Friday, September 30, 2011

Birth

Warmth spreads in all directions and outward.
Tears roll down the face, distorting its arrangement.
Humility overwhelms the longing heart.
Softness of vulnerability rolls in in its magnificence.
Crowds disappear.
Beauty takes stage.
Gratitude is born.

Sugar Coating

She wants another child. Fear is strong. The first and only experience and the aftermath were close to torturous. Frighteningly scared about the process. Must make promises to herself and friends that the new one will, in fact, be born, just so there's more binding, more stimulus for going through with the deed. But you know, what's the alternative? What will my life look like without having a little finger holding mine, without having a little hand grabbing my leg, without having a little body following mine, without having a little person needing my attention, my affection. What will my life look like without being needed?.....

She comtemplates going through the discomfort for a chance to feel full again. Her boy is growing up, reaching independence in all capacities. What to do when his wings grow big and beautiful and begin to take him away? I need him. He's my source of happiness. He is my purpose and my joy....

She wants another child to fulfill the void that is her life. The deep void that overflows with love in the presence of a child brought into existance by her. Or the well remains nearly empty. The internal source needs a spark from outside. An ever-lasting spark. An ever-present spark. The need to be needed and the need to need create a new life. This new life is then to handle the aftermath of the decision....

Monday, September 26, 2011

Separation

What an exhilarating feeling it is to experience, even if for just a moment, even if for just a fragment of a second, even if for just a blink of an eye, that what I think... is.. not who I am. Haaa.... The sound of separation. The sound of separation from the baggage and the scrutiny of the mind. That harsh language that the mind has a tendency of using, as if its whole job is to be critical. Hmmm... In fact, it IS the mind's job to analyze and dissect, but why apply that to myself? Am I really of such a need as to be constantly evaluated? It's as if I am putting myself through one of those mandatory work evaluations, where I am being measured against someone else, who is just simply too different from me, and comparing us is like comparing apples to oranges, sun to the moon, and eggs to a biscuit. That overactive and all-too-happy-to-give-advice brain impulses need to take a hike, somewhere deep into the forest, where the sound of the trees, and the breeze, and the birds create the symphony of quiet. And herein lies the sound of separation. The sound of separation from the baggage and the scrutiny of the mind. And what a relief it is to feel, even if the moment flies at the speed of light, that I am not who I think I am. That I may be something very different, that I may be something beyond what I've told myself, beyond what I've known, and way beyond my wildest dreams.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Picasso

Picasso had a Blue period, and I have a Question Everything period. Not that I am Picasso, or even close to it, but I, too, have my seasons. Just like nature. And just like the great artist, I am also part of nature. I digress. Obviously. Take two on this night's Question Everything theme. This well-known and highly popularized common phrase that goes like this: "If you can't beat them, join them." I am sure you have heard it and maybe even used once or twice or thrice in daily conversation. What, in the world, is it trying to say? I may venture to say that it is one of the most pessimistic and non-inspiring and spirit-killing phrases out there. Who's responsible for it anyway! (Google reports it was the famous puppeteer Jim Henson). As famous and ingenious as the man may be, his phrase has the effect on me similar to the act of crawling under the covers with shutters closed and no sunlight coming through. In other words, depression is the word of the day. Perhaps, I am misunderstanding his meaning? Maybe? Hopefully? Does he mean that if you're unable to change something, you might as well be absorbed by it? So, if something makes me unhappy, and I don't see a way to change that one thing, I may as well give up? Throw my hands up in the air "like I just don't care," and contribute to the problem? Wow.. sounds like a truly inspiring way to live out the remainder of my life (which, by the way, hasn't even begun). I would prefer to read the quote in another way: if something makes me unhappy, rather than joining the unhappiness, I need to embrace it. If I embrace it, see it for what it is, I can have a clarity about it. I can separate myself from the strong magnetic dissonance that it exudes. I can be on the outside of it. And then, I can work with it. I am not joining it, I am not fighting it. I am simply observing, watching, and learning from it. And from there, there is a chance of affecting, and even (may I venture to say) "beating" it.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Like the Sun

He is like the sun. The sun is in him. The sun's rays are the color and shape of his eyelashes. The sun's shine is the light in his eyes. The sun's brightness is the look he has when fully alive and overflowing with excitement. The sun's warmth emanates from his heart. The sun-induced relaxation is akin to his when in his comfort zone. The sun's size is the size of his dreams. The sun's everlasting glow is the glow of his bottomless love.

The Pool of Love

...And I fall into the pool of love. I close my sleepy eyes, relax my overactive mind, feel his caressing fingers on my fatigued skin, and I allow myself to fall into his pool of love. My body feels small and protected, my mouth forms a smile detected only by me, and I allow myself to fall into the pool of his love.
His arms feel like foam walls of a house, his skin feels like puffy white clouds, his space feels like deep and warm waters, and I fall into the very bottom of his enormous pool of love.
I know a hint of peace and surrender. I experience a glimpse of relaxation. I receive the power flowing from the pool of his unconditional love. All is quiet. All is well. Complete. Full. Present.

Hunger

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment.

