I woke from a dream reaching for my headphones...
I was supposed to take the elevator up with a friend to the seventeenth floor of my building, my home. But it wasn't an elevator we were getting on, more like something we were getting into. It looked like a time capsule, diamond shaped and white. I recall feeling apprehensive about going inside, a fear of losing control or of being let go.
The vessel moves upward. I can feel the pull, like a magnet drawing us closer to our destination. My eyes are closed shut and I can't wait for the ride to be over. I try to distract myself with thoughts but it's no use. The pull gets stronger and I'm aware I'm trapped inside this thing in the air and suddenly it dawns on me that I can't quite figure out where this machine is suspended from. I sense there's nothing above but rope...I panic. Where does this rope lead to and how far does it go up? Who or what is doing this? I just want to reach the seventeenth floor and I realize there's just no floor to get off on.
This is taking too long and now I'm alone. Of course, I'm alone. I allow myself to look up. The diamond opens up to the sky as far and wide as the eye can see. I hear sounds but not from the outside. They're coming from within, from a place deep inside me, not even I can reach. I feel heavy. I'm worried the rope will snap and no one will be around to catch me. But I have faith, a certainty I'll be alright. So I keep my eyes open and look around me--to the west, the east, and the south. I know I'm enveloped by this structure and yet I can see through it. Below are trees, green valleys and streams--so beautiful. I really can't describe the beauty.
I hear a voice now that says, Watch the train. I notice the tracks to my right high above. I hear the clickity-clack of the wheels, and that haunting sound of the blowing whistle, the urgency of the air horn. I notice reds and rich browns. I want to be on that train. A real train. My heart is pulling me. But it's gone. My heart, the train. Too far gone. I'm late.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Steps
I had set out to change my body, from within, not anticipating the changes that would occur on the outside. I had an aim--to eat whole, clean foods, nothing less than this. I lost weight and not just of the physical kind. I started to shed heavy thoughts as well. My skin began to glow, the shape of my face and body became more refined, my hands appeared surreal to me. I felt as though layers of myself were being discarded to reveal a newer me, the real me. In this change, I began to see myself in a different light. I could see possibilities where there were none before. I could see where I had placed self-limitations. I could see where I had made agreements with myself that did not serve me but only proved to keep me bound, distracted, and oppressed. Yes, all this from food.
I'm not afraid of the mirror anymore. That's when I knew something was happening to me. Sometimes when I comb my hair and my eyes meet with the reflection, I take a sudden step back because well, because of a ...spark? How cliche is that? A sparkle of the eye shines through and I'm taken aback...I've never noticed that light before. That light was trapped, hidden behind layers of fear and doubt. I began to attract certain blessings into my life--abundance, hope, love, faith, happiness, inner peace. It's really all rather endless and infinite.
Emphasis on food has been a blessing and a curse. I started to adopt the view that if I deviated from my regimen, I would lose everything I had achieved. I had to learn the hard way that this just isn't so. Sometimes you have to let go, not by reverting to old ways or one's former self, but by coming to the understanding that a lifestyle change is exactly what it implies--a lifestyle change. When you adopt a certain way of life, the changes one experiences simply won't allow one to revert to ways that had initially brought one pain and discomfort. But one does need to come from a place of non-attachment. In other words, I can allow certain indiscretions here and there, and from time to time because overall, I'm pretty happy with my daily choices and the results I've been able to achieve and verify.
I like my shapes and curves. I feel grounded in my body. I had always wanted to belong and today, I'm everywhere and in everything. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks. I'm alive. I'm growing and reaching for the stars. I deserve that. We deserve that, you and me.
I'm not afraid of the mirror anymore. That's when I knew something was happening to me. Sometimes when I comb my hair and my eyes meet with the reflection, I take a sudden step back because well, because of a ...spark? How cliche is that? A sparkle of the eye shines through and I'm taken aback...I've never noticed that light before. That light was trapped, hidden behind layers of fear and doubt. I began to attract certain blessings into my life--abundance, hope, love, faith, happiness, inner peace. It's really all rather endless and infinite.
Emphasis on food has been a blessing and a curse. I started to adopt the view that if I deviated from my regimen, I would lose everything I had achieved. I had to learn the hard way that this just isn't so. Sometimes you have to let go, not by reverting to old ways or one's former self, but by coming to the understanding that a lifestyle change is exactly what it implies--a lifestyle change. When you adopt a certain way of life, the changes one experiences simply won't allow one to revert to ways that had initially brought one pain and discomfort. But one does need to come from a place of non-attachment. In other words, I can allow certain indiscretions here and there, and from time to time because overall, I'm pretty happy with my daily choices and the results I've been able to achieve and verify.
I like my shapes and curves. I feel grounded in my body. I had always wanted to belong and today, I'm everywhere and in everything. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks. I'm alive. I'm growing and reaching for the stars. I deserve that. We deserve that, you and me.
Restlessness
She sits with him along the edge of the shore.
His head fills with thoughts, spilling over
getting washed away by waves.
He reaches for one and then another but they escape him.
She asks him what he's doing
but the moment is gone and he's too busy
chasing after more thoughts.
The sun starts to set
and he can feel the chill rise up inside
from the tips of his toes
to the top of his head and out
crashing down all around them.
He's aware of lines
but his heart moves in circles
into the beyond.
She says nothing
And everything.
Dreams are good and enticing
in his mind
so he keeps her there
in silence,
still and unmoving,
because
among pink and orange skies,
green trees,
chirping birds and
diamond waters,
he can neither trust himself
Nor her.
His head fills with thoughts, spilling over
getting washed away by waves.
He reaches for one and then another but they escape him.
She asks him what he's doing
but the moment is gone and he's too busy
chasing after more thoughts.
The sun starts to set
and he can feel the chill rise up inside
from the tips of his toes
to the top of his head and out
crashing down all around them.
He's aware of lines
but his heart moves in circles
into the beyond.
She says nothing
And everything.
Dreams are good and enticing
in his mind
so he keeps her there
in silence,
still and unmoving,
because
among pink and orange skies,
green trees,
chirping birds and
diamond waters,
he can neither trust himself
Nor her.
Monday, March 29, 2010
St. Perpetua
I've been thinking about St. Perpetua. She comes and goes, moving in and out of consciousness. Like St.Theresa, she possessed great passion, a great yearning for the Beloved. That a woman, a mere mortal would give up her life for a man she had come to know as Jesus speaks to the grandeur of her heart, for that unexplainable longing to become unified and whole. She was selfless, full of compassion and let her faith and hope govern her actions. These are rare individuals who transcend time, whose centres--body, mind, heart--are in complete harmony even in the face of imminent death. That they can take a certain kind of fear and transform it into a life changing experience or in this case, a spirit altering existence should awaken us all to what we are and what we can be. But it takes a certain kind of person, doesn't it?
