I used to live beneath an over-sized question mark made of tiny question marks,
it looked like a colorful mosaic that seemed appealing and safe but really it was more of a dense cloud, obstructing my vision every time I grasped a tiny glimpse of pure goodness or joy.
I'm not saying I've reached some existential castle in the sky, allowing me to escape this heavy
conglomerate of question marks upon question marks....
it's more of...like I've been handed a leaf blower that has granted me the ability to blow the cloudiness away as I take my strides through life. That's how life is really. You've got no idea if shit will be fantastic or if something unexpectedly disastrous will happen.
It is what it is, different every day.
What I mean by the leaf blower thing is that life will remain as it is, strange, unsure, confusing and
way too short.
But how I RESPOND to all of these *AWESOME* characteristics of being a living, breathing, self aware human being can change, it kind of has already.
The leaf blower is my tool,
My consciousness is my comb to untangle all the non-nonsensical shit that seems to occur on the regular,
Growing knowledge are the puzzle pieces to finding logic and understanding in the bat shit crazy chaos,
My dreams and subconscious are the hidden gems to which I am beginning to pay attention to,
and
Love is the glue with which I am able to connect all the aforementioned tools I've been handed.
Without love, without the pure-ness of being completely devoted to another human being for no other reason besides some kind of inexplicably cosmic sensation to which there is no adequate description to justify its tremendous importance...
there would be no ability to escape the great question mark cloud of life.
But there is, the ability is there, and I have it.... and every time life begins to waver without warning, love lets me know I can face it.
I am TELLING YOU, love is the secret. I do not mean the irritatingly superficial, glossy and sickening kind of "love," -- better termed "lust...,"
I mean the devotion that is as real as you and I, as real the keyboard I am creating this essay with...the kind of devotion that is steadfast and heavy in a good way.
The kind that graciously permits you to be un-apologetically yourself,
The kind that doesn't berate, doesn't judge, doesn't rush,
The kind that opens the doors from the tiny house you've been living in,
The kind that makes you feel more sure than you ever thought possible,
The kind the remains with you everywhere you go,
The kind that forgives without reprehension,
The kind that dissolves your worries and soon manifests into an unseen but ever present
completeness that is unlike any other sensation.
This is what I've honestly written off as impossible until it fell into my lap without my acknowledging it until much later, I was lucky enough to have finally gained the clarity to welcoming this love just in time. I'm lucky patience was with me, and him.
I began with discussing the question marks that loomed every facet of my being,
and I will end with further reiterating how love is the glue that allows you to use all of these bolded keys towards removing the cloud that seemingly surrounds your life and my former life. It does not simply happen, you've gotta hone these skills as you would improve a technical skill of the arts.
You cannot ever sit with it, with any of it. Every day is a labor of love in the best way possible.
It is a joy in every meaning of the word.
You have the choice to observe it or not, you have the choice to seek what seems to lack existence,
you have all the choices, you just have to permit the vulnerability that will indefinitely occur following the choices you have yet to make. You have the choice to respond differently, and love with your whole being. It all connects, and it makes sense.
Every single day will be different, and I can't deny some of those days I will undoubtedly feel like I've been defeated and like I've fallen prey to the question mark cloud...but just as a genuine craft is never truly forgotten, neither is the skill of weathering through the storms of life. Once you are given love, you can never not understand and distinguish it, and it you. Love is strength, love binds the individuals of the world as one, love lives in our eyes and finger tips and consciousness and souls. Love forgives, and love holds you every single day of your life. Find it. It's worth it.
Ted Mosby did it.
So can you.
Tuesday
Sunday
devoted
I love you.
Devoted to you.
--
I tend to forget large chunks of my life. Even things that have happened yesterday. I feel as if I am barely grasping this life and what's unfortunate is that I'm only mildly bothered by this habit. I'm teaching myself to change this, however difficult and quite possibility lengthy this battle with myself may be. I feel the need to fucking live goddammit, ESPECIALLY not by someone else's standards. I'm not even entirely sure what the word "live" really encompasses but it doesn't matter, nor will I seek answers from others. I create my own answers as I see fit. This may commonly be seen as selfishness in me but I see no other way to prevent my identify from being tainted by other's people ideas and hopes for me. I hope for my MYSELF, and my ideas are for the most part, MY OWN. Let it be selfish of me, let it be unfair. I don't care.
