...to put it rather eloquently.
The truth should be obvious.
Not only to us, but to others. But is it really ever that clear?
I don't know. Well, I do know, for myself at the very least.
I know that my truth isn't always clear. But maybe that's not its fault. Maybe it's totally mine.
Maybe it's not very clear to me because I'm so damn human.
Maybe it's not very clear to me because I have this arsenal of blockades that I put up.
Blockades like a fear of confrontation (why?), like a lack of confidence (why?), like an anxiety that other people might disagree with me (so?) or stop liking me (really?).
Maybe it's not very clear to me because I latch onto things. To be fair to myself, however, I believe it's normal and healthy to, you know, care about things.
Things and people.
So when I say the truth should be obvious, is that not the truth?
And when I say the truth should be obvious, then I ask, "Is that not the truth?"
I, myself, would say, "Well... yes, I suppose I agree with you. But really I don't think it's as simple as all that."
And maybe that's true.
But you know what else is true?
A lot of things.
I think it's entirely true that sometimes I get really fed up with this boundary thing, in all contexts. I don't like that when I'm interested by the girl sitting across from me on the bus that I can't just ask her what her name is and if she wants to hang out sometime. It's not a crush thing, either, but in that situation people tend to make assumptions. Is that the truth?
I also think it may be true that I yearn to walk through all that unmarked snow and leave my footprints behind. I also think that two sets of tracks looks better than one. It's all about symmetry and it's not an emotional thing in the least.
That last sentence wasn't the truth.
So you see, even though I am aware of my truths, why can't they manifest? Why can't I speak them? Why can't I truly have a free heart, the way the characters in the books I read do?
I think the truth to that is that maybe I'm scared. Why?
It all circles back to fear - which is the root of the things I listed above, and many more.
So tonight, I pray for release from that. It's like I have a set of rainbow-coloured wings that are actually made from millions of multi-coloured diamond fragments and I'm trying to fly away from the pull of gravity but there's a sandbag tied to my right ankle. Cut that cord, please.
I just want to dance in the forest.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Have You Ever?
Have you ever looked at the blushing cheeks of a toddler and pictured her on her wedding day?
Have you ever felt a cat sigh, when it's over-sized ribcage inflated and then pours out of it's feline lungs?
Have you ever been so bursting to tell someone you miss them that you almost, but not quite, forget that you're figuratively in the corner wearing a dunce cap?
Have you ever discovered a kindred spirit in someone 21 years older than you?
Have you ever felt victimized by other victims?
Have you ever wished you were so weightless that you could float up to the ceiling and just bob like a balloon, because balloons don't often give a shit about stress or love or doubt?
Have you ever felt a cat sigh, when it's over-sized ribcage inflated and then pours out of it's feline lungs?
Have you ever been so bursting to tell someone you miss them that you almost, but not quite, forget that you're figuratively in the corner wearing a dunce cap?
Have you ever discovered a kindred spirit in someone 21 years older than you?
Have you ever felt victimized by other victims?
Have you ever wished you were so weightless that you could float up to the ceiling and just bob like a balloon, because balloons don't often give a shit about stress or love or doubt?
...me neither.
/justkidding
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Quoted
"Should you let something pull you away from the path to your dream?
...But what if it is your dream?"
Monday, February 7, 2011
Post-It Notes?!
That's honestly what it took to launch me into a new season?
POST-IT NOTES?!
Perhaps I should have known.
Let me explain...
This morning, I woke up.
It was pretty rad.
The second day of my Special Week, as I have come to call it, and I'm feelin' comparatively good. As good as one can feel whWELL ANYWAYS, I sat and drank tea with my mother. Last night I had confided in her about my life troubles, so this relaxed conversation in the living room was one of vision, anticipation. I had begun talking about applying for jobs, and how I feel as though I may be struck by guilt if I don't go out today and start handing out my resumes. We sipped, we chatted, and my mother came to the conclusion that, "Look. You're not feeling well, and you're room's a disaster." And I was like, " : Your point being?"