I can hear the sting of judgment rise up in me. I'm just human. I'm nothing but human--frail one minute, strong the next, allowing myself to be swayed to and fro from this or that. Today, I feel like this and tomorrow, who knows? But I want to be real and steady, clear and open. I have great passion too, the kind that cannot be destroyed with the passing of time or old age. It lives and breathes within each cell expanding and growing emanating from spirit, drawing the world in and I, out. There's so much beauty and a sweet residue left behind on the lips from tasting such refinement.
I have to empty myself in order to fill myself up again. This is no easy task. I'm no where close to being special. Do you know what really moves me about St. Perpetua? When they lead her and her companions into the amphitheatre to be scourged and attacked by wild animals, she found strength amidst her great suffering to get up and tend to her wounded friend Felicity. I understand she essentially died for Jesus because she wouldn't renounce her faith in Christianity but this isn't as telling of Perpetua's essence as the act of helping an other when she herself was experiencing physical harm and pain.
Lately, I have a need to want to give without forming attachments or expecting anything in return. This too is very difficult and trying. To be human is to want to be close to those we love indefinitely. Why would we want to part from those very things or people that bring us happiness? To part with them is to experience great loss. And it's this precise feeling based in fear which creates a need for control and the illusion of separation. When we understand that beginnings and endings are two faces of the same coin, we will not experience loss but truly partake of the promise that unification brings. In order to allow these relationships to be free and flowing, we must surrender to that something else.
My heart becomes filled with an immense joy when a smile surfaces on the face of someone in need, or whom I care deeply for. Sometimes, all it takes is a kind word or gesture to chase away the darkness that occupies our minds and hearts. I always remind myself that this is what I would want in my times of sorrow--to directly know, intuitively comprehend with every fibre of my being that I am not alone or separate from the Source.
I can hear the sting of judgment rise up in me. I'm just human. I'm nothing but human--frail one minute, strong the next, allowing myself to be swayed to and fro from this or that. Today, I feel like this and tomorrow, who knows? But I want to be real and steady, clear and open. I have great passion too, the kind that cannot be destroyed with the passing of time or old age. It lives and breathes within each cell expanding and growing emanating from spirit, drawing the world in and I, out. There's so much beauty and a sweet residue left behind on the lips from tasting such refinement.
I have to empty myself in order to fill myself up again. This is no easy task. I'm no where close to being special. Do you know what really moves me about St. Perpetua? When they lead her and her companions into the amphitheatre to be scourged and attacked by wild animals, she found strength amidst her great suffering to get up and tend to her wounded friend Felicity. I understand she essentially died for Jesus because she wouldn't renounce her faith in Christianity but this isn't as telling of Perpetua's essence as the act of helping an other when she herself was experiencing physical harm and pain.
Lately, I have a need to want to give without forming attachments or expecting anything in return. This too is very difficult and trying. To be human is to want to be close to those we love indefinitely. Why would we want to part from those very things or people that bring us happiness? To part with them is to experience great loss. And it's this precise feeling based in fear which creates a need for control and the illusion of separation. When we understand that beginnings and endings are two faces of the same coin, we will not experience loss but truly partake of the promise that unification brings. In order to allow these relationships to be free and flowing, we must surrender to that something else.
My heart becomes filled with an immense joy when a smile surfaces on the face of someone in need, or whom I care deeply for. Sometimes, all it takes is a kind word or gesture to chase away the darkness that occupies our minds and hearts. I always remind myself that this is what I would want in my times of sorrow--to directly know, intuitively comprehend with every fibre of my being that I am not alone or separate from the Source.
The changing 'I'
Almost two weeks have passed since my last post. I can't say it wasn't intentional. I've been feeling a little reserved, somewhat bruised, a tendency towards hiding under the covers, a rock, an umbrella, anything but exposing myself, my face to the world. I consider myself true, open, and giving. And yet the idea of restraint and containment are slowly carving their niches and imprinting themselves on my mind. I'm not so free to move like a wave or the wind, the rising or setting of the sun, a bird in the sky, the turning of the earth, or the permanence of change. What a paradox, that the idea of change inherently resides in the realm of permanence.
I'm quick to judge myself. I watch her, the way she moves and interacts, the way in which she eats, the way she dresses and undresses or comes across beauty marks she knew were always there but never quite noticed until then, the way her hands cover her eyes and cheeks when feelings seem insurmountable. I notice her, the way her eyes focus on a line or color in a painting, the way she listens to music, the way she's moved by sensations lingering in her heart centre, the way she breathes and exhales. I don't always understand her. She doesn't ask for much. Intuitively she knows she has everything and needs nothing. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wonders what the other side holds. And so I'm hard on her because she's complicated, complex and yet really simple and honest. And she deserves to be happy and she is to a certain degree but she's a fool if she thinks there isn't a price to pay. She can live in dream all she wants but it won't be enough.
Then she finds me in the mirror and tells me to back off. She thinks I'm the one living in illusion. She says that I mean well but it's always at the expense of the self. She says I'm trying to be something I'm not, that I'm too busy chasing after thoughts as opposed to moving with the ebb and flow of life. She says I hold back out of fear of shame and guilt, of failure, of success, of happiness, of the consequences of living in a world of duality. She says I need to learn how to transform energy, to know and make friends with change. She says it's the only way to freedom.
I'm quick to judge myself. I watch her, the way she moves and interacts, the way in which she eats, the way she dresses and undresses or comes across beauty marks she knew were always there but never quite noticed until then, the way her hands cover her eyes and cheeks when feelings seem insurmountable. I notice her, the way her eyes focus on a line or color in a painting, the way she listens to music, the way she's moved by sensations lingering in her heart centre, the way she breathes and exhales. I don't always understand her. She doesn't ask for much. Intuitively she knows she has everything and needs nothing. But sometimes, just sometimes, she wonders what the other side holds. And so I'm hard on her because she's complicated, complex and yet really simple and honest. And she deserves to be happy and she is to a certain degree but she's a fool if she thinks there isn't a price to pay. She can live in dream all she wants but it won't be enough.
Then she finds me in the mirror and tells me to back off. She thinks I'm the one living in illusion. She says that I mean well but it's always at the expense of the self. She says I'm trying to be something I'm not, that I'm too busy chasing after thoughts as opposed to moving with the ebb and flow of life. She says I hold back out of fear of shame and guilt, of failure, of success, of happiness, of the consequences of living in a world of duality. She says I need to learn how to transform energy, to know and make friends with change. She says it's the only way to freedom.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
My eternal life
She says I have great passion for all that I believe in. She says I am very protective of and caring to those I love and will let nothing harm them. She says I am a natural romantic and have very good taste and a great sense of beauty. She says she feels I like the finer things in life and like to surround myself with things of beauty. I realize she's made a reference to beauty twice now. Makes perfect sense. She says I am very creative and like to put my ideas into action. She says I also have great psychic intuition and should try to develop this more. As I gloss over the words, I understand she's being true and authentic.