--
I've remembered what it's like to love, be in love, and be devoted. This selfishness in me, though helpful in my journey towards originality, spills over into undesirable aspects of my life that should have not ONE ounce of selfishness presence such the love created for another. I had grown restless, bored of men, almost repulsed by them. Can you blame me? Can you blame women in general? This extreme cat calling and highly objectifying society we live in has severely tainted all our views towards what women SHOULD appear to be and what they ACTUALLY are. It's unfortunate, but what could I do? Refuse to acknowledge I'm a hot blooded woman with a normal sexual and romantic desire to be with a masculine man? I cannot deny this intrinsic instinct, even with the mile high wall I've built between myself and potential love.
But it's gone now. The wall is gone and it's just you and me. It's not just the euphoria speaking here.
I love you. I'm in love with you.
Thank goodness (God?) (someone up there?) (idk)
Dell: "I never thought love was real. Now I think life isn't real without it."
From the movie Comet.
Devoted to you.
--
I tend to forget large chunks of my life. Even things that have happened yesterday. I feel as if I am barely grasping this life and what's unfortunate is that I'm only mildly bothered by this habit. I'm teaching myself to change this, however difficult and quite possibility lengthy this battle with myself may be. I feel the need to fucking live goddammit, ESPECIALLY not by someone else's standards. I'm not even entirely sure what the word "live" really encompasses but it doesn't matter, nor will I seek answers from others. I create my own answers as I see fit. This may commonly be seen as selfishness in me but I see no other way to prevent my identify from being tainted by other's people ideas and hopes for me. I hope for my MYSELF, and my ideas are for the most part, MY OWN. Let it be selfish of me, let it be unfair. I don't care.
--
I've remembered what it's like to love, be in love, and be devoted. This selfishness in me, though helpful in my journey towards originality, spills over into undesirable aspects of my life that should have not ONE ounce of selfishness presence such the love created for another. I had grown restless, bored of men, almost repulsed by them. Can you blame me? Can you blame women in general? This extreme cat calling and highly objectifying society we live in has severely tainted all our views towards what women SHOULD appear to be and what they ACTUALLY are. It's unfortunate, but what could I do? Refuse to acknowledge I'm a hot blooded woman with a normal sexual and romantic desire to be with a masculine man? I cannot deny this intrinsic instinct, even with the mile high wall I've built between myself and potential love.
But it's gone now. The wall is gone and it's just you and me. It's not just the euphoria speaking here.
I love you. I'm in love with you.
Thank goodness (God?) (someone up there?) (idk)
Dell: "I never thought love was real. Now I think life isn't real without it."
From the movie Comet.
Saturday
a pleasure in writing
I wondered this morning:
what's the point of writing if it has no impact on anyone, and more than likely, no one will reads these words. Is there a pleasure in writing for one's own enjoyment without the external gratification of a reader? There must be.
Is there purpose to all this? I'm torn between wanting to feel like a "normal human" who craves human contact and the natural, relative loner I tend to be without effort. I love to write, but really I've no clue what's worth writing and what isn't...and also, how could I even be the judge of that? WHO actually is the judge of that? I'm not sure.
It's quite possible, maybe even obvious, that I am the creator of all these questions, that I am fabricating my own anxiety thus I have option to detach myself from these issues. Maybe I should try.
It's Saturday,
June 6th,
it's raining.
It's warm,
but humid.
I've completed the Semester with three C versions and one loosely given A.
The Summer is ahead of me. I have no plans.
First beach visit of the year. It was what it always was: everything I needed to begin the Summer.
I loved this day.
Photo taken by the Pier near the world Trade Center. I was there with Sean Langhaus.
Photo taken near the pier along some cobble stone streets I've never seen. There are so many parts of New York I have never explored.
what's the point of writing if it has no impact on anyone, and more than likely, no one will reads these words. Is there a pleasure in writing for one's own enjoyment without the external gratification of a reader? There must be.
Is there purpose to all this? I'm torn between wanting to feel like a "normal human" who craves human contact and the natural, relative loner I tend to be without effort. I love to write, but really I've no clue what's worth writing and what isn't...and also, how could I even be the judge of that? WHO actually is the judge of that? I'm not sure.
It's quite possible, maybe even obvious, that I am the creator of all these questions, that I am fabricating my own anxiety thus I have option to detach myself from these issues. Maybe I should try.
It's Saturday,
June 6th,
it's raining.
It's warm,
but humid.
I've completed the Semester with three C versions and one loosely given A.
The Summer is ahead of me. I have no plans.
Sunday
Wednesday
Wednesdays ~
It's Wednesday.
