My Mess

Probably becoming a bit too sensitive on the subject.  But, sometimes, when tired at 1 am, or when patience has completely evaporated, the frustration rises along with the sensitivity. Ever watch TV dramas? Much emotion, mostly coming from pain, is thrown around. What else is thrown around is the "He did that to me!" verbiage. Anyone else notice this? This is not just on TV, you know. One of my soldiers likes to remind me that I am "killing" him when presented with a slew of questions not so easily answered. The other accused me of breaking his heart. The girl on TV, well, she's just raving about how much of a wretch he is for doing some awful thing to her. And, yes, of course, there is a plethora of love songs, which, I may venture out and say includes 99% of all songs, where the singer is either elated that his love is making him feel so high, or her love has ruined, destroyed, and otherwise devastated her life, pieces of which have been scattered all over the map with little hope of restoring themselves to the previously perfect arrangement.

I wonder what Eleanor Roosevelt would say to this deep-seeded and deep-seated cultural phenomenon which, through careful description depicted above,  has obliterated the law of self-responsibility. Here is one of hers: "One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes... and the choices we make are ultimately our responsibility."

There really isn't much more to say on the topic. Somehow, the frustration has dissolved into sweetness. The kind that, if tasted, will nourish the lucky winner. Though, here is a worthwhile statement, in my not-so humble opinion: I am not doing anything to anybody, just as nobody is doing anything to me. We are all doing it all to ourselves. It's time that we woke up to the fact that we are the sole creators of joy and misery in our own lives. We choose to see or sleep or sleep walk. I would like to find different writers for those TV dramas. It seems like the perfect time to submerge our victimhood into clear waters, and resurface with a new tool belt covered in sparkling arrows pointing inward, to the heart of us. And the new conversation would start with a little something like..."Damn it, I made a mess. Again." Followed by..."And it's ok. It is all ok."

On Death, Part 1

Just brain dumping.
Death.
He said to ponder death.
To speak of death.
I must learn death. Or know it.
My friend dies.
I grieve. Or do I?
A grief of what?
A loss.
My loss.
Not for him.
I grieve for the loss of my friend.
Because I will be losing a friend.
Because I will not be getting something.
A relationship ends.
Like that of a lover leaving.
I grieve then, too.
For I will not be getting something.
An unnecessary way to live.
I never had him. Or anything else.
I own no one. No possession. Leads to no loss. 
The blessings of his company.
His light in my life.
A joyous addition. Thanks.
Is all I am able to experience.
Coming. Going.
Like the ocean's tide.
Grateful for its presence and its absence.

More to come...

A Mind-Made Box

I have seen a limited number of movies in my life and have witnesses to vouch for this statement. Those I have viewed, have been done so multiple times. Looking for the common theme among these pictures, it appears that the one thing of true interest to me is the intriguing and, simultaneously, laughable nature of relationships. Is anybody else out there also aware of how funny it all is? There are a few elements that persist in all the stories, the most prevailing of which is a notion of right and wrong passed down to us from, at least, Abraham's age. And so each character in each of the stories works very diligently at fitting into his (and her) well-defined role and place in any given relationship. From the feelings one ought to have to the behavior one ought to exhibit to the expectations one has of the other to the appearances one ought to exhibit to the world. In other words, each individual plays by the rules he (and she) did not consciously choose but rather inherited through osmosis into the very bloodstream that courses through the veins (and arteries). In yet another set of words, each lives his (and again, her) life attempting to fit into a rather rigid system with little room for flexibility, forgiveness, and...(searching for another "f" word).....oh hell, fun is all that pops up. (Akin to the education system, to the economic system. Any system). The prejudice that arises from blindness (is anybody else out there aware we are slaves to the dogma?) is so powerful, it obliterates humanity in the individual. It causes judgement, hatred, fear, and walls. It is a wonderful tool at keeping the world apart. I laugh at the apparent suffering of each character, but it's a laugh that is birthed by sadness. Of the predicament we find ourselves in simply because we have not taken the time. To see that a human cannot and will not fit into any system for any length of time. A human cannot be curtailed in any way. A human cannot be contained within the walls of any mind-made structure without a part of him (and her) dying. Restriction causes resistance. Resistance, or rebellion, is the cause for war, be it internal or external. In short, it goes against the flow of life. And as I watch these scripts in motion, a part of me, though small but insistent, wants to plead, wants to raise havoc in speaking out and delivering this message: The Box You Are In Is Not Real.

The Results

They only see the results.

They don't know the work.

They only see the peace.