She saw me as a young woman at about the first or second century AD. I was born into a well to do noble family. At this time I was about twenty-three years of age and a wife and a mother of a young son. I was Christian. I lived in the city of Carthage in North Africa under Roman rule. I was among five other Christians condemned to death in the arena because of my religious convictions. I had been converted to Christianity after hearing about the great teachings of the man they called Jesus. My father and husband were pagans and came often to the prison bringing my infant son with them. She says they pleaded with me to renounce my religion and save my life. But I just could not. Yes, I can see aspects of myself in this woman. I feel a pull towards her. And what of those recurring dreams I have of myself with a little boy year after year? What of those recurring dreams I have of Jesus? Yes, he and I go way way back. Welcome.
My punishment by the Romans was seen as justified by the belief that as a Christian my refusal to respect and honour Rome's pagan gods provoked their wrath. Any disaster such as flood, drought or earthquake were attributed to the Christians' lack of faith in the gods and their retribution. As a Christian I was denounced as an enemy of men and the gods and therefore needed to be punished.
I was offered a pardon if I accepted the rule and dominance of the Roman gods and could throw a few grains of incense on the altar of a pagan god. She says I could not do this and accepted my fate of death in the arena. How ironic this all is, I think to myself. Both Jesus and paganism coexist in my present. I'm amazed how I've learned to integrate them both into my life, accepting both, denying neither.
She continues on with the story. Later with my four companions, who were all female, I was lead to the arena where a massive crowd had gathered. A lion and a leopard were let loose upon me and the other women. The crowd roared loudly and cheered as the animals attacked me. Lying half dead, some gladiators came into the arena and finished me off with a sword, which ended my great pain and suffering. I'm taken aback by these words, how they're suddenly imprinted on my mind and heart. That infamous sword-- revealing, telling, and appropriate. I should want to talk about this sword but something about this is too real for me, too surreal, too strange, too synchronistic so I'd rather not. I dislike the Romans. All personality, no essence. How is it possible that I could love being Italian one day and feel completely disconnected the next? Whatever the Romans were able to achieve in the past, their offspring have nothing to show for themselves today.
Now, I must explain. I did a search on the internet and wouldn't you know...a similar event took place in Carthage to a woman by the name of Perpetua, her friend Felicity and three other campanions (male). At first when I read the story, I was so bruised, wounded, and angry. I thought, 'How can she make up a story like this and think it's okay?' Seriously, is she actually telling me I could have been who is now known as St.Perpetua? Except for a few minor details, the stories are pretty much identical. So I write to her and tell her what I think. She writes me back and says I could very well have been St.Perpetua or one of her contemporaries...And this St.Perpetua...I can only wish to possess a fraction of her courage and compassion. Her name means, continual, everlasting. I too find it oddly eerie that I would title this blog, My eternal life before I even knew who St.Perpetua was.
The second time she sees me, I am a young woman who lived at around 1640 or so in a small town in Massachusetts, America. My parents and grandparents had originally crossed over the Atlantic from England to settle in the New World. Yes, the English. I'm drawn to the English, their way of life, that feeling I can not put into words and won't even try. I like it this way.
She says my family and I lived a very simple and god fearing life as Puritans. I know full well what it feels like to be god fearing. She continues. I dressed plainly, ate simple food and worked very hard looking after younger and older members of my large family. At around 18 years of age I met and fell in love with a young man. He was not from my community but was considered an outsider. My parents had arranged for me to marry a much older man who was widowed and had four small children to look after. I did not want to marry this man. I loved the young outsider and promised him I would elope with him. But my plans were found out and both me and my young lover were punished. We both received public floggings and felt physically and emotionally hurt. Yes, it would be like me to elope, to act in the name of love and truth against others who would deny me. And here again, I can see how social upbringing, societal rules, and oppression have played a major role, how they had and continue to have power over me.
She says I went on to marry the older man and bore him a further 9 children. I cringe here. Thirteen children combined? Fuck him. My marriage was loveless so I concentrated all my efforts and love into my children. Yes, this would be me too. How else could one function in a marriage like that, to give of oneself without passion or desire? I think machine. I think function. I want to throw up. She says I never forgot my young lover and vowed that I would meet up with him again some day. Of course I would say that. Just yesterday the thought entered my mind, me in my romantic notions, that I had told a special someone (unable to see his face), that we would find each other again--in some other life, some other time... That these sort of thoughts can reverberate through time is quite astonishing. I have no words to explain these feelings and again, I'd rather not try. She goes on to say that I never did meet with him as I passed away giving birth to my last child at the age of around 40. Judas Priest! Is it any wonder I have no desire to bear children?
Finally, she says she saw me as a young woman living on a small island. She feels this was an island of what is now known as Polynesia. She sees me and my family - my mother, father, grandmother and many brothers and sisters, both younger and older than me. She sees all of us helping with large fishing nets at the waters edge. It is very hot and senses the time is around 1850 or so.
Near to me with another fishing boat and net is another family group that has a young good-looking man. He is tall, has dark twinkling eyes and a lovely smile. We smile at each other shyly. The young man and I are destined to be married as both our families have arranged it.
I am nervous about marriage and worried that my new husband will be unkind to me. This worry is soon relieved as soon after marrying we fall very much in love with each other. She says I love him so much because he loves me and always puts me first. He adores me and treats me like a princess. He brings gifts of flowers and occasionally pearls that he has found while out diving. Apparently, I am never left in any doubt that he loves me with all his heart.
Now, let me interject here. I can't relate to this story at all. I don't even really like this person who is supposed to resemble me, or I resemble her? Princess? Yes, she's sweet and all but I don't resonate with her. I may be romantic but this is not the kind of romance that speaks to me. I'm no damsel in distress. I need no saving. Flowers? Pearls? You want to show me love? Let your eyes speak. Let your eyes tell a story. Let this be your gift to me. You don't have to lay your fingers on me to touch me. She's just way too happy which isn't to say that I'm not, I just feel like there's got to be some kind of loud silence that transcends time and space, that there's got to be some kind of abyss to cross that will allow me to see what's real versus what is not, what must be shed and reborn. I need to fall in order to pick myself up and realize my own power and strength.
Then she continues. She says we share a lovely life together, with plenty of food and a simple way of life. We are very happy and healthy and I give birth to 5 children – all girls and I love motherhood. I enjoy looking after my girls and teach them many things. Both my husband and I go on to see many grandchildren born and even great grandchildren as we both live to good ages.
It doesn't matter to me whether the above is true. I'll take what I can from it and I have. This reading tells me what I already know of myself. Love, passion, kindness, beauty, creativity and personal conviction rule. To be able to stand for what I believe in even, especially in the face of opposition is how I build character and relay essence. I don't always put them first through action but I can see that my happiness, my freedom rests here among the sublime and the real. I understand, I will never be more than I am if I undermine these. And I have and sometimes do undermine these aspects of myself. I am boundless and limitless. Everything I see in the world is a reflection of me and I of the world. I won't be writing for a while...maybe a week. I've got to tend to my auto harp.