I get so tired of things. I'm feeling-less and bored and apathetic.
But I did get a lovely vinyl from my dear friend. I am grateful.
I get so tired of things. I'm feeling-less and bored and apathetic.
But I did get a lovely vinyl from my dear friend. I am grateful.
Sunday
Things that matter
Often times, we get caught up in the semantics of things.
I find myself being concerned with figuring out how to
make the most perfect zucchini noodles,
stressed over all the TV shows I intend to watch but
consistently forget to recall when searching for them,
worried if I'm too annoying or i'm overly distant or
clingy or complacent or anything whatsoever.
It's weird and everything is weird.
Why does any of this matter? Because it's how I distract
myself from answering the bigger questions,
like what the fuck am I
D O I N G with my life?
A yoga teacher read this rather conspicuous poem at the end
of class, and I walked away with it floating around in my
head, trying to remind myself to look it up... which luckily,
I remembered to do.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
― Marianne Williamson
Aside from the mention of God, what struck me is the part about
our deepest fear being that we are powerful beyond measure,
that we are more terrified of light and awareness than darkness.
How backwards is that? Where did this become my way of coping
with things... finding it easier to be blinded and complacent
instead of fully alive and reveling in the tremendously
spectacular nature of life? I'm sure tons of yogis heard and listened
to the poem as I did, which makes it all the more powerful and important.
I love how I often times walk into to yoga with a certain feeling,
and I walk out lighter, freed of the weights I dragged in with me.
It is a blessing.
I love my Father, whether he believes it or not.
I love his face,
I love his insanely wild eyebrows and disheveled hair,
how he is clueless to usually having a mysterious black stain on
his forehead,
how he has JUST done laundry but favors his white paint
stained pants,
his smile,
his laugh,
his hands, ones of a noticeable artist,
how sometimes he hears me blab about a new food I cooked
or intend to cook and he makes it himself and surprises me with it,
how he's the kindest man I will never know,
how writing about him makes me cry every time.
I love him just for being,
and I love him for trying to be the best he could to me,
with all he knows.
I was going to write about how I wish we could've had a different
relationship, I wish he could've been raised on different beliefs,
perhaps less judgmental and rigid ones,
how perhaps that could've helped my life positively,
how I wish my mother could've been normal,
how I wish my dad could've had more of an open mind,
more playful,
how I wish I could've had a larger family.
But I can't bear to hope for a past for me or family which could
never be replaced, for everything has already happened and I have
nothing but my future to control.
But if that is true, then that contradicts the notion that we are the
result of our past...
or maybe,
that isn't true.
Maybe,
BECAUSE I am the result of my personal past, my father the
result of his past,
and my mother's the result of hers...
MAYBE,
I could be the one to possess a little of each their pasts,
while creating a whole different one for myself.
The only problem I have is meeting judgement and adversity without ambivalence,
which I am admittedly awful at dealing with. It usually ends up tearing me
down quicker than I could finish building.
This, will change.
First, I need to find a path though. Is that the toughest part?
Or is taking the step on that path the most difficult?
I don't know.
Will be back with more thoughts.
I will leave you with this little song that I kinda love.
love,
me.
I find myself being concerned with figuring out how to
make the most perfect zucchini noodles,
stressed over all the TV shows I intend to watch but
consistently forget to recall when searching for them,
worried if I'm too annoying or i'm overly distant or
clingy or complacent or anything whatsoever.
It's weird and everything is weird.
Why does any of this matter? Because it's how I distract
myself from answering the bigger questions,
like what the fuck am I
D O I N G with my life?
A yoga teacher read this rather conspicuous poem at the end
of class, and I walked away with it floating around in my
head, trying to remind myself to look it up... which luckily,
I remembered to do.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
― Marianne Williamson
Aside from the mention of God, what struck me is the part about
our deepest fear being that we are powerful beyond measure,
that we are more terrified of light and awareness than darkness.
How backwards is that? Where did this become my way of coping
with things... finding it easier to be blinded and complacent
instead of fully alive and reveling in the tremendously
spectacular nature of life? I'm sure tons of yogis heard and listened
to the poem as I did, which makes it all the more powerful and important.
I love how I often times walk into to yoga with a certain feeling,
and I walk out lighter, freed of the weights I dragged in with me.
It is a blessing.
I love my Father, whether he believes it or not.