I stand. Alone. In the crowd of random strangers, appearing to have a semblance of an exhilarating time. My skin is itchy. I am wrapped in a light layer of some feeling that defies description. Suddenly, my head turns right and meets his sober look. He invites me to join him. I agree. Albeit reluctantly. Maybe this one will be better. The thought is more of a desperate belief than reality. His fingers touch mine. Soft lead. Our feet move to a rhythm, though mine don't match his. His hand is now touching my elbow. Protective. Very nice. Nice. Strange. Uncomfortable. Back to my hand. A deep realization of the hunger, of the thirst pouring through his fingertips onto my delicate skin. Skin is itchy. I don't want to be here. I need to end this. His large and mobile hips are undulating. His motion is difficult to read. He is difficult to read. I step away. I watch. I find an oasis of aloneness. The drum beat stops. Lips in a forced smile. Body in an insincere gratitude. Free at last...

If dance relationship is any indication of any other relationship, I see tremendous room for improvement.

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment. Occasionally, it turns into a pleasant surprise, and I am grateful to experience that gift. It is rare.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Freedom

"...To say that something-a thought, a word, an action-is "wrong" would be as much as to tell  you not to do it. To tell you not to do it would be to prohibit you. To prohibit you would be to restrict you. To restrict you would be to deny the reality of Who You Really Are, as well as the opportunity for you to create and experience that truth..." -exerpt from a book by Neale Donald Walsch

Parents and Children

"I don't expect my parents to change." How does that saying go? "If I had a penny for every time I heard that...." I mean, really, why do we, children (I suppose we are not children in our minds, but we will continue to be so in our parents'), give so little credit to the two people who have spent their lives trying to mold us into something they thought would be great? Are they really that inflexible? Just because we think, act, function slightly differently from how they do, does not give us the right to label our parents so rigidly. Perhaps it is we who are inflexible and unable to conceive of our parents growing. It seems to me, however, that we, as a people, are rather adaptable and flexible. Some of us can even touch our toes! And I am certain that an average adult (minus those born with extreme physical changes), with enough attention and time, can eventually touch his/her toes.

I think that any individual is capable of transformation. Much of the resistance comes from unawareness, yes. The other reason why the wall is put up is because of the approach. It looks as if we are all children in grown-up bodies. We are all very sensitive and easily injured. I would posit that parents can and will morph, if approached with vulnerability and honesty. If a parent has always been a parent to his/her offspring, that parent cannot not respond to his/her own child when the child exposes himself/herself fully. Then, there is nothing left for the parent but to feel the parental love that may have long ago been pushed aside.

From within, I would like to thank all the children and their parents for trying to "work it out." I would very much like to give children permission to see the best in their parents, realizing that parents need love, understanding, and guidance just as much as we do.

Cheers!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Tomorrow

No. Not my original thought by any stretch of imagination. Not even a new-age idea. Been around forever and ever, and as of yet to reach humanity. All of humanity. Tomorrow. Tomorrow does not exist. Tomorrow resides in imagination. The bigger the imagination, the bigger the impact of tomorrow. No. Not the creative imagination that writes poetry and music, stories and paintings. It's the sick imagination of the rational mind. The color of such imagination is black. It's cold, damp, and frightening there. It's from this platform that the myth of tomorrow with its darkness arises, wrapping the potential in a tightly-woven knot, closing the shutters, hanging the heavy drapes, causing the beauty to fade and the body to shiver. Tomorrow is the fear that paralyses. Tomorrow is the prison of the mind. Tomorrow is the conqueror of the now. Now. Now is...Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. It is still. It is deep. It is. Now lacks the momentum of imagination. Now needs no fuel. Now is complete. Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. And thus am I.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Windows and Mirrors

A mirror is a reflection of who you are. Who you are being the important aspect of that sentence. Who you are. When I look at myself in the mirror, whom do I see? I see a face composed of two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two eyebrows, two cheekbones, two nostrils, a few wrinkles. Pretty standard. The mirror is showing me my own reflection. Well, who is that me looking at me? Is what's reflected back to me really me? And am I seeing the reflection I am supposed to be seeing? Maybe I am distracted by the physical face to see that which is more subtle and yet more significant, more powerful, more telling, and more interesting? Maybe. And maybe, the mirror is not the best reflector. Pause for silence and reflection, no pun intended. If this were a staged play, the previous sentence would have served as cue for the relationship persona to enter stage.

Relationships.

I've got one thing to say, and it is not "Shante!" It is "Yikes!!!!" Those living and breathing creatures that entangle and bind us, that feed us and nourish us, that break us and make us appear to be the true reflectors of who we are. Enter a relationship, and you're in deep. You're in deep and don't even know the depth of your condition. They say the eyes are the windows to your soul. One look at the one you're so connected with, one real, hard, and long look into the eyes of your beloved, you see him/her and...... yourself.  One eventful situation, and your actions are a reflection of who you are. One word in a tough situation, and your fears and insecurities are exposed.

