Category Archives: Relationships

The truth has waited long enough.

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I dedicate this to whom it belongs.

The swelter keeps a record heat this year
It’s a murderous spring
Losing itself between
Frost-bitten ices and heat-stroke orange
Blood orange
The kind sliced and placed perfectly in its pointless garnishing place

And here am I
Another token of your majesty’s invincibility
Should’ve gambled on the chance of it
Me, falling predictably apart at your treason’s start
When I die, will there be a heart
In you, will that be enough, your highness, to prove
That my faith could’ve gone on forever?
Will you sadden your face to suit the occasion?
Compassion, empathy, when in season or fashion
You, how you would just so happen
To keep coming around
Happen, always know where to be and when
Include us, if you will
Structurized memories and compromised plans
New age theories with their many hidden agendas

How do you keep up with yourself?

I once was one of the few, the only
Putting all my broken chips upon you
You, with your royal rule of the Universe
Your well-thought words
Which aid and abed
Each of your ulterior motives
Far too many to count
I was kept taught and rapt to them
To you
By denial of my angst and inner doubtings

Trust not the still and silent snake

And yet in my own transcendence
The Zen I developed before you ever came along
The enlightenment for which you can take no credit, master
I did. I tried to forgive you
Release my pain
Along with my poignant disbelief
To your many Gods,
Place the blame upon them
To make sense of the inconsistencies

I was once but a sperm
Cloaked in the scent of desire
Wanting, wanting
My genetic disposition
Of narcissism
Megalomania
Self-awareness, as you’d say

I was at fault, a Y chromosome too
Half false, half true
Rushing forth with my emotions to the egg
The ovarian safe haven
Where I planted myself
Made a home, painted the walls a new color
To call it my own
Nesting in the fertile soil; zygote or embryo
Which is it?
Surely as with everything you know
Everything about me
And it helps to see your talent in the art of public speaking
Nothing captures attention
Like the slack of a jaw

You are wrong, you are cruel, and you are good at what you do

The findings of these deficiencies
Collect into a grand criticism
A tide pulsing with the moon
Full, pain; the rare eclipse
As you
Have; refrain from being
The one thing that I could count on
Confide in

How is that for looking long and hard?
Does my self contempt suit you?

Nothing can see us
Quit so clearly

As betrayal

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Conversations With a Crazy Person

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Have you ever had one of those moments when it suddenly dawns on you that your brain is having a conversation with itself without any conscious effort on your part?

It happens to me every time I stop and pay attention to what my mind is doing.

My thoughts think for themselves. If I don’t have something demanding my undivided attention, my attention divides itself into a million pieces and gives each piece a full inspection. I know, it sounds crazy. See what I mean though? My brain can barely finish processing one idea before it flies into an over-analyzation autopilot.

I’ve always been this way. You know the type. I’m the girl who can barely get past “How’s it going?” without a fifteen minute pontification of the potential significance of the abstract patterns the syrup made on the waffles at breakfast. I think too much about too many things entirely too deeply and it matters a lot more than it should.

As a child I would hold mock trials in my front yard. My friends never objected. You think I’m being ridiculous and I won’t argue, but yes. It really happened. Regularly, and often.

It hasn’t changed much with age, either.

I married a lunatic, which wouldn’t say much about the point I’m trying to make except that his lunacy is deeply tied to his obsessive-compulsive need for structure. Predictability. Order. Patterns. His world falls apart if he’s not at least an hour and a half early to wherever he’s going. You think I’m exaggerating; I’m not. His job requires him to be on site by eight o’clock each morning; he’s there by 6:45am every day. In all the years he’s been employed, he has never been later than 6:45am. Not once.

He isn’t paid hourly.

We’re as opposite as two human beings can possibly get. I traveled like a hippie in the gypsy-freedom of my 20’s. I stayed awake until the sun rose regardless of the day of week, sleeping the mornings away in a tent (or simply on a blanket when I didn’t plan ahead and bring the tent, which was more typical) in some various mountainous terrain, where I had intentionally gotten lost the night before, learning the basics of another language or reading an autobiography or working on a term paper or studying for a final or swimming alone all the way across the lake, drinking coffee with dinner and dancing to the silence until I had to return to work or school. Even while working full time to put myself through college, double majoring at that, I never sacrificed the opportunity to live life to the fullest.

Him? He built his credit and trained himself to become the best he could be in his trade. Made sure he kept his lawn obsessively manicured and his vehicle ludicrously detailed, spotless.

Boring.

My philosophical mind drives him batshit crazy. The more curious I am about the why of things, the more OCD he gets about the how of them. My wonder is gasoline to the furious flame of his irritated ambivalence. It might be hilarious if it weren’t so totally crazy to live out in first person.

