Revitalization's Weblog
For the curious, questioning, and wandering soulArchive for perish
The beauty and the bliss
Is it the loneliness? Is it the quiet? What makes heartbreak so darn heartbreaking?
It’s been 3 months, and I still think about him every day. I feel my mind, my brain enjoys to revisit him in my memories. I feel my mind likes to revisit those thoughts, those moments that are so effortlessly permanent and accessible. As if my brain finds solace to go back, dig through the mess, the months, the days, to sift through it all and pull out the beauty and the bliss. Those moments of us laying in bed together, staring into each others eyes. Those moments of us making love so passionately. Those moments of us running and laughing, with such joy. Those moments of us holding handing across the table, having deep conversations about what makes us human. Those moments when I laid on his chest as he stroked my hair and I could so clearly envision our future, the years together, growing old, and going through life hand in hand, heart in heart.
I think we really, deeply loved each other. I think that’s rare to find. I think having a first love that deep and that true, well I think I’m lucky to have had that. I know I am. We were so in love, and I didn’t realize how deeply until after it ended. He expressed it often, and he expressed it sincerely. I never knew what that felt like. I never knew I could develop such a personal and raw connection with someone… a connection that held no ego, no whims, no frills. It was just us, ourselves.
And when it was great, it was truly great. And I can recall moments when I laid in bed with him, smiling ear to ear, laughing and really being present and realizing what bliss we had. I remember questioning if this could last, if this could continue forever. I remember thinking that I could live in that moment forever with him, in his arms. And I sit here, writing this, with tears running down my face, because…. because it hurts to have loved so deeply and to know, and understand that that person is gone from my life, cut out completely, a person who I loved so deeply, who cared for me so profoundly… is gone.
It’s hard, even now, to grapple everything that happened during those 13 months. But more importantly, it’s hard to understand, to really dissect and understand why we didn’t work. Why we fought, why we didn’t communicate, why we butted heads, why he kicked me out of his life, why I wouldn’t take him back. It’s hard to understand why someone who you love so much, could cause so much pain. Both in the moment, with words, but also now, with the absence of words. I wish so badly that we could be friends, because I find it so terrible, so fucking unfair that I cannot have any semblance of a relationship with the man who held my heart, who loved me so deeply, who taught me so much about myself and about the world, with the man who made such an impression in my life… why the hell can we not be friendly, why can we not for the sake of those blissful moments just leave things on good terms. Why does he have such animosity towards me ? He once said he would always love me, even if he hated me he would always love me. Where does that love go? Does it stay in the past, does it stay with those memories, superglued to our youthful selves, nestled within our soft kisses and warm embraces.
It’s hard. It really is hard to let go. I read once in a book about Buddhism that life is a constant process of letting go, of people, of places, of experiences. I think, during heartbreak, we so desperately want to hold on to the love, to the happiness, to those memories that made it all worth it, to that person that turned our world upside down, inside out and showed us a new version of the world that held endless possibility, wonder and promise. It’s difficult to let that person go, those moments go. It’s equally difficult to have faith, to somehow believe and trust that you will find someone just as powerful and influential again. Call me a skeptic, but it’s hard to believe one can struck by lightening twice. Something that felt so rare, so pure, so perfect. And it’s even harder to believe that one will find someone better, someone who is more compatible, someone who will stand the test of time, the ups and downs, someone who will weather the stormiest of fights and hold you forever.
As humans, we crave connection, we crave love, we crave unconditional acceptance, we crave companionship. I found it once. And I lost it once. I’m finding that losing it is almost as difficult as finding it. But, I firmly believe, that it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. And now that I’ve had a taste of it, of that beautiful love, of that deep and profound love… I know I’ll be chasing it again and again, perhaps forever.