And she said, "Let's just say that this week, you clean, you rest, you get better, and then next week you get out there." And I was like "Deal." But, still, internally unsatisfied.
Then, out of nowhere, my mother offers me a proposal: I take on the cleanliness of the house, and she will
A) Give me $100/mo. that I'm not allowed to touch [For my travel funds]
B) Take me shopping at Value Village to rejuvenate my wardrobe
and,
C) Give me $15/week for spending money.
So we mentally ran through what needs to be done, and I must say, this vision is stoking my motivation and coming together nicely. So, hopefully, in two months, my house will be clean, I'll be $240 into saving for travels, the inside and outside of the house will be spotless and well-maintained, and I will be an accomplished little Molly Maid.
Also, I might get a skinny hipster bike to take grocery shopping and to the gym.
So I'll be ripped.
POST-IT NOTES?!
Perhaps I should have known.
Let me explain...
This morning, I woke up.
It was pretty rad.
The second day of my Special Week, as I have come to call it, and I'm feelin' comparatively good. As good as one can feel whWELL ANYWAYS, I sat and drank tea with my mother. Last night I had confided in her about my life troubles, so this relaxed conversation in the living room was one of vision, anticipation. I had begun talking about applying for jobs, and how I feel as though I may be struck by guilt if I don't go out today and start handing out my resumes. We sipped, we chatted, and my mother came to the conclusion that, "Look. You're not feeling well, and you're room's a disaster." And I was like, " : Your point being?"
And she said, "Let's just say that this week, you clean, you rest, you get better, and then next week you get out there." And I was like "Deal." But, still, internally unsatisfied.
Then, out of nowhere, my mother offers me a proposal: I take on the cleanliness of the house, and she will
A) Give me $100/mo. that I'm not allowed to touch [For my travel funds]
B) Take me shopping at Value Village to rejuvenate my wardrobe
and,
C) Give me $15/week for spending money.
So we mentally ran through what needs to be done, and I must say, this vision is stoking my motivation and coming together nicely. So, hopefully, in two months, my house will be clean, I'll be $240 into saving for travels, the inside and outside of the house will be spotless and well-maintained, and I will be an accomplished little Molly Maid.
Also, I might get a skinny hipster bike to take grocery shopping and to the gym.
So I'll be ripped.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Why Am I Not Asleep
It's hard to tell, sometimes, what the emotions are. Eventually I just feel so frustrated with all of the beautiful things I've collected that I just want to shed it like a snakeskin. Illogical, I know, but that's me.
I just finished reading a book that genuinely frustrated me. At the start I was all, "Wow. The writing is a little Gossip Girl for my taste, but alright. Plot seems interesting enough." And, chapter by chapter, the main character of the book transformed from the girl I used to be (but worse, and stupider) into the girl I strive to become (except she dies so not that part just yet). Sure, perhaps the author used the same simile twice on the same page for two different things, and maybe she described beautiful things with the same word too often to fully encompass the multi-faceted beauty of truly beautiful things. Those are my futile criticisms of an already-published book. But phrases began to appear from dreams and idle wonderings that I've had about the universe, and the nature of the connection between people.
I've always had this vague but lovely image of tiny silver threads connecting all of us, representing our intricate and incomprehensible fates. This is referenced in the book, along with a ton of other things my mother talks about and I have to jog to understand.
Even near the end, when the romance was getting a little cheesy (because it reminded me of some of the stuff I used to write when I was younger, maybe) it still made me cry. I feel connected to the characters. I feel like I was one of them, come to think of it.
Anyways, it's 4:30 in the morning now. Happy days to you.
I just finished reading a book that genuinely frustrated me. At the start I was all, "Wow. The writing is a little Gossip Girl for my taste, but alright. Plot seems interesting enough." And, chapter by chapter, the main character of the book transformed from the girl I used to be (but worse, and stupider) into the girl I strive to become (except she dies so not that part just yet). Sure, perhaps the author used the same simile twice on the same page for two different things, and maybe she described beautiful things with the same word too often to fully encompass the multi-faceted beauty of truly beautiful things. Those are my futile criticisms of an already-published book. But phrases began to appear from dreams and idle wonderings that I've had about the universe, and the nature of the connection between people.
