was what I truly wanted from Penn, I don't need to attend Penn to get it.
Instead, the only school I really ever cared about was BU. There was a difference between the time I visited BU and the times I visited all the other schools. I actually cared. I actually cared about what would happen at this school, and I actually cared about what would happen to myself. I was interested, inquisitive about what the BU could offer me and how I could grow as a person. At the time, I was inspired.
I had so many questions. Even now, I still have questions. And when you love a person, do you not want to know everything about him? And I wanted to know. I really wanted to know. I wanted to know if BU was right for me, and do you know why I wanted to know? Because I actually loved BU, and this love was truthful and genuine.
BU is by no means perfect, for everyone, for anyone, and even for me, but it will help me develop as a person; I know. My inquisitiveness proves that a seed was planted within me and has been waiting for sunshine and water to grow. Desperate to escape the darkness that consumes me now, it hasn't stopped reaching for the light. And this acceptance was my sunshine, and the scholarship the water that is urging me to grow.
And I will grow. I know. Past the measly, superficial flower, I'll blossom into the grand tree that revels in all its glory.
prism:
raindrops (thoughts)
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