She saw me as a young woman at about the first or second century AD. I was born into a well to do noble family. At this time I was about twenty-three years of age and a wife and a mother of a young son. I was Christian. I lived in the city of Carthage in North Africa under Roman rule. I was among five other Christians condemned to death in the arena because of my religious convictions. I had been converted to Christianity after hearing about the great teachings of the man they called Jesus. My father and husband were pagans and came often to the prison bringing my infant son with them. She says they pleaded with me to renounce my religion and save my life. But I just could not. Yes, I can see aspects of myself in this woman. I feel a pull towards her. And what of those recurring dreams I have of myself with a little boy year after year? What of those recurring dreams I have of Jesus? Yes, he and I go way way back. Welcome.
My punishment by the Romans was seen as justified by the belief that as a Christian my refusal to respect and honour Rome's pagan gods provoked their wrath. Any disaster such as flood, drought or earthquake were attributed to the Christians' lack of faith in the gods and their retribution. As a Christian I was denounced as an enemy of men and the gods and therefore needed to be punished.
I was offered a pardon if I accepted the rule and dominance of the Roman gods and could throw a few grains of incense on the altar of a pagan god. She says I could not do this and accepted my fate of death in the arena. How ironic this all is, I think to myself. Both Jesus and paganism coexist in my present. I'm amazed how I've learned to integrate them both into my life, accepting both, denying neither.
She continues on with the story. Later with my four companions, who were all female, I was lead to the arena where a massive crowd had gathered. A lion and a leopard were let loose upon me and the other women. The crowd roared loudly and cheered as the animals attacked me. Lying half dead, some gladiators came into the arena and finished me off with a sword, which ended my great pain and suffering. I'm taken aback by these words, how they're suddenly imprinted on my mind and heart. That infamous sword-- revealing, telling, and appropriate. I should want to talk about this sword but something about this is too real for me, too surreal, too strange, too synchronistic so I'd rather not. I dislike the Romans. All personality, no essence. How is it possible that I could love being Italian one day and feel completely disconnected the next? Whatever the Romans were able to achieve in the past, their offspring have nothing to show for themselves today.
Now, I must explain. I did a search on the internet and wouldn't you know...a similar event took place in Carthage to a woman by the name of Perpetua, her friend Felicity and three other campanions (male). At first when I read the story, I was so bruised, wounded, and angry. I thought, 'How can she make up a story like this and think it's okay?' Seriously, is she actually telling me I could have been who is now known as St.Perpetua? Except for a few minor details, the stories are pretty much identical. So I write to her and tell her what I think. She writes me back and says I could very well have been St.Perpetua or one of her contemporaries...And this St.Perpetua...I can only wish to possess a fraction of her courage and compassion. Her name means, continual, everlasting. I too find it oddly eerie that I would title this blog, My eternal life before I even knew who St.Perpetua was.
The second time she sees me, I am a young woman who lived at around 1640 or so in a small town in Massachusetts, America. My parents and grandparents had originally crossed over the Atlantic from England to settle in the New World. Yes, the English. I'm drawn to the English, their way of life, that feeling I can not put into words and won't even try. I like it this way.
She says my family and I lived a very simple and god fearing life as Puritans. I know full well what it feels like to be god fearing. She continues. I dressed plainly, ate simple food and worked very hard looking after younger and older members of my large family. At around 18 years of age I met and fell in love with a young man. He was not from my community but was considered an outsider. My parents had arranged for me to marry a much older man who was widowed and had four small children to look after. I did not want to marry this man. I loved the young outsider and promised him I would elope with him. But my plans were found out and both me and my young lover were punished. We both received public floggings and felt physically and emotionally hurt. Yes, it would be like me to elope, to act in the name of love and truth against others who would deny me. And here again, I can see how social upbringing, societal rules, and oppression have played a major role, how they had and continue to have power over me.
She says I went on to marry the older man and bore him a further 9 children. I cringe here. Thirteen children combined? Fuck him. My marriage was loveless so I concentrated all my efforts and love into my children. Yes, this would be me too. How else could one function in a marriage like that, to give of oneself without passion or desire? I think machine. I think function. I want to throw up. She says I never forgot my young lover and vowed that I would meet up with him again some day. Of course I would say that. Just yesterday the thought entered my mind, me in my romantic notions, that I had told a special someone (unable to see his face), that we would find each other again--in some other life, some other time... That these sort of thoughts can reverberate through time is quite astonishing. I have no words to explain these feelings and again, I'd rather not try. She goes on to say that I never did meet with him as I passed away giving birth to my last child at the age of around 40. Judas Priest! Is it any wonder I have no desire to bear children?
Finally, she says she saw me as a young woman living on a small island. She feels this was an island of what is now known as Polynesia. She sees me and my family - my mother, father, grandmother and many brothers and sisters, both younger and older than me. She sees all of us helping with large fishing nets at the waters edge. It is very hot and senses the time is around 1850 or so.
Near to me with another fishing boat and net is another family group that has a young good-looking man. He is tall, has dark twinkling eyes and a lovely smile. We smile at each other shyly. The young man and I are destined to be married as both our families have arranged it.
I am nervous about marriage and worried that my new husband will be unkind to me. This worry is soon relieved as soon after marrying we fall very much in love with each other. She says I love him so much because he loves me and always puts me first. He adores me and treats me like a princess. He brings gifts of flowers and occasionally pearls that he has found while out diving. Apparently, I am never left in any doubt that he loves me with all his heart.
Now, let me interject here. I can't relate to this story at all. I don't even really like this person who is supposed to resemble me, or I resemble her? Princess? Yes, she's sweet and all but I don't resonate with her. I may be romantic but this is not the kind of romance that speaks to me. I'm no damsel in distress. I need no saving. Flowers? Pearls? You want to show me love? Let your eyes speak. Let your eyes tell a story. Let this be your gift to me. You don't have to lay your fingers on me to touch me. She's just way too happy which isn't to say that I'm not, I just feel like there's got to be some kind of loud silence that transcends time and space, that there's got to be some kind of abyss to cross that will allow me to see what's real versus what is not, what must be shed and reborn. I need to fall in order to pick myself up and realize my own power and strength.
Then she continues. She says we share a lovely life together, with plenty of food and a simple way of life. We are very happy and healthy and I give birth to 5 children – all girls and I love motherhood. I enjoy looking after my girls and teach them many things. Both my husband and I go on to see many grandchildren born and even great grandchildren as we both live to good ages.