I've always had this vague but lovely image of tiny silver threads connecting all of us, representing our intricate and incomprehensible fates. This is referenced in the book, along with a ton of other things my mother talks about and I have to jog to understand.
Even near the end, when the romance was getting a little cheesy (because it reminded me of some of the stuff I used to write when I was younger, maybe) it still made me cry. I feel connected to the characters. I feel like I was one of them, come to think of it.
Anyways, it's 4:30 in the morning now. Happy days to you.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Like a Leaf on the Wind
This entire week has been stagnant in process, if that makes any paradoxical sense it all... Which it does and does not at the same time.
*Brain explosion*
Ups and downs, rollercoaster, instability. There are your plain, English words and phrases.
Now I've got 59 minutes left in my Friday night. So, what to do? Part of me wants to fall into the easy pattern of habit. Part of me wants to put on my mothers clothes and dance to ABBA.
What's the point of either? Maybe I'll do something inbetween, like put on some Death Cab, and sing and cry and clean and boogy. That sounds about right, I suppose. Plus, I have a novel to finish. I'm about halfway through, and even though I scoff at some chapters (which I shouldn't, because judgement is something I'm trying to expel from my being), I'm rather enthralled by it. It's a bit dark for an evening read, but I don't feel fearful. And I don't feel the need to feel fearful.
Tongue twister?
I want to express thanks for all of the love in my life. Everything in my life is rooted in and branches from it - even the sadness and fear I am so frequently visited by; if I wasn't so strongly in love with every little bit of my life, why would I feel sadness or fear in losing it? I especially want to express my gratitude for my cat, Cleo, who has been trailing me as of late. She sits like a gargoyle on my desk when I'm on Facebook, and sleeps in a ball on the nest of clothes on my bedroom floor at night (Or, when I sleep, which is just as much in the daytime. I'm probably turning into a cat myself). She can likely sense better than anyone the internal processes I'm going through, and seems to smell the tears before they fall. I genuinely believe she is my own, personal, spotted guardian angel. I love her dearly.
Also, I miss my mom. I love her, too, and would be lost without her. I feel as if this is maybe something that could be inappropriate to share with the internet. I'm not sure why I feel this way, since I certainly don't have an issue with censoring... I don't think people read this unless I refer them, anyways. Perhaps I feel as if it's something I want to horde inside of myself for fear of letting it leak out and becoming less. If that's why I'm exhibiting caution, then how foolish must I be? No amount of sharing my love for my mum -or ANYTHING, for that matter - could tire me out to the point where I'll say to myself, "I've said it enough. I don't care anymore."
So, I love my mom.
I love my cat, I love my brother, I love my dad. I love my adopted and biological families, only one of which I have known until this recent year. I love the world, and the journeys I'm about to embark on throughout it. I love these opportunities, and the fear I feel at leaving this part of my life behind (if only for a short while)(and not for a while). I love my friends and the people to which the label 'friend' doesn't quite adhere for reasons that will remain untyped. I love God.
I love you.
*Brain explosion*
Ups and downs, rollercoaster, instability. There are your plain, English words and phrases.
Now I've got 59 minutes left in my Friday night. So, what to do? Part of me wants to fall into the easy pattern of habit. Part of me wants to put on my mothers clothes and dance to ABBA.
What's the point of either? Maybe I'll do something inbetween, like put on some Death Cab, and sing and cry and clean and boogy. That sounds about right, I suppose. Plus, I have a novel to finish. I'm about halfway through, and even though I scoff at some chapters (which I shouldn't, because judgement is something I'm trying to expel from my being), I'm rather enthralled by it. It's a bit dark for an evening read, but I don't feel fearful. And I don't feel the need to feel fearful.
Tongue twister?
