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.
Sunday
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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