Heavy
My mind is heavy, it’s weary even in its youth. Weighed down by tired thoughts that seem to stream through on repeat again, and again. It’s as if my mind is a junkyard, filled with dust and debris scattered here and there. On one side there’s a stack of cars, piled perhaps 10 high, flattened and weathered with worn tires from the miles they traveled, from the world they have seen. On the other, broken and forgotten pieces of home, buried toys of a childhood that is long gone.
the earth may not blink, not even pause for a moment
let the politicians figure it out. let them fight the fights. let the soldiers go to battle.
sometimes, I think it’s all overwhelming. I think all that is here, on this earth, it’s too much–all the people, all the suffering, all the fighting, all the arguments, all the killing, all the sadness, all the joy, all the beauty, all the births and all the deaths, all the life changes, all the milestones, all the relationships, all the animals, all the diversity, all the open spaces, all the deep oceans, all the stars in the sky, all the vastness, all the evolution, all the religion, all the politics, all the thoughts, all the beliefs, all the misunderstandings, all the relationships, all the marriages, all the families, all the childhoods, all the nightmares, all the fears, all the faith, all the rivers, all the trees, all the woods, all the shorelines, all the specs of sand, all the cars, all the planes, all the trains, all the poverty, all the disease, all the hunger, all the hopelessness, all the damaged, all the injustice, all the talk, all the noise, all of it. All of it, constant and real.
how does one wrap one’s mind around all of it, constantly changing, morphing, evolving? how does one keep track? how does one make any sense out of everything? It’s terrifying, and amazing, sad and joyous, earth-shattering and awesome. It everything. And, when were in the middle of it, in the thick of this madness, in the center of the storm, in between foresight and hindsight, I can only find indescribable fear that one day, it will all be gone.
All of it, gone from memory, gone from conciousness. And the earth may not blink, not even pause for a moment, not even flinch. Time will go on, people will keep moving, talking, and the noise will only get louder.
I don’t understand. I cannot comprehend why there is such cruelty, such disregard. To experience something so awesome, so tantalizing, so inspiring, only to have to leave it, leaving not a trace and taking… nothing.
Life. It’s a big word.
Where does my body end and the world begin? There’s 7 billion people. I’m breathing, watching my chest rise and fall, rise and fall. I’m taking in air, inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale deep. There’s 7 billion people breathing, their chests rise and fall, rise and fall. Some for the first time, some for the last time. Breath.
I think we learn from everything we do. I think there’s a inherent and basic thirst to treat every experience as important. Learn from what we do, learn from where we walk, learn from what we see, learn from where we stand. I think by absorbing everything around us and taking in every solitary moment and vision and feeling, we learn. We are learning about this earth, that seems to be a part of us, and us a part of it. It’s where we stemmed from. This gorgeous being, this special place in the universe perfectly place between the stars. And somehow we ended up here. Infinite chances that it wouldn’t be so. Infinite reasons for it not to be so. But, you only need one- one chance to be.
Are we really that special, that unique, that stellar? That we were given the chance- random or not, it does not matter. Out of all the potential people, out of all the potential possibilities, we came here. We started here, in this time and place. We were born from the stars, perhaps from infinite happenings, perhaps from absolutely nothing but chance. One single chance brought life, brought this reality to be. Is that crazy? Perhaps for our simple mammalian minds, but perhaps it’s the truth.
We live with the veil of immortality. An ignorance of where we are, of where we’re going. Speeding through space, our earth, our planet, breeding life endlessly and breathing endlessly.
I think unquenchable curiousity drives us. It’s that underlying question, that inkling, that place that the wandering mind goes. You crave to learn about everything around you because subliminally, in the deepest reaches of the mind, you realize that all that you know and all that you are is completely undefinable. I think we live in awe, and rather than sitting around stupefied by the vastness of the universe and a single atom, we keep moving. Constantly jumping from task to task, relationship to relationship as if that’s all that matters. I’m here to say that THAT is trivial. Can’t you see? This sense of need for accomplishment, need for love, need to be fulfilled, need to work hard and stand up for what’s right. What does it all matter? We’re simply, oh so simply, scurrying across this ball of mud we call home. Forgive me for calling this pristine place, this magical pinpoint in space a ball of mud, but it is. It makes me so furious, and partly ashamed because I partake in it as well, in the fact that we forget. Each and everyday we fall prey to a natural, animalistic need. We fall prey to what we think is right and what we think is good. We subject ourselves to what we know, what society has been saying for centuries. We accept and we go. We search for love, for acceptance, for entertainment. It’s all so so trivial, so small.
Look up, dream big and then bigger than that. Our primary concerns, well they have to be bigger than that. What else is there? Perhaps I’m asking big questions, perhaps the biggest questions. But those are the only questions that count, the only ones that are worth pondering about.
