There happens to be human beings who deal with trials and tribulations with no sort of meditation. Those individuals are not human, aliens are alive and well, and they are among us. If life continues to throw you curveballs, and you continue to use the same form of meditation, you are obsessed.
Being a writer, I am obsessed with self-expression. Personally my self-expression is not what intrigues me, it is other people’s work that make my eyes water and my heart drop. Self-expression is everywhere, rather it is presented in a visual form or a musical form, it is alive.
Likewise obsession is a word that tends to rub individuals the wrong way. Usually obsession is linked to a clingy ex-boyfriend or a Tinder soul mate. These instances of obsession can be horrible but they are nonetheless beautiful in there own sense.
The inability to live without is the inability to live at all. Take away a writer’s pen, take away a pianist piano, or take away a basketball player’s basketball, and tell them to live. You are left with nothing but a body. Although the muscles still move and the heart still pumps, there is no room left for life.
A poem a day doesn’t make one obsessive. Listening to people talk and it rings like poetry is obsession. My little brother once stated, that his love for the grind [football] is his love for the game. When the pain feels good, you’re obsessed. Running suicides is not Sunday evening relaxing, but that’s the difference, he [my little brother] would rather be in the game then watching it.
Obsession is truly beautiful when used in the proper context. Self-expression is my obsession; therefore I am incapable of letting my feelings wonder. Just let it go, turned into just write it down, and just write it down, turned into read it to me, and read it to me, turned into just say it. Although my words my not come out as filtered as you want them to, you have to respect the nature behind my obsession.