It doesn't matter to me whether the above is true. I'll take what I can from it and I have. This reading tells me what I already know of myself. Love, passion, kindness, beauty, creativity and personal conviction rule. To be able to stand for what I believe in even, especially in the face of opposition is how I build character and relay essence. I don't always put them first through action but I can see that my happiness, my freedom rests here among the sublime and the real. I understand, I will never be more than I am if I undermine these. And I have and sometimes do undermine these aspects of myself. I am boundless and limitless. Everything I see in the world is a reflection of me and I of the world. I won't be writing for a while...maybe a week. I've got to tend to my auto harp.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Mr. Crowley and I
How is it possible that I could feel on top of the world one minute and down the next? What is that? What have I relinquished my power too? Is it a sign that my happiness is contingent on external factors? I must change this.
It’s time to have a conversation with Mr. Crowley. I’ve been avoiding him for a month now but this morning he finally made his way in and unpacked his bags. We’ll see what happens. I’m tired.
We sit together at a picnic table, side by side, he to my far right. It’s a beautiful summer morning in Italy somewhere. I know there’s a house behind us although I don’t turn around to take a look. Directly in front of us are green grass, trees, and a little off to the right, ocean. The leaves rustle in the breeze and I’m at ease. Actually, I’m quite surprised it’s so beautiful, so green and blue out here. I half expected to be cold and the weather to be dark and brooding. But I digress…
Mr. Crowley has a pipe in his left hand and in the other, a glass of wine. He’s wearing an elegant black suit, one taken out of the 40’s. I really don’t know what to say to this man. I’m hoping he doesn’t turn his head to look at me because I know full well he’s going to see right through me--the nonsense, insecurities, fears and lies. I’m not quite prepared for that. For all he cares, I’m not even around, not real just some thing the wind blew in. And lucky for both us, I don’t want to be a distraction. Not today.
But I’m a fool and he’s the magician. He misses nothing. Thank goodness for that English accent. It’s the only thing keeping me from ending this whole thing. I’m a sucker for the English. I ought to show gratitude for all of my revelations but there’s always a price to pay. Why does there always have to be a price to pay? And I know what the answer is. That’s the problem. I always have the answer even when I pretend not to. People like me don’t make mistakes. We’re always so bloody busy keeping everything under control, doing the right thing, keeping things steady and contained.
Crowley makes me feel uneasy. I can’t hide behind religion here, not morality or ethics. With Crowley, it’s dark and necessary. I’ve got to cross the abyss, that bloody wasteland to love ALL of myself. He won’t let me bury my head in the sand no matter how badly I want to. He knows I need someone to tell me what to do. He knows I have the answers but he understands I’m unwilling to take the necessary risks to take me out on a new trajectory or keep me growing on my current path. He knows I don’t take things lightly. He knows The Emperor, The High Priestess, Temperance, and the Lovers are always looking over my shoulder. He knows I hear them but that I don’t completely understand their message. They piss me off. They’d best leave me alone.
Crowley nods his head from side to side. Shoot. Here he goes.
Let loose. Let go. Why so heavy?
Are you serious? That’s it? That’s your wisdom?
He chuckles. Your conscience is in tact. No need for worry there.
He says it with such sarcasm, it’s upsetting to me.
Get naked. Run across fields of grass. Jump in the water. Bathe in the moonlight. Give of yourself. This is where and how you will find freedom. Take the necessary risks required to attain this kind of freedom. You might actually make the right choice. And if you make a mistake, so be it. Without friction there is no growth. You’re too busy protecting yourself, too busy trying not to hurt anyone. Yes, quite noble but emotionally, very foolish. Spiritually, a waste.
Freedom is a loaded word, no? I mean, I am free.
Freedom is the ability to express openly without forming any attachments, to be boundless and limitless. You said it yourself. When you change the way you see yourself, the world changes too. We become expansive and yet grounded.
I don’t know how to be boundless. I don't know how not to form attachments.
You tell yourself you don’t know how to avoid having to make a decision without realizing that you just made one. You’re allowing yourself to be influenced by fear to the point of exhaustion. Sitting in between two pillars may be safe but that little something keeps tugging at you to go left or right, to move. Someone like you can’t make friends with denial. Your higher self won’t let you. You’re aware. Half the battle has already been won. How did it feel to carry two swords? Please do tell.
How do you know about that? I dreamed of that this morning.
Two swords, one in either hand--I felt a sense of power moving them in the air, forming a circle counterclockwise to my left and counterclockwise to my right, then with hand firmly gripped, I take the right sword over my head, again swinging it counterclockwise with speed and precision out directly in front of me to the left. These swords were an extension of me.
I take a break for two minutes...
I saw what you did. You were compelled to look up the meaning of the Two of Swords card and then realized you had just pulled it earlier this afternoon in its reverse. I saw your face when you read the last sentence. A sense of realness took over, didn’t it? Paste the description into the text here. Let yourself see it again.
"In a reversed position the Two of Swords represents being forced to make a decision, having no choice whatsoever, or leaving others to make choices for you. It also represents the act of purposefully choosing to have no say in order to avoid taking responsibility."
And all of this is a bit surreal right now considering what I just wrote a little while ago. How does this stuff happen?
Freedom, making decisions, what do...?
Does your sense of freedom rest in stability or spontaneity, worldly things or spiritual matters? Do you love unconditionally? When you see yourself in all things and all things in others, you'll never doubt what must be done, what path must be followed, what course of action must be taken.
Just before I can get a word in or ask for clarification, he continues.
Stop procrastinating. The longer you wait, the foggier your mind will become. In your dream, the two swords coexisted, no conflict. Where there is a front there is a back. Where there is light, there is dark. We have the sun and the moon, twilight and dawn, joy and sorrow. In your world, the world of duality, each sword wants dominance over the other, hence, the imbalance. What is preventing them from coexisting? This is what you have to ask yourself. Yes, you are struggling to see what the right option is and some may say, weigh this or that out. I’m telling you, you must just do. There is power in not knowing where the chips may fall but it does require some faith in uncertainty. Don't be angry with the cards you pull. They are your messengers, your allies. Be grateful.
It’s time to have a conversation with Mr. Crowley. I’ve been avoiding him for a month now but this morning he finally made his way in and unpacked his bags. We’ll see what happens. I’m tired.
We sit together at a picnic table, side by side, he to my far right. It’s a beautiful summer morning in Italy somewhere. I know there’s a house behind us although I don’t turn around to take a look. Directly in front of us are green grass, trees, and a little off to the right, ocean. The leaves rustle in the breeze and I’m at ease. Actually, I’m quite surprised it’s so beautiful, so green and blue out here. I half expected to be cold and the weather to be dark and brooding. But I digress…
Mr. Crowley has a pipe in his left hand and in the other, a glass of wine. He’s wearing an elegant black suit, one taken out of the 40’s. I really don’t know what to say to this man. I’m hoping he doesn’t turn his head to look at me because I know full well he’s going to see right through me--the nonsense, insecurities, fears and lies. I’m not quite prepared for that. For all he cares, I’m not even around, not real just some thing the wind blew in. And lucky for both us, I don’t want to be a distraction. Not today.