Life. It’s a big word. It attempts to contain a lot. I mean a lot. Perhaps it attempts to contain the uncontainable. Life is everything. No, not just the breathing, it’s everything. Because we came from it all, we came from stardust, from a flicker in space, from chance. Life is just as uncontainable as the universe itself, perhaps more so. And to ask what the meaning of life is, well that’s like asking what the meaning of everything is. And, I think that’s what is what drives underlying curiousity. We all have it, we all know that in the dark corners of the mind, there’s a question unanswered.
I mean is it useless to think about? Is it endless and therefore pointless?
I believe, with every fiber in me, that this is the only thing that matters. The only thing that should and does matter. Truly. Deeply. Life, while we may never know where it began, or how we came to be, or why, that’s the only thing that drives the concious mind. Trying to wrap one’s mind around reality, trying to contain the undeniably uncontainable. It’s exhausting and glorious.
Living Like Weasels
I’ve always loved Annie Dillard’s language. It’s so powerful, and Living Like Weasels truly a beautiful piece of literature. Here are my favorite excerpts:
“Weasel! I’d never seen one wild before. He was ten inches long, thin as a curve, a muscled ribbon, brown as fruitwood, soft-furred, alert. His face was fierce, small and pointed as a lizard’s; he would have made a good arrowhead. There was just a dot of chin, maybe two brown hairs’ worth, and then the pure white fur began that spread down his underside. He had two black eyes I didn’t see, any more than you see a window.
The weasel was stunned into stillness as he was emerging from beneath an enormous shaggy wild rose bush four feet away. I was stunned into stillness twisted backward on the tree trunk. Our eyes locked, and someone threw away the key.
Our look was as if two lovers, or deadly enemies, met unexpectedly on an overgrown path when each had been thinking of something else: a clearing blow to the gut. It was also a bright blow to the brain, or a sudden beating of brains, with all the charge and intimate grate of rubbed balloons. It emptied our lungs. It felled the forest, moved the fields, and drained the pond; the world dismantled and tumbled into that black hole of eyes. If you and I looked at each other that way, our skulls would split and drop to our shoulders. But we don’t. We keep our skulls. So.
He disappeared. This was only last week, and already I don’t remember what shattered the enchantment. I think I blinked, I think I retrieved my brain from the weasel’s brain, and tried to memorize what I was seeing, and the weasel felt the yank of separation, the careening splash-down into real life and the urgent current of instinct. He vanished under the wild rose. I waited motionless, my mind suddenly full of data and my spirit with pleadings, but he didn’t return.”
And later she writes….
“We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience–even of silence–by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn’t “attack” anything; a weasel lives as he’s meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.
I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you’re going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter, loosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.”
If you love this as much as I do, google it and read the whole thing.
Snatching the Unattainable, Only for You
Fuck this shit. FUCK this. These expectations are too high. You put them there, on the highest shelf. Out of reach. Criticize and criticize, until you’re blue in the face. Fuck this shit. I hate it. I cannot handle it. I’m supposed to be hard and tough, build a hard, plastic shell around myself to protect my fragile innards from the verbal wasteland known as your mouth. Well, I don’t. I don’t have a shell, perhaps I tried to build one, make one…. but it has cracks, deep cracks and go straight to the core. and every time you poke, every time you comment, it sticks that dagger a little deeper, it widens the crack a little more, revealing a swirl of vulnerabilities.
Ok, so I’m not good enough. Is that what you’re getting at? That I’m not worthy of this time and this money, these resources and all that you’ve given me? Is that it? Because I cannot achieve the best, be the best, be the one and only BEST, that I am not worthy. This may have been a bad investment. I may have been a bad investment, because I certainly am not what you want, what you desire in your heart.
You, you want perfection. You want this from me. How cruel and undeserved. You tell me I’m wasting time, I’m wasting money, I am wrong, I only do things wrong wrong wrong. I can hardly take anymore. It is hurting my heart. And I’m afraid that there may be some permanent damage.
Oh sure, you’re blind with a vision. You’re blind with ego. But, you don’t see what you’re doing to me. Breaking me down, with every small comment, telling me oh so very indirectly that I am imperfect and wrong. Never right. I can never be right or good.