They don't know the turmoil.

They only see the glow.

They don't know the darkness.

They only see the beauty.

They don't feel the rough edges.

They only see joy.

They don't feel the pain.

They only see the bud fully flowered.

They don't know the years of labored growth.

They don't know the years of rainfall of tears.

They don't know the years of woeful sorrow.

They only see the bright light.

 

And that's ok, for she, too, doesn't see their struggle. She, too, only sees the end result.

Inspired

The computer asks me the same installation question each morning. It then asks me if I'd like to restore the previous session. I want my previous session. I want yesterday to be similar to today. I want today to be predictable and surprise-less. I want to feel powerful and in control of my life. I want to find that when I ride my bike to work, the building, the people, my pen and paper are just as I left them. 

Thus, I put myself into a pretty box and when it no longer looks pretty, I find another. The new one becomes old soon enough, and so I look for yet another spark. And so the cycle is on: want predictability, bored with predictability, find a new shiny something, dull it, and wonder why I am unsatisfied.

I also have another lifelong friend. His best name is Momentum. I start out with a walk, or rather a stroll. Somehow, the wind inevitably picks up and I find myself jogging until the once enjoyable movement reaches tremendous speed outside of my control, and I keep running faster and faster, unable to stop, running from one thing to another, from one task to another, from one goal to another, barely stopping for fuel, until all I can do is express the exhaustion in an invariably loud and dramatic way.

Alas, I live in the want of stability and predictability, in the world of boredom and blindness, because my eyes are closed, because my mind is fanciful, because my head is bent down to the ground, because I am drowning in the life I have inadvertently created for myself. 

And so I see this, and I want a way out. I am not a robot, I say to myself. I am not a rat in a cage. I am a free and creative thinker. I have a functioning body. I can choose every moment to be the happiest moment of my existence. I can find form in the formless and beauty in the mundane. I can hop off this speed train to nowhere, rest if needed for as long as needed, and maybe, take that lazy, daydream-filled stroll.

Out

Thinking..
Of words
To express
A feeling..

Using
The logical
To express
The un-graspable

The stringent
Form
Encourages
Freedom
In the spaces
Between the walls

Music's power
Found
Following silence

The lull
Before the
Explosion

What appears
As darkness is
A seat
For change
Profundity is soon
To be

Moving
Incessantly
Toward an oasis
Of
Stiller than still

Shift a rock
Find
A world deeper
Than the deepest
Waters

Living
In the space
Between the space

Breathing in
Wanting to
Breathe
Out
And out

Out
Of the blur of the mind...

A Loud Scream

OK.. So, maybe, it is morbid. A morbid subject, that is, and yet, it is a reality. I keep thinking about the lives we lead, and I keep returning to the fact that we certainly know how to exist. It doesn't take very much. Just eat and sleep, and the body keeps going. Gosh... Is that all? THAT sounds morbid to me. What I'd like to know is how to live! Where is the manual on that? Food and sleep certainly won't cut it.

Here is a visual: you're doing an exercise, you're holding your breath, you're red in the face, you're exerting yourself to the extreme. Well, sounds like our everyday life. We are in the process of some activity, red in the face, pushing ourselves to the limit daily, and forgetting the simple act of breathing. How to exercise, if the breath is not moving? Forget about living! Existence is about to end, too.

This preoccupation with existence has extended beyond the daily grind and into the end of life. We are very good at keeping ourselves alive, except we're the walking and, sometimes, talking dead.

We exist for the most part with a few moments of aliveness. We want to feel alive, so we turn to the numerous activities and people who provide us with the glimpse of it. Naturally, we want more, and so we cling, we hold on for dear life to that one place, person, or thing that, at one time, gave us a taste of freedom. We squeeze it so hard, we deflate it of its breath, we suffocate it. It now barely exists, and.... so do we.

Time for a visual: two dancers rehearsing for a performance, creating the choreography, memorizing the steps, stepping on each other's toes, falling and getting up, crying and laughing. All effort and drama associated with it for a final performance which length is shorter than a commercial break. The question then is "aren't we all rehearsing for the next big thing?" The next promotion, the next baby, the next trip, the next dinner.... Except that there is no rehearsal time for the big event. It is ALL a big event. Rehearsing is just existing for the few moments of aliveness while breathing has to be at all times. Has to happen. Has to.

Because the sun rises daily, and the earth rotates daily, and the moon shines daily, and the birds sing daily, and the tides shift daily, and we're all in this together. And I want to be alive, and I want to be with what is alive, and this is why there is a loud scream coming from this direction.