I may have found my true mirror, and it ain't pretty. "Hey! Maybe I need to change my mirror! This one's not showing me what I want to see!" I had that armor working for a long time. It's been used and abused. I think it's rather deflated now, currently taking a long vacation. And I mean, a looooong vacation. There is a chance, however, that what I see really is pretty. It's just not what others may find as pretty. Ooh ooh, I know! That ugly really is the very subtle un-requiring of attention. It is this veiled beauty that provides the all-important guide to where I need to go, showing me the way to freedom to acceptance and to love.

Relationships. I thank thee for your assistance. I thank my beloved's eyes. I thank me for lifting up the rug in search for the mystical.

A relationship is a reflection of who you are. Now, that's much better.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

For Me

I know there is something to be written here. There are certainly enough disconnected thoughts circulating in the space between white and grey matter. The thoughts really do feel like impulses jumping from one place to another without ever stopping or coming to a conclusion.

What does it take to be a good writer? Is it the words one uses, or the messages, or is it the feeling with which one expresses his/her sentiments. Maybe good writing is just like good cooking: it needs love and the right kind of attention for all the elements to work together. It's that unspoken essence, that intangible something that connects the reader to the writing. If love and fear are all there is, which one would create the sort of connection that is everlasting? The answer is usually inclusive of both. The choice then is for the bearer of the pen and paper to inspire or to oppress, to elevate or to burden. This choice is really for anyone to make at any time. For the leader of the country, for the father of the family, and for maker of one's life.

A Short Something

Stress seems to be nearly always because of real or imagined time-constraints. The kicker is that we create these situations ourselves! There is a perceived need to get a million and one things done two minutes ago. If unchecked, it feels like a life-or-death situation when, in fact, there exists a fear of failure or a threat to our comfort.

And So It Is

Love is everywhere.
Support is endless.

Existance is wonderful.
Life is unpredictable.

Confusion is a must.
Limitation is subjective.

The mind is slow to see what the heart already knows.
Give a small bit of yourself, and the world turns bright.

Joy spreads.
Laughter illuminates.

A thought is misleading. A feeling is a guide.
Small places contain big answers.

Simplicity is truth.
A master has the key to the master's lock.

Dance is an undulation of rhythms.
Storytelling connects.

Love envelops in kindness.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Musings on Love

No, I just don't see it. I just don't see how it works, or even how it feels! What does it feel like on the inside, deep in the heart and in the gut, when you say: "I love myself." You can hug your body and think of how great your body is and feel tenderness and gratitude toward it. And yet, the body is not you, it is not who you are. You can smile because of a loving emotion you have about the job you performed, or the help you provided. That emotion is just that, an emotion, and still not you. It is experienced by you, but it is not you. Furthermore, I certainly do not experience the same feeling when I think about me as when I think about my sister or my lover.

No, I do not see it. I certainly haven't experienced it. Without that experience, I can not call it truth.

Another question to be asked, and this one is about giving and taking. Actually, it's not about giving and taking, but about giving and receiving. Without one end, the other cannot exist. I cannot buy stock shares if there are no sellers, and I certainly cannot sell (give), if there are not buyers (receivers). We need to know how to do both. One is not better or more admirable than the other. The pre-requisite to effortless giving is having the feeling of abundance, of wealth (I do not mean financial wealth), of having "extra," while the pre-requisite to effortless receiving is, fundamentally, having the feeling of worthiness. Yes, worthiness. (So excited I was able to write a 'Yes' in this paragraph)! In fact, it is more than a feeling. It's a knowing, an experience that you are worthy of all things possible. And as I receive, it becomes easier to receive until the receptacle is overflowing with gratitude and tears, and I have no choice but to...... give! And so the cycle is set in motion.

Here is my solution to becoming a welcoming vessel: drop all that I am not. And what am I not? I am not that programming that causes disease, guilt, fear, and death inside. And what am I? I am that which gives me the feeling of overwhelming joy, fullness, abundance, wealth. I am that which makes my vessel overflow and allows me to give freely with no expectation of any kind. I am that which gives freedom, inspiration, hope, laughter, and life inside. In short, I am a summation of all that that makes up the indescribable existence of love.

Love is what I am. It doesn't seem to be something that I do for myself. It's like saying Love (I) love love.  It is simpy there as a quality. A beautiful quality that fills my whole being and spreads like the sun.

A Life is a Possibility

A life is a possibility, my guru would say. It is just a possibility. One possibility out of infinite other possibilities. Each of us has a journey, a personal journey consisting of millions of streets, avenues, and byways. Each street, avenue, and byway comes in contact with millions of other similar and dissimilar streets, avenues, and byways, creating an intricate web, a web that is infinitely more complex than that of a spider.

We all have a story to tell. We meet each other to add to our individual story and to augment to the collective story. We all have our own roads to follow, creating the chaos and the stability of our universe. As we intersect each other’s lives, we attract, repel, compel, inspire, coerce the other. In short, we are influenced by each other. We are separate and together. The difficulty lies in staying on our particular path in the midst of all the others. The intersections are wide and many, the byways running perpendicular and diagonal and parallel to ours are innumerable. The distractions are many. The focus is scattered. The visibility is low. And the need is high.

We listen to them all, we learn from them all, we join some of them, we run from the others, all the while staying with the only game available in the great big labyrinth, keeping track of our own yellow brick road. And that is but a challenge.