Disappointment, that’s all I ever feel. Well, perhaps that’s a bit extreme, but that’s what I feel right now. Disappointment because I cannot attain the unattainable. Because I am not good enough, and you expected more. You set the bar too high. And while I have tried for years and years to reach that bar, standing on the tippiest toes, I always stumbled, I always bumbled in your eyes. You don’t see me, you only see my faults. You only see what could be, what should be. You don’t see what I am, and what I have achieved, what I have managed to accomplished in the endless pursuit of trying to appease you and your thirst for perfection from me.
Oh it’s tiring, oh I am tired. This has been an arduous journey and I feel myself breaking down. I try to shield my fragile beating heart from those words, I try to persevere. But, there comes a time when you get through to me. You cut right into me, break me down and tell me to stand up to take some more.
How am I supposed to be a confident young woman, outgoing and smart? How am I supposed to tackle this world and believe that anything is possible, when, you have undoubtedly shoved straight into my face that hardly anything is possible, because I have achieved almost nothing.
You break me down, but I still come whimpering back, trying to please and appease, trying to gain your approval and praise, trying, desperately trying to snatch the unattainable-only for you. I try, I try, and I keep trying.
I am a life, and I am alive. Breathing and animated.
Just a moment ago, I stared at myself in the mirror, blankly, and tried to peer deep into my eyes, looking for something, anything at all. I just stared and stared, and then the thoughts began to flood my mind, as if the iron gates opened up. I was amazed. Now, don’t take this in a narcissistic way, I was just struck by the amazement. My eyes, they are big deep pools of brown and black ink; they tell a story. They speak of life forever evolving, they speak of change and of aging, they speak of every single thing they’ve seen since birth: people, sunlight, emotion…. they speak of their origins. My eyes talk a lot, apparently.
You know, we, as humans, tirelessly search for something unique, special, and amazing. Something out of the ordinary, something that defines a moment, and don’t we all crave to know those moments. We look for them constantly, chasing high after high, trying to greedily take the most spectacular experiences and hoard them for ourselves, hoping that doing so would make all of this mean something.
But, I am realizing more and more that this spectacular thing, this unique moment, this unattainable idea… it may be buried deep down past all the veins, arteries, and tissues. Somewhere, deep, in between a beating heart and expanding lungs. Within ourselves. I sat there awestruck at what I am:
a life
A breathing, animated life full of thoughts, moving across this earth in search for anything that will help me grapple with what being human means. It’s truly stupefying. Sometimes I can hardly believe it.
LIFE. it begins and ends with you.
LIFE. it begins and ends with you.
And all that happens in between, all the heartbreaks, they just fill the middle
You. You enter the world alone, crying and screaming. You grow up, you adapt, you rebel, you begin to realize, you begin to love someone, and you grow old.
But, after all of those years, wondering and hoping and crying and crumbling, you begin to fade away.
You have grown to know the external so well, it almost becomes all that you are.
But, you are still the only thing in this entire world and universe that you truly know.
you have you.
Life, it begins and ends with you. That will never change.
Where You Stand
“You, from where you are, you cannot see the naked boy
The naked boy holds the camera
You are the naked boy before the camera
Or you are here and you are imagining the naked boy
This is not a dream and this is not a dream relationship
The boy wants to touch you
You are the other boy
The city is far away up in flames.
We’ve come a long way to be here
We said we wanted to get away from it all, but when we arrived in this place, it was all still here
It traveled with us
The histories, the bookmarks are part of your body
So all that you are is where you stand
Naked and getting more naked
A weight without weapons, a body of work
You stand at the edge of the rest of your life. This is what you stand for.
The boy stands with you, beside you, before you. The boy is the life you stand before and you are the boy standing at the edge
Stand by me. Stand by me.”
-Chris Goode
my mind forgets, like a sepia photograph slowly turning white
Memory: intangibly forever. It’s really all we have in this life. When time speeds up and our lives slow down, all we are left with is a shallow collection of memories—it’s all we have, it’s the only proof of a life lived that counts. While the ability to trap time and space within our minds is utterly glorious, it is undeniably frustrating.
As I grow, as I age, I find that my memories from yesteryear are riddled with gaping holes, leaving shreds of random recollections. While they may not be random, while there may be some subconscious grave importance to the memories I still keep, I cannot help feeling disappointed in the inability to remember every single solitary moment.