I love his face,
I love his insanely wild eyebrows and disheveled hair,
how he is clueless to usually having a mysterious black stain on
his forehead,
how he has JUST done laundry but favors his white paint
stained pants,
his smile,
his laugh,
his hands, ones of a noticeable artist,
how sometimes he hears me blab about a new food I cooked
or intend to cook and he makes it himself and surprises me with it,
how he's the kindest man I will never know,
how writing about him makes me cry every time.
I love him just for being,
and I love him for trying to be the best he could to me,
with all he knows.
I was going to write about how I wish we could've had a different
relationship, I wish he could've been raised on different beliefs,
perhaps less judgmental and rigid ones,
how perhaps that could've helped my life positively,
how I wish my mother could've been normal,
how I wish my dad could've had more of an open mind,
more playful,
how I wish I could've had a larger family.
But I can't bear to hope for a past for me or family which could
never be replaced, for everything has already happened and I have
nothing but my future to control.
But if that is true, then that contradicts the notion that we are the
result of our past...
or maybe,
that isn't true.
Maybe,
BECAUSE I am the result of my personal past, my father the
result of his past,
and my mother's the result of hers...
MAYBE,
I could be the one to possess a little of each their pasts,
while creating a whole different one for myself.
The only problem I have is meeting judgement and adversity without ambivalence,
which I am admittedly awful at dealing with. It usually ends up tearing me
down quicker than I could finish building.
This, will change.
First, I need to find a path though. Is that the toughest part?
Or is taking the step on that path the most difficult?
I don't know.
Will be back with more thoughts.
I will leave you with this little song that I kinda love.
love,
me.
Saturday
thoughts
How unfortunate circumstances are sometimes. Where did I go wrong? Was I born wrong? Or did I skew so far off the proverbial path to the point of letting the "road" rot thus deeming it unrecognizable? What IS my identity? Is this just the common quarter life crisis? But what if i'm past the quarter mark by one year, does that make a difference? What a dumb question.
Nobody Knows How Loud Your Heart Gets
I sit on the couch a lot. I'm not entirely sure what consumes my thoughts really, they seem to begin somewhere but rarely move forward with purpose and conviction. I guess it's something I have to work on.
Time is passing.
Before going to bed yesterday, I listened to Lucius' Wildewoman on vinyl,
for maybe the 4th time.
I have taken a liking to vinyl. It isn't serious, but I wish it would be.
I don't think I'm serious about anything. That's something I also
should change.
I love the way the vinyl spins at the perfect pace,
how the tiny ridges manipulate sound into something
real but not tangible.
I'm unable to touch the sound once it leaves the vinyl but
once it hits my ear drum.. then it's real.
It's wonderful.
Music is love,
and love is music.
This is just a small snippet of a song called "Nobody Knows how Loud your Heart Gets" by Lucius.
Thank you.
Sunday
I feel the Earth, move
[Here I am.
It's Sunday, January 19th, 2015.
26 years old]
Lorie recounted the events of the past week, namely, the day her father had another seizure. It was difficult to hear, but I wanted to know, and I liked being confided in. She has a notebook where she keeps detailed and organized notes surrounding the moments before, during and after a seizure. I enjoy that she loves her Father so much. I wish I could be better at loving.
Every day updates, for, as long as I would like.
YOGA:
90 minute practice. It did not feel effortless, but it was what I needed, as it always is.
It's Sunday, January 19th, 2015.
26 years old]
Lorie recounted the events of the past week, namely, the day her father had another seizure. It was difficult to hear, but I wanted to know, and I liked being confided in. She has a notebook where she keeps detailed and organized notes surrounding the moments before, during and after a seizure. I enjoy that she loves her Father so much. I wish I could be better at loving.
Every day updates, for, as long as I would like.
YOGA:
90 minute practice. It did not feel effortless, but it was what I needed, as it always is.
Friday
Thoughts ~ updates
This empty page is a little scary.
I have moments when I feel strongly about writing and feeling convinced it's a necessity for the remembrance of my life. I also find the ability to write to gradually and consistently diminish towards the end of the day, which is when I always tell myself to open up this page and get some goddamn words down. There have been hundreds... H U N D R E D S... of times I firmly demanded myself to finally write but of course I didn't and of course the cycle repeats itself mercilessly. The problem is that I let it happen, and as the day comes to an end, so does my will to repeat the events of it through written letters. I've felt countless, irreplaceably beautiful and unique moments that I wish I had recorded.