But I’m a fool and he’s the magician. He misses nothing. Thank goodness for that English accent. It’s the only thing keeping me from ending this whole thing. I’m a sucker for the English. I ought to show gratitude for all of my revelations but there’s always a price to pay. Why does there always have to be a price to pay? And I know what the answer is. That’s the problem. I always have the answer even when I pretend not to. People like me don’t make mistakes. We’re always so bloody busy keeping everything under control, doing the right thing, keeping things steady and contained.
Crowley makes me feel uneasy. I can’t hide behind religion here, not morality or ethics. With Crowley, it’s dark and necessary. I’ve got to cross the abyss, that bloody wasteland to love ALL of myself. He won’t let me bury my head in the sand no matter how badly I want to. He knows I need someone to tell me what to do. He knows I have the answers but he understands I’m unwilling to take the necessary risks to take me out on a new trajectory or keep me growing on my current path. He knows I don’t take things lightly. He knows The Emperor, The High Priestess, Temperance, and the Lovers are always looking over my shoulder. He knows I hear them but that I don’t completely understand their message. They piss me off. They’d best leave me alone.
Crowley nods his head from side to side. Shoot. Here he goes.
Let loose. Let go. Why so heavy?
Are you serious? That’s it? That’s your wisdom?
He chuckles. Your conscience is in tact. No need for worry there.
He says it with such sarcasm, it’s upsetting to me.
Get naked. Run across fields of grass. Jump in the water. Bathe in the moonlight. Give of yourself. This is where and how you will find freedom. Take the necessary risks required to attain this kind of freedom. You might actually make the right choice. And if you make a mistake, so be it. Without friction there is no growth. You’re too busy protecting yourself, too busy trying not to hurt anyone. Yes, quite noble but emotionally, very foolish. Spiritually, a waste.
Freedom is a loaded word, no? I mean, I am free.
Freedom is the ability to express openly without forming any attachments, to be boundless and limitless. You said it yourself. When you change the way you see yourself, the world changes too. We become expansive and yet grounded.
I don’t know how to be boundless. I don't know how not to form attachments.
You tell yourself you don’t know how to avoid having to make a decision without realizing that you just made one. You’re allowing yourself to be influenced by fear to the point of exhaustion. Sitting in between two pillars may be safe but that little something keeps tugging at you to go left or right, to move. Someone like you can’t make friends with denial. Your higher self won’t let you. You’re aware. Half the battle has already been won. How did it feel to carry two swords? Please do tell.
How do you know about that? I dreamed of that this morning.
Two swords, one in either hand--I felt a sense of power moving them in the air, forming a circle counterclockwise to my left and counterclockwise to my right, then with hand firmly gripped, I take the right sword over my head, again swinging it counterclockwise with speed and precision out directly in front of me to the left. These swords were an extension of me.
I take a break for two minutes...
I saw what you did. You were compelled to look up the meaning of the Two of Swords card and then realized you had just pulled it earlier this afternoon in its reverse. I saw your face when you read the last sentence. A sense of realness took over, didn’t it? Paste the description into the text here. Let yourself see it again.
"In a reversed position the Two of Swords represents being forced to make a decision, having no choice whatsoever, or leaving others to make choices for you. It also represents the act of purposefully choosing to have no say in order to avoid taking responsibility."
And all of this is a bit surreal right now considering what I just wrote a little while ago. How does this stuff happen?
Freedom, making decisions, what do...?
Does your sense of freedom rest in stability or spontaneity, worldly things or spiritual matters? Do you love unconditionally? When you see yourself in all things and all things in others, you'll never doubt what must be done, what path must be followed, what course of action must be taken.
Just before I can get a word in or ask for clarification, he continues.
Stop procrastinating. The longer you wait, the foggier your mind will become. In your dream, the two swords coexisted, no conflict. Where there is a front there is a back. Where there is light, there is dark. We have the sun and the moon, twilight and dawn, joy and sorrow. In your world, the world of duality, each sword wants dominance over the other, hence, the imbalance. What is preventing them from coexisting? This is what you have to ask yourself. Yes, you are struggling to see what the right option is and some may say, weigh this or that out. I’m telling you, you must just do. There is power in not knowing where the chips may fall but it does require some faith in uncertainty. Don't be angry with the cards you pull. They are your messengers, your allies. Be grateful.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
MUSE
Muse started the concert with Uprising. When I heard that first note, my body responded--the core of me moved forward as though it was being pulled magnetically. I couldn't stop smiling and singing. It's true, with Muse I come out of myself. The music takes me infinitely outward and what a welcome change that is.
Muse knows how to capture emotion as my friend said last night. Even with all the props and lights, it's all on purpose. One could say Muse is over the top but because they know how to capture and relay emotion, one becomes a wave in the ocean of life. There's no way around it. Bellamy's voice, the way each of the band mates play their respective instruments, the lyrics, the dynamic relationship between the members--there's so much synergy and power created.
I enjoyed watching them in their element. There isn't anything more beautiful than being a witness to that, than getting lost in the to and fro of sound and movement, than watching masters of their craft in action. And isn't this what we all strive for? To be connected with something we love in order to express that which moves us? To fuse with that something that highlights our strengths, that expresses emotion, that in turn, inspires others? Listening to Muse inspires me to be better, to do better, to create, to claim what's mine and let go of what isn't.
I can travel to distant places. I can see the warrior that is me. I can feel the cold of space. I can see the nebulae, the supernovae, and all those misty pink, orange, and purple colours. I can see every star, every speck of dust and realize nothing is ever destroyed, only transformed. You can throw out a piece of paper or light a match to it, it still exists. I guess it's true when they say that change is the only constant. Change and I haven't always been friends. When I took a nice long look at my surroundings last night in the midst of sound, joy, and light, a silence began to emerge and dominate, a deep silence with such clarity of purpose that I was forced to listen to it, acknowledge it, respect it. My my, how apparent it felt to me in my present that in one hundred years, the faces in that stadium would all be different, that I, the crowd, and Muse would eventually cease to be as we know it, in some unknown time we call future. Muse's Time is Running Out never felt so poignant. But Muse will leave something behind. Each of them does already. Let's hope we all do in some way or another. This is what inspiration promises.
Thank goodness for moments of denial, for sleep, for these little blessings. I don't want to be aware all of the time, not unless I'm prepared to see and understand their role and significance in their entirety. And since I lack a certain kind of wisdom but am aware of its existence, I'm willing to settle for things as I currently perceive them to be. How does one know when to take control or to surrender? When does something become an issue of faith versus one of hopelessness? I don't want to be a feather in the wind drifting aimlessly unless I want to be a feather in the wind drifting aimlessly. I want to matter, to materialize. I want to be seen in words and heard in the spaces between them. Let the dot above the i have meaning. Please. Let me have meaning and purpose.
With Muse, I see my limitations and the possibility of transcendence. I see what I can become with persistence, patience and dedication. And I also sense resistance and how equally powerful this is if I let it occupy my space. I see that I am a culmination of pattern, a kind of pattern that needs undoing, dismantling. Who's going to give me purpose? Where will I draw inspiration from? The only purpose we are given is the one we give to ourselves. Isn't that so? Don't we essentially create our own realities? Is there not an inherent difference in the perception between a glass being half full and one being half empty?