My memories are sliced into pieces, spliced together, and strung along a string. Like a kindergarten art project, my memories are hole-punched. Euphoric memories are salvaged, while dull and negative memories are excised. They are snipped from the stream of remembrance, and discarded so carelessly. They fade away, like a sepia photograph slowly turning white.
My mind buries the bad. My mind forgets, consciously concealing.
I find myself remembering only certain things; I tie these recollections down with double knots, and think about them for weeks, months, and years. I never fatigue from grasping onto these memories with clenched fists, constantly dissecting them, mulling them over, trying to dive deeper, searching for… something true.
I hold on tightly, perhaps TOO tightly. And while I desperately cling to certain events, others are forgotten. They are shoved out, dumped like trash in a gutter. I find myself disappointed in the limitations of my mind. It is devastating to know that those memories are gone—those first memories of light and sound as a newborn, the memories of walking and talking for the first time, memories of a childhood—they are all slipping away. WHY! I want to hold onto my humanity. I want to remember and reflect and ponder and know EACH day of my life. Each and every single day that I lived, that I was in existence. WHY should I have to forget.
I don’t want to forget this life. I don’t want to forget what it meant to live, what it meant to grow and evolve. I don’t want to forget the progression. I don’t want to forget myself.
his heart heavy, his head hangs…
A broken man sits at the bar, drink in one hand. His other hand sits clenched and white, full of fury. Darkness drops from his eyes. Wrinkles etched into his brow, etched with regret. His heart heavy, his head hangs.
His weathered eyelids close for a moment, as if hoping to escape, for only a moment
He opens his eyes. Takes a quiet sip. Puts his glass down and stares ahead. Gray eyes lost in a muddled past.
tonight, tonight
Let’s be totally honest right now. RIGHT NOW I’m going to be totally honest with what I want. What I desperately want this year, in 2010, is… I mean how do I even verbalize it, how do I quantify it, how do I explain the inner tumultuous state of my mind. My mind tumbles and thunders, and spins and whirls. It flips and dives, it hopes and prays. My mind reaches, reaches, reaches, searching to grasp onto anything tangible, anything real, anything true. My mind reaches for truth. My mind.
I find myself looking at myself. In the mirror. I see that I’m now no longer that young child with bright eyes. I see life wearing on me, my physical self. I hate that this life, THIS life is wearing me down, slowly, slowly wearing me down- and for what? WHY? why should I be picked apart, and broken down, atom by atom. I shouldn’t, I won’t! I’ll resist, and I’ll struggle, and I’ll try to keep myself on point, I try to keep myself moving up, striding only up.
My mind reaches for an answer. My mind searches for what’s right, for what’s good. Actually. That’s false. My mind doesn’t reach for what’s right and what’s good, I mind reaches for what is. Oh what I’d give to know what is. What IS , right now, right here, in this very sentence, in this very line, in this very WORD, what IS. Maybe this doesn’t make any sense… I feel myself getting off track- I wanted to write about what I want, what my goals are, and who I plan to become in this year, THIS year of 2010.
I love 2010. I love saying it, I love writing it, I love the symmetry, I love it’s evenness, I love how it represents a new decade of life and time that has never graced the oceans and deserts, never touched this universe before. I love how 2010 is completely new and fresh. And in some odd way, I feel that with 2010, twenty-ten, (ahh that feels so good!) I can start afresh and anew too. Perhaps this is naive and sophomoric. After all, it’s just a number, it’s just a representation of this period in our lives, this moment. It’s just category, just a number that allows us to believe that we are somehow and someway moving forward. As if time is dragging us forward, whether we’d like it or not. Time tugs on, while we dig our boots into the mud, struggling to slow it down, desperately trying to hold on to what is familiar, to what we know.
I’d like to pick my feet up out of the mud and allow 2010 to fling me forward. Like a rag doll flung from a slingshot, whooshing past nonbelievers who can’t seem to unclench their hand from the rungs of past days, and past ways. I’d like to fling forward. Where I end up, I’m not so sure.
“Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave, without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
The more you change the less you feel
Believe, believe in me, believe, believe!
That life can change, that you’re not stuck in vain
We’re not the same, we’re different.