Anyway, I have to stop that. Here, I will go back to the original intention of this entire blog which may or may not be irrelevant to anyone but me, regardless, it has to happen... with or without an end goal. I just have to remember my life again, as I remember so well the times I recorded before the lengthy lapse in writing. Photographs are great, but they don't do the moments justice. This will be the yoga journey, which I have already been on for over a year, as well as photographs, my personal experiences, observations, poetry, and anything and everything in between. Here goes:
Why do I get so rattled when my personality and humor is questioned or pressed? I have such tremendous problems being put outside my comfort zone. It's pretty bad; I can't even develop a rational response... i just shut down, walk away, cry, lose my ability to develop logical responses... everything just falls apart. When I find myself in that very uncomfortable and unpredictable place, every tool I once had to keep me grounded and normal is completely destroyed and I lose myself.
That one time when Kyle asked me to read lines with him, I didn't think he meant actually READING the script alongside him while I attempt to ACT and express the correct EMOTIONS without any knowledge of what the story is or what the fuck I am supposed to do????? I mean, yeah, I get it... but it isn't for me and I'm not fucking actor. My imagination and ability to express false emotion is literally below zero. I thrive very well in a mechanical, controlled environment and that's just me and I see absolutely no problem with it... until i come in contact with people who are embody the polar opposite of my characteristics. I just, shut down. The problem could be one of three things:
1. I suck at defending myself and somehow I've never honed the ability to use my parasypmathetic nervous system. It's very possible. Is this a disease. What the fuck, seriously.
2. I am secretly jealous of people who have these outgoing and playful characteristics and I defend myself by hating it and running away from it. This is partially likely as I have always been slightly jealous, but I also have little to no desire to be social... so.... pretty confusing deal here.
3. I was born with some kind of hindrance preventing me from participating in things normal people should.
I DUNNO. MAybe all three.
~~
~~
It's the second to last Friday before next semester begins. Lorie and I might go running tonight, in 28 degree weather. I don't know how I feel about it, but i'm going to try it and hope I make it.
I have moments when I feel strongly about writing and feeling convinced it's a necessity for the remembrance of my life. I also find the ability to write to gradually and consistently diminish towards the end of the day, which is when I always tell myself to open up this page and get some goddamn words down. There have been hundreds... H U N D R E D S... of times I firmly demanded myself to finally write but of course I didn't and of course the cycle repeats itself mercilessly. The problem is that I let it happen, and as the day comes to an end, so does my will to repeat the events of it through written letters. I've felt countless, irreplaceably beautiful and unique moments that I wish I had recorded.
Anyway, I have to stop that. Here, I will go back to the original intention of this entire blog which may or may not be irrelevant to anyone but me, regardless, it has to happen... with or without an end goal. I just have to remember my life again, as I remember so well the times I recorded before the lengthy lapse in writing. Photographs are great, but they don't do the moments justice. This will be the yoga journey, which I have already been on for over a year, as well as photographs, my personal experiences, observations, poetry, and anything and everything in between. Here goes:
Why do I get so rattled when my personality and humor is questioned or pressed? I have such tremendous problems being put outside my comfort zone. It's pretty bad; I can't even develop a rational response... i just shut down, walk away, cry, lose my ability to develop logical responses... everything just falls apart. When I find myself in that very uncomfortable and unpredictable place, every tool I once had to keep me grounded and normal is completely destroyed and I lose myself.
That one time when Kyle asked me to read lines with him, I didn't think he meant actually READING the script alongside him while I attempt to ACT and express the correct EMOTIONS without any knowledge of what the story is or what the fuck I am supposed to do????? I mean, yeah, I get it... but it isn't for me and I'm not fucking actor. My imagination and ability to express false emotion is literally below zero. I thrive very well in a mechanical, controlled environment and that's just me and I see absolutely no problem with it... until i come in contact with people who are embody the polar opposite of my characteristics. I just, shut down. The problem could be one of three things:
1. I suck at defending myself and somehow I've never honed the ability to use my parasypmathetic nervous system. It's very possible. Is this a disease. What the fuck, seriously.
2. I am secretly jealous of people who have these outgoing and playful characteristics and I defend myself by hating it and running away from it. This is partially likely as I have always been slightly jealous, but I also have little to no desire to be social... so.... pretty confusing deal here.
3. I was born with some kind of hindrance preventing me from participating in things normal people should.
I DUNNO. MAybe all three.
~~
~~
It's the second to last Friday before next semester begins. Lorie and I might go running tonight, in 28 degree weather. I don't know how I feel about it, but i'm going to try it and hope I make it.
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