I want to express thanks for all of the love in my life. Everything in my life is rooted in and branches from it - even the sadness and fear I am so frequently visited by; if I wasn't so strongly in love with every little bit of my life, why would I feel sadness or fear in losing it? I especially want to express my gratitude for my cat, Cleo, who has been trailing me as of late. She sits like a gargoyle on my desk when I'm on Facebook, and sleeps in a ball on the nest of clothes on my bedroom floor at night (Or, when I sleep, which is just as much in the daytime. I'm probably turning into a cat myself). She can likely sense better than anyone the internal processes I'm going through, and seems to smell the tears before they fall. I genuinely believe she is my own, personal, spotted guardian angel. I love her dearly.
Also, I miss my mom. I love her, too, and would be lost without her. I feel as if this is maybe something that could be inappropriate to share with the internet. I'm not sure why I feel this way, since I certainly don't have an issue with censoring... I don't think people read this unless I refer them, anyways. Perhaps I feel as if it's something I want to horde inside of myself for fear of letting it leak out and becoming less. If that's why I'm exhibiting caution, then how foolish must I be? No amount of sharing my love for my mum -or ANYTHING, for that matter - could tire me out to the point where I'll say to myself, "I've said it enough. I don't care anymore."
So, I love my mom.
I love my cat, I love my brother, I love my dad. I love my adopted and biological families, only one of which I have known until this recent year. I love the world, and the journeys I'm about to embark on throughout it. I love these opportunities, and the fear I feel at leaving this part of my life behind (if only for a short while)(and not for a while). I love my friends and the people to which the label 'friend' doesn't quite adhere for reasons that will remain untyped. I love God.
I love you.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Acoustic
I wonder if they'll ever find me under these beautiful little notes... These euphemisms with which I mask my apparent brutality.
If you find me though, and if you remove these little shreds of lines paper, piece by piece, you may begin to understand me. And you may begin to understand that I am nothing ugly at all. Nor are you, nor are you parents, nor are the people you think of and ostracize in fear.
I am beautiful, but I am hidden. Paper and glue and misled newsprint are over our faces and eyes, prohibiting us from seeing and being seen. It's quite a shame, but I can only smile and shake my head.
There's a feeling like a thorn in my chest because I miss someone. It is an irrational thorn, and I've done almost everything in my power to remove it, yet it remains. I can wait for the fates to pluck it from my flesh and I have no doubt that will happen sooner than I hope. It's simply a void because something dear was taken from me, or so it would seem. Why is it not more important that I momentarily possessed that wondrous thing in the first place? Must I greed for more time? In this melancholic state of being, I neglect the prospect of future happiness, and, moreover, I neglect the prospect of hope.
Acceptance of change is a thing I have both taken pride in exhibiting and wished for. I guess I am silly in that sense... Or maybe I'm just human.
Despite my acknowledgement of the futility and counterproductivity of my sadness, I'm still a little blue. Rightfully so, but also not. Emotions are not rational, and that is my conclusion to this internal debate I've been having.
Light and love to you.
If you find me though, and if you remove these little shreds of lines paper, piece by piece, you may begin to understand me. And you may begin to understand that I am nothing ugly at all. Nor are you, nor are you parents, nor are the people you think of and ostracize in fear.
I am beautiful, but I am hidden. Paper and glue and misled newsprint are over our faces and eyes, prohibiting us from seeing and being seen. It's quite a shame, but I can only smile and shake my head.
There's a feeling like a thorn in my chest because I miss someone. It is an irrational thorn, and I've done almost everything in my power to remove it, yet it remains. I can wait for the fates to pluck it from my flesh and I have no doubt that will happen sooner than I hope. It's simply a void because something dear was taken from me, or so it would seem. Why is it not more important that I momentarily possessed that wondrous thing in the first place? Must I greed for more time? In this melancholic state of being, I neglect the prospect of future happiness, and, moreover, I neglect the prospect of hope.
Acceptance of change is a thing I have both taken pride in exhibiting and wished for. I guess I am silly in that sense... Or maybe I'm just human.
Despite my acknowledgement of the futility and counterproductivity of my sadness, I'm still a little blue. Rightfully so, but also not. Emotions are not rational, and that is my conclusion to this internal debate I've been having.
Light and love to you.
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