Tonight, tonight, tonight
So bright
Tonight, tonight”
-Smashing Pumpkins
And what do I want?
I think I’m more hopeful. I think this summer has been great. Some flirtations, some adventures, some great conversations. I think there’s a lot that the future holds. I think that I’m beginning to know not only who I am, but what I can do. What I can achieve. What I want.
And what do I want?
I’ve said this before. I’ll say it again. I want love, I want life, I want a pure and sincere happiness that runs deep. I want adventure and surprise, I want to be better. I want to be STRONG, confident, powerful, and able. Able to choose, able to believe, able to aspire, able to achieve, able to reach, and able to grab.
I think I’ll get there. I think I’m getting there. To that point where I can finally be the best version of me, and offer that person to a world where acceptance is abundant and ambition flows.
I think I’m getting there. And while my road has had bumps, grooves, obstacles and u-turns, I’m getting somewhere. There are two directions, there has always been two directions: up and down.
I choose up.
dusty footprints are swept away
I think about those common people, who have been swept away with the wind. Those who have died, those who have loved, those who have lived greatly, those who were. I think about those people who used to be living, and now exist only in the wind. While they tried, desperately, to put their footprints on early terrain, while they tried to create lasting impressions, to make differences, to be remembered.. they were forgotten. And to no one’s fault… they were forgotten because that’s what happens…….and that’s what always will happen… people forget, memories fade fast, and dusty footprints are swept away by the breeze.
I wonder if that’ll happen to me. I know inevitably it will. I know that everyone I know and everyone I will ever know will fade away with me, when I’m gone. I know it will happen. It’s an eerie feeling, and a spooky thought. While I have lived, and while I am trying to do good and great things…I will fade… along with all that I know, and all that I’ve done. In some sense, one must ponder, then what’s the point. Why even try? Because in the end, everything breaks, and people forget… but I think it matters. If not to anyone else, actually… to no one else, it still matters. To you. You will remember, and you will have lived, and loved, and done grand things… you will remember… even after being swept away… I hope………. I hope I will remember
You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself.
you know… it’s about a lot. and this might just be bullshit, but hey who knows, it might be true…
today, i just feel like writing, and i just feel like there might be someone listening. I feel like, if anything, I could be listening! I will listen. listen up self.
it’s about a lot. life, i mean. life’s about a lot, and it’s about realizing that life’s not short. LIFE IS LONG. Life is long, and hard, and beautiful, and tough, and crazy, and at the end, we may want more. I mean, quenching a thirst for life, I don’t think that even exists- you gotta want more and more, and at the end, you feel like wow, it’s done. life’s done? i mean…. really? how can that be? And i hope that once i get to that point, when I’m saying Wow, life’s done, and this is done, i hope that… well i hope that i had a great one. One that i can be happy with, and feel fulfilled. Not financially, or professionally, or superficially… but internally, and simply happy. content with what i’ve become. content with what has happened.
Life is long. and… while i fear a lot… i fear that everything won’t happen for me… i fear that i made mistakes.. i fear that i won’t have enough time… i have to believe that it will happen for me, and that while i have made mistakes, there is time and it will happen. it will come.
It will come. Will it come? I think we have to believe that it will. I think there is no other way to live. Because to live in fear, doubt, and frustration… well that’s no way to live. Oh sure, fleeting doubt and fear, it comes, but it should go. let it go.
Let it go. And hold onto hope, and believe that it will come. Because, if anything, trust in the fact that you have yourself, if nothing else, and if no one else, you have yourself. And that’s special. That’s unique, and undeniable. That’s remarkable, and no one can take that away from you, even after it’s all over. Even after death, you have yourself.
You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself. Be honest with yourself. Because in the end, things break, people leave, and the world turns- and if there is nothing left, nothing at all, you have you. You have you, and that’s remarkable. So trust in yourself, trust in life, trust in promise, trust in the human condition, trust in you that: it’s about a lot, and while life is long, it will come. So let it go because you have yourself. Undeniably.
Why do we get to be?
Fragments. Fragmented, cut up, broken. It’s what we know. These sharp shards of all that we know sit in our minds, and somehow we cope. I mean I don’t really get it… I don’t get how I can live in this world, and accept that I don’t, and will never understand everything. I don’t get how I can live in this world, and walk the same paths, and do the same things, and see the same people, and not understand everything. Honestly.