When I change my perception, the world changes too. Everything is possible. I am possible. Fear has no hold over me. I see it for what it is--a tool for transformation. Nothing stays the same for too long, does it? I'm not fond of how something begins and inevitably metamorphosizes into something different, whether beautiful or otherwise. I dislike the disintegration of spark and momentum, how excitement and anticipation can move and uplift me only to be transmuted or taken away somewhere down the line. And yet, there needs to be a dip, a moving downwards, in order to fully experience the highs. I should find peace in this except that I'm always too aware of the lows.
I want to be master too...
Muse knows how to capture emotion as my friend said last night. Even with all the props and lights, it's all on purpose. One could say Muse is over the top but because they know how to capture and relay emotion, one becomes a wave in the ocean of life. There's no way around it. Bellamy's voice, the way each of the band mates play their respective instruments, the lyrics, the dynamic relationship between the members--there's so much synergy and power created.
I enjoyed watching them in their element. There isn't anything more beautiful than being a witness to that, than getting lost in the to and fro of sound and movement, than watching masters of their craft in action. And isn't this what we all strive for? To be connected with something we love in order to express that which moves us? To fuse with that something that highlights our strengths, that expresses emotion, that in turn, inspires others? Listening to Muse inspires me to be better, to do better, to create, to claim what's mine and let go of what isn't.
I can travel to distant places. I can see the warrior that is me. I can feel the cold of space. I can see the nebulae, the supernovae, and all those misty pink, orange, and purple colours. I can see every star, every speck of dust and realize nothing is ever destroyed, only transformed. You can throw out a piece of paper or light a match to it, it still exists. I guess it's true when they say that change is the only constant. Change and I haven't always been friends. When I took a nice long look at my surroundings last night in the midst of sound, joy, and light, a silence began to emerge and dominate, a deep silence with such clarity of purpose that I was forced to listen to it, acknowledge it, respect it. My my, how apparent it felt to me in my present that in one hundred years, the faces in that stadium would all be different, that I, the crowd, and Muse would eventually cease to be as we know it, in some unknown time we call future. Muse's Time is Running Out never felt so poignant. But Muse will leave something behind. Each of them does already. Let's hope we all do in some way or another. This is what inspiration promises.
Thank goodness for moments of denial, for sleep, for these little blessings. I don't want to be aware all of the time, not unless I'm prepared to see and understand their role and significance in their entirety. And since I lack a certain kind of wisdom but am aware of its existence, I'm willing to settle for things as I currently perceive them to be. How does one know when to take control or to surrender? When does something become an issue of faith versus one of hopelessness? I don't want to be a feather in the wind drifting aimlessly unless I want to be a feather in the wind drifting aimlessly. I want to matter, to materialize. I want to be seen in words and heard in the spaces between them. Let the dot above the i have meaning. Please. Let me have meaning and purpose.
With Muse, I see my limitations and the possibility of transcendence. I see what I can become with persistence, patience and dedication. And I also sense resistance and how equally powerful this is if I let it occupy my space. I see that I am a culmination of pattern, a kind of pattern that needs undoing, dismantling. Who's going to give me purpose? Where will I draw inspiration from? The only purpose we are given is the one we give to ourselves. Isn't that so? Don't we essentially create our own realities? Is there not an inherent difference in the perception between a glass being half full and one being half empty?
When I change my perception, the world changes too. Everything is possible. I am possible. Fear has no hold over me. I see it for what it is--a tool for transformation. Nothing stays the same for too long, does it? I'm not fond of how something begins and inevitably metamorphosizes into something different, whether beautiful or otherwise. I dislike the disintegration of spark and momentum, how excitement and anticipation can move and uplift me only to be transmuted or taken away somewhere down the line. And yet, there needs to be a dip, a moving downwards, in order to fully experience the highs. I should find peace in this except that I'm always too aware of the lows.
I want to be master too...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Relativity
I wake up from a dream. I hear, I feel, I taste, I cringe. I twirl around and fall and pick myself up. I'm always falling and picking myself up. Sun heats up my face and the moon cools it off. I long, I dislike, I hurt. I confuse illusion with truth. And I sit, I stare into the distance. I yell. I scream. No one hears. I walk ahead but turn around. I'm distracted. I distract. I remember. I forget. Then, I remember again. I connect. I want. I need. I want nothing and need nothing. My mind contradicts. My feelings lie. My intuition tells the truth. I'm unequipped. I carry every tool. But I'm unequipped. So, I sit and I stare into the distance, the sun heating my face. And I turn again and the wind whips past. The water startles me. I take a step forward. I turn back again. Nothing but mountains and clouds, more mountains and clouds. The water speaks. I'm reminded. I move in a little closer. I'm okay. I'm not okay. This is good. This is not good. The old me laughs. The new me cries. It's unfair. I am unfair.
A muffled sound reaches me from behind. I think. I'm sure. I can't make out the sound. I don't turn around. Not this time. I keep walking forward. The water and I know each other. The sun gets jealous. I'm furious. I say, Back off, but I'm unheard. I say, Slow down, but I lack meaning. My legs feel heavy. The rain arrives painting everything grey. I smile. I frown. And smile again. I'm good. I'm bad. I sin. I don't sin. I'm kind. I give. I take. I'm weak. I look up. I look down. I ask the world what it wants. It whispers. I can't hear. The scene changes. I want more water. I'm afraid. I'm not afraid.
A little girl asks, What are you looking for? I say, The book, the book. I think of Nick Cave when he yells, The plot, the plot. She asks, What's the title? I panic, I don't know. I don't know! I see people behind a faint curtain. Turbans and garments, soft creams and whites. I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm safe. I'm floating. And he says, Don't place too much importance. It's just music. He isn't real. He lies. I let him. I see the instrument. I like. I detest. I'm drawn. I'm indifferent. It wants to be played. But I'm unequipped. I'm a fool. I'm no magus. And I stare, look ahead, think back. I analyze. I cut. I dissect. Like a sword.
I'm empty. I search. I ignore. I notice. I care. I don't care. I'm curious. I lack substance. I absorb. I saturate. My heart wells up. Like a cup. I fill. I pour. I fill. I pour. I let go. I hold on. And I remember that I've forgotten. I'm a child. I'm a woman. I'm somebody. I'm nobody. And the water comes rushing in like a river. I'm consumed. I'm swallowed. I'm small. Insignificant. I feel. I feel. I feel. I'm confused. I confuse. I see blues, greens, and purples. I think, Take me. Take me along your contours. Just do it. And then, Throw me away. Spit me out. I don't mind. Because I belong to the earth. Maybe one day, I'll belong to the realms above. Maybe. Maybe. But for now, I'll have to settle.