We come into this world, a screaming pink ball, so angry that we had to come out of that comfort place, that beautiful warm womb. We come into this world, and are expected to adapt. And grow. And accept. Accept all that we see, and all that is, we must accept it because it is here, and it is real, as real as we know. And because it is here and because we can see it, touch it, feel it, it is real, and that’s all that matters. So we live in this world.
We live with these fragments. Fragments of what life is. Fragments of what “human” means. Fragments of a higher power that is all knowning. Fragments of an eternalness of it all. Fragments of the universe that we somehow, somehow are a part of, without even acknowledging it, we are, we are a part of it. Fundamentally, and essentially. It is unquestioning. Right? Maybe.
I just don’t get it. I mean, I get that there is life, and there is us, because I am here, at least in this moment I think I am, and I think that’s good enough to acknowledge that this is true. Right now is happening, at least we think it is. But, in essence, what does it matter if it truly is or isn’t. Because thought, and agreement that what is, IS, well that makes things real. And so I am sitting here, real. I am real, and you are real, and we are living in this world together, as we imagine it and percieve it, and how we see it makes it how it is, because that is all we know. And so we sit here, together, in this world, seeing, living, breathing, and nothing.
No questions. No demands for answers! NOTHING! I don’t get it! I don’t get how people are just “OK” with this. This reality- people accept it, undeniably. As if this is real, because it is what we know. There is no questioning. None. There is no question about why! There are no questions about us, and the universe, and where we come from- where these personalities, and thoughts, these complex and unique thoughts come from. Sure, from DNA, from genes, from biology, but why? Why do we have capabilities to be? To be freely thinking and moving? Why do we get to be?
Why do we get to be?
I guess that’s the question right there. And, if we get to be, and I think most would agree, at least those who are, that we are, right now, right here, we are. And if we are, and we get to be, and maybe it’s this wonderful gift, maybe it’s a mistake, maybe it just is, then why do we get to die? Why do we have to die? Why do we get to live and get to die- it should be really one or the other. But then again, who I am to say what things “should” be like. Haha, it’s comical really, to think that we can suggest how things “should” be, when we have no control over how things are. We are just thrown into this reality, and are expected to accept it, and to just be “ok” with the fact that we get to live and we get to die.
So why do we get to be? And why do we get to die?
That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood
And you stand with hair pulled back, and your hands are pressing against your ears, and all you can hear is the pattering sound of water on your skull, your cranium, your mind. And then the water rushes in, and fills all voids, swishes around and around in your mind, warm and fuzzy. Warm lights. Yellows and orange, it’s so peaceful, as if in back in the womb, when there was absolutely nothing, where there was just warmth, and light, and dim echoes of sounds, and the comforting sound of a mother’s heartbeat, of a mother’s voice. And your eyes are closed, and a slight smile sits on your lips, and you are cared for, and loved, and all is wondrful and beautiful because you are here, surrounded by warmth.
And then you open your eyes, and you see where you are, and you see you. You see you and what you have become and you wonder what the hell you are doing right here, right now. If you have made ANY difference in this fucking world that you have been living in, so blindly. As if you haven’t started living, as if you are waiting for something good or great, something to change, some major life change after which you will start living as the person you want to be, and you feel you need that fuckng push. That SHOVE. And it doesn’t come, and so you wait, and you slump, and your shoulders hunch, and your eyes lower, and your spirit withers, and all you have, all you hang onto is that little glimmering hope that ONE DAY that change will come. It will bring you up, lift you high and take you across, where all is good and wonderful, where life begins, and where you so desperately belong. And as you wait, and wait, and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait, you see the fucking damage that this time, this torturous time has had on your rocky heart, and your wrinkled brow. And then self-pity sets in.
And all you want to do is crawl back into that warm place. That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood and flushes your cheeks. That place that you know was the one place where you were sure, and all you had to do was close your eyes, rest your mind, and feel soft pulses, plush sounds, calm breaths. Just be still.
Diaries of a Vagabond
I sit here, listening to some sad music, putting me in the mood, urging me to write pitiful words. Hah. The hairs stand on my arms, my eyes ache. I love the violins, the sad sad violins.