A muffled sound reaches me from behind. I think. I'm sure. I can't make out the sound. I don't turn around. Not this time. I keep walking forward. The water and I know each other. The sun gets jealous. I'm furious. I say, Back off, but I'm unheard. I say, Slow down, but I lack meaning. My legs feel heavy. The rain arrives painting everything grey. I smile. I frown. And smile again. I'm good. I'm bad. I sin. I don't sin. I'm kind. I give. I take. I'm weak. I look up. I look down. I ask the world what it wants. It whispers. I can't hear. The scene changes. I want more water. I'm afraid. I'm not afraid.
A little girl asks, What are you looking for? I say, The book, the book. I think of Nick Cave when he yells, The plot, the plot. She asks, What's the title? I panic, I don't know. I don't know! I see people behind a faint curtain. Turbans and garments, soft creams and whites. I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm safe. I'm floating. And he says, Don't place too much importance. It's just music. He isn't real. He lies. I let him. I see the instrument. I like. I detest. I'm drawn. I'm indifferent. It wants to be played. But I'm unequipped. I'm a fool. I'm no magus. And I stare, look ahead, think back. I analyze. I cut. I dissect. Like a sword.
I'm empty. I search. I ignore. I notice. I care. I don't care. I'm curious. I lack substance. I absorb. I saturate. My heart wells up. Like a cup. I fill. I pour. I fill. I pour. I let go. I hold on. And I remember that I've forgotten. I'm a child. I'm a woman. I'm somebody. I'm nobody. And the water comes rushing in like a river. I'm consumed. I'm swallowed. I'm small. Insignificant. I feel. I feel. I feel. I'm confused. I confuse. I see blues, greens, and purples. I think, Take me. Take me along your contours. Just do it. And then, Throw me away. Spit me out. I don't mind. Because I belong to the earth. Maybe one day, I'll belong to the realms above. Maybe. Maybe. But for now, I'll have to settle.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Fear
I don't know why I keep drawing earth cards. My head is in the clouds most of the time, or is it? Maybe I'm just not understanding something. What? I'm in a weird space right now. Information is jumping at me from every which way and for the most part, I'm standing in the center of it watching it happen. Sometimes I wish I weren't so strong. Sometimes, I find myself looking for that illusory comfort in weakness but I know I'd be reverting to an old self, one that doesn't serve me anymore, never did. I ought to feel fortunate. I've found ways of getting in touch with feelings without them negatively affecting me or taking on a self-destructive role. Maybe I'm not as emotional as I think. Maybe, I'm more of a thinker than a feeler. I don't know.
I'm sure I'll be overtaken with emotion next Monday night when I get to see Muse perform live. I'm sure I'll be so overwhelmed, I just won't be able to help myself. I used to make fun of people who showed that much interest in a band. Now, I'll get to make fun of myself. Good. Let me be lost in music, lights, and the roaring sound of people's voices and screams. Excellent. Okay, I get it. I'm a feeler...
I saw my family yesterday--noticed the way the passing of years has shaped and changed their faces and their eyes. I miss them, not who they are but what they're not, what they'll never be. This realization hits harder each time I visit with them--especially when my brother and his wife are there with their kids. I become more aware of myself. I can see how differently we've grown.
I feel like an odd ball who bounces from wall to wall, unnoticed. I've always been the strange one, the one who sought more, the one who resisted settling for anything less than the best. And of course it's this idea of best which differs in its manifestation or translation from my parents idea of what best means for them, for me. My mother is a wife to a husband that is my father. But my mother has a name and she has a voice that is drowned by tradition and rules.
Fear keeps her in her rightful place. That's what it's designed to do. She's been reduced to mother and wife and this kind of seemingly innocent association. You can tell me there's nobility in that but not if it's at the expense of her ability to choose, of her spirit or happiness, not if she is unsatisfied with her circumstances, not if she wants more and has wanted more all of her life, only to have succumbed to her lot willingly, due to a perceived lack of strength. I'm trying to see her as an individual with dreams and hopes independent of anybody else. No, surrendering to fear is just fear creating more fear, plain and simple. There's nothing honorable about that no matter how you play it. Fear becomes our master. We become slaves to it. It wins, we lose. It takes away accountability and responsibility. It places the blame on life and on others. It takes away power. I will sacrifice but not in pursuit of somebody else's ideal or vision. Sacrifice means to make sacred, not to succumb to self pity because you feel you didn't have another choice. There is always another choice. I refuse to be a victim.
And maybe I'm a little angry. Maybe I'm tired of my own insecurities. Maybe I'm tired of the games I play with myself at the expense of my self. Maybe I just don't care. But that's a lie. Maybe we should wake up to the realization that no one is going to save us. This task is reserved for us and us alone. We can not be for others what we are not for ourselves.
I'm sure I'll be overtaken with emotion next Monday night when I get to see Muse perform live. I'm sure I'll be so overwhelmed, I just won't be able to help myself. I used to make fun of people who showed that much interest in a band. Now, I'll get to make fun of myself. Good. Let me be lost in music, lights, and the roaring sound of people's voices and screams. Excellent. Okay, I get it. I'm a feeler...
I saw my family yesterday--noticed the way the passing of years has shaped and changed their faces and their eyes. I miss them, not who they are but what they're not, what they'll never be. This realization hits harder each time I visit with them--especially when my brother and his wife are there with their kids. I become more aware of myself. I can see how differently we've grown.
I feel like an odd ball who bounces from wall to wall, unnoticed. I've always been the strange one, the one who sought more, the one who resisted settling for anything less than the best. And of course it's this idea of best which differs in its manifestation or translation from my parents idea of what best means for them, for me. My mother is a wife to a husband that is my father. But my mother has a name and she has a voice that is drowned by tradition and rules.
Fear keeps her in her rightful place. That's what it's designed to do. She's been reduced to mother and wife and this kind of seemingly innocent association. You can tell me there's nobility in that but not if it's at the expense of her ability to choose, of her spirit or happiness, not if she is unsatisfied with her circumstances, not if she wants more and has wanted more all of her life, only to have succumbed to her lot willingly, due to a perceived lack of strength. I'm trying to see her as an individual with dreams and hopes independent of anybody else. No, surrendering to fear is just fear creating more fear, plain and simple. There's nothing honorable about that no matter how you play it. Fear becomes our master. We become slaves to it. It wins, we lose. It takes away accountability and responsibility. It places the blame on life and on others. It takes away power. I will sacrifice but not in pursuit of somebody else's ideal or vision. Sacrifice means to make sacred, not to succumb to self pity because you feel you didn't have another choice. There is always another choice. I refuse to be a victim.
And maybe I'm a little angry. Maybe I'm tired of my own insecurities. Maybe I'm tired of the games I play with myself at the expense of my self. Maybe I just don't care. But that's a lie. Maybe we should wake up to the realization that no one is going to save us. This task is reserved for us and us alone. We can not be for others what we are not for ourselves.
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