Just BREAK me down! I am starting to crave it—just an earth-shattering blow to my world. Break it into one trillion pieces, break crack rip smash. Oh what I would give to…. To move, to start again and again and again. It gets so boring. One life, one way of life, I’m tired. Turn it upside down, shake my shoulders. Am I seriously the only one? The only one who is bored, bored of this, of doing this, again and again. Eat, sleep, gym, study, work, play. How utterly dull, such monotony.
I don’t know how to do it, I don’t think I’m big enough to take the step. I don’t think I could do it to myself- change it all, just leave it all behind. Really, if I just picked up and left. Stepped onto a bus, and went. Got onto a plane, and left. Just left. I mean I don’t know if…. Hmm……vagabond
My shine is wearing off. Like an old penny, covered in age. The glisten in my eye is dimming, the light in my pulsing heart flickers. Maybe reality is setting in, and I am hearing. I am seeing what ‘to be human’ really means. I’m seeing agony, I’m seeing heartbreak……………I’m seeing fear….. helplessness.
I can see it in strangers’ eyes. I see how much it hurts.
But we get by, because that’s all we know. And so we shuffle along, and keep treading water and we make a little life, surround ourselves with material comforts, and try to forget, plug our ears and close our eyes shut tight, and just block out what we don’t want to hear, what we don’t want to realize is so true.
And I see myself… I can see myself on this path, on this specific road, going down the ignorant road. Is it so wrong that I want something different for myself, for me, is it so wrong that I want something great? So just give me an earth-shattering blow and break me down into one trillion pieces so I can wake up and start again, so I can try again………. I just need to try again….let me try again
a random 15
I like the smell of hot milk.
I love sleeping in soft beds.
I think I’m a sincere person.
I like to sit in the front of the bus so I can see the road.
I try to read books that will open my eyes.
I love getting hand-written notes.
I like listening to songs over and over again.
I prefer rainy days.
I think there are people that weave in and out of my life, and I in theirs, where we have never met and may never meet, but somehow we are undeniably connected.
I want an amazing romance.
I like to make eye contact with strangers.
I save random objects and notes I find in a little hidden box.
I write things on money in hopes that they will return to me in years and years.
I look forward to really honest moments.
I sometimes forget to look up at the stars and realize how infinitesimal life is.
a stomach-churning crunch
It’s haunting really. Those fleeting thoughts, that come so quickly they stop your heart. Like suddenly falling flat, with your nose crashing into the ground in a stomach-churning crunch, blood flowing ruby red and tears well so quick you can’t hold back. And you turn over and just lay there, hands scrapped and cheeks flushed. Sprawled, feeling like shit, and peering up into the dull gray fog.
You get angry, with a furrowed brow, and you wonder why the world is so fucking black. Why the hell you got these cards. What the hell did you do wrong? And you wonder when! You wonder when the hell things will change, when things will be better on this barren earth. God, there is so much corruption, so much violence, so many men that die. How can I not help but to look at all that is bad, it stares me in the eye, clouds my vision. Men die for words, for WORDS. But, what’s more disturbing, men kill because of words. Men kill because of disputes about whose God is right, whose God is good. Oh god, people die, millions of people die.
Understand that I’m not utterly devestated that people die because of violence, because of unjustice, because of wars, but I’m am utterly broken because people die. That simple, simple fact. People die, prematurely and without satisfaction, without achieving passions, without loving, without knowing, without accepting a fate.
This fleeting thought, it hits me so hard some days. It hits me so fucking hard, that I can’t help but to buckle and cry and scream and clench my fists and pound my hands on the hard ground until they are red, until my spirit breaks. Death represents such an end, such a permanent end to my life. Not in a biological sense, but an end to me. An end. An end to the my thoughts, to my world, to my universe. At my end, the universe stops, it simply stops and that is so inconcievable. It might as well have not existed, it might as well have not been. I don’t know when I’ll be able to accept this, I don’t know if I ever will- it scares the shit out of me, and I can’t face it without feeling such honest terror. Where will I be when there world stops, the sun never rises again, the moon never shines once more, the heart putters to a stand still and all that’s left is silence, deafening silence. When will I take my last breath, take my last step, feel my last inch perish. oh god.
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