This particular wavelength I’m riding all started after a knee-jerk reaction I had to a flippant comment he made, the last time our polarities collided in a fury of spontaneous combustion. I told him he’s miserable because he takes himself way too seriously. He told me I make him miserable because I think too much and I take my thoughts too seriously.

His ‘crazy’ has a way of rubbing off on me; I digress.

I take my thoughts too seriously? Oh please. I take them as they come: all at once, all the time, all over the place and that’s that.

But as I continued to mind-screw his mouth-garbage, processing what was actually being said, an epiphany hit me. This is why I think too much (too deeply, too constantly, about too many things): my brain is searching for patterns in a patternless insanity.

I could’ve peed my pants with a “YES!”-type “aha” feeling when I stumbled upon this video; it hits the nail on the crazy man’s head: …Madness! WATCH IT THROUGH TO THE END.

What makes us who we are? Do you see a pattern?

Love: Quantifying the Unquantifiable

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The following post was completely inspired by my all-time favorite blogger, Mr. M (also known as the Great SprinklinThoughts). He happens to be my spiritual brother — my only brother — and a powerful human being with this mad-crazy, uncanny grip on all things meaningful. His recent piece moved me, and challenged me to dig deep deep down into the center of who I am — and examine just exactly what I’m made of. Read his post, and share your thoughts with him on his blog.

“Saying I Love You” by SprinklinThoughts

Then, if you’re still free for a second or two, swing back by here and let me know what you think.

Here is what I had to say in response to the question SprinklinThoughts inspired, “Why do we water down ‘love’?” (To paraphrase; why are we afraid to say ‘I love you’?)

There are two forms of love (this is the duality of love); worldly love, and spirit love. We could also look at is as conditional love, and agape love. Or human love, and divine love. Or limited love, and infinite love.

While there are undeniably a few highly enlightened human beings who have mastered an understanding of limitless, unconditional, divine agape love, there is an inescapable humanness in the application, or expression of that kind of love.

Due to the limitations of our carnal nature, even the most pure and holy of men will somehow fall short in the expression of agape love.

I find this motivating, however — not debilitating — to our practice of walking in this kind of love; speaking of this kind of love; holding on dearly to this sacred kind of love. We cannot run from purity just because perfection is unobtainable; that is all the more reason to pursue it doggedly; unabashedly; wildly, with all we’ve got.

People shy away from what they cannot comprehend. People are trepidatious of the unfamiliar… And in the case of “I love you,” everyone on the receiving end typically asks the internal question “Okay, what is this person wanting from me?” Tragic, that we have allowed our spirits to become so guarded and skeptical; and yet in this greedy and heartless culture we have collectively created for ourselves, it is the most practical and protective measure we subconsciously take to prevent any possible vandalization of what small sacredness we have managed to retain within ourselves.

I say we rise up and teach the world how to love again. How to love without demand, without expectation, without reason or justification.

I say we return to the holiness from which we came, and dwell in the vibration of agape sincerity, and give it without hesitation or reservation — and do it OFTEN.

Grief, Pain, and Loss: the Beauty Beyond Their Infinities

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If you could have witnessed what it was like to be around my Grammy and me, you’d intuitively understand the special bond the two of us shared. Everyone in my life — and hers — knew and adored our relationship, maybe even better than they ever knew or adored us. Our own individual identities were somehow intrinsically tied to our connection; it truly was that unspeakably deep. From my first dirty diaper to my first real heartbreak, this woman and I were connected in ways that transcended human comprehension. We were each other.

You can imagine the awkward twinge of a somehow envious-yet-awestruck pain this must have caused my mother. Still; even my very own mother — even from the very beginning — understood the beautiful magnitude of such an enormous and divine love. To this day, the gratitude she feels to have been such a crucial part of that bond holds precedence over the strange and unexpected jealousy any mother might feel. My mother has more of my Grammy in her than she knows.

Because of all that, however, I received quite an overwhelming response from almost every person at my Grammy’s memorial service. For some reason, each person in attendance felt it was their own personal duty somehow to give me permission to cry.

I couldn’t cry. The entire service, I just sat there… Numb. Frozen in space and time; suspended from reality like a puppet on a string, not refusing the grief, but somehow unable to quantify it through the customary tears that every single person seemed to expect me to shed. Tears felt like a disservice to my pain. Like an insult. Tears would have suggested that the loss was measurable somehow, and it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t cry; not because I was refusing to face the sorrow, but because the sorrow was simply too gigantic to portray by crying tears of a loss that becomes accepted and embraced when we mourn. There was no way to mourn this loss… Because it was so huge, so indescribable, that it was a PART of me. The only way I can explain it is to suggest imagining how you would feel attending your own funeral in person. It was awkward and surreal and it felt like nobody truly understood the depth of the pain. If they had, they would have known without question why my heart was too broken to weep.

And after all these years, all these pivotal moments in my life where I’ve had to re-live the reality of her no longer being here with me, I have cried only once or twice about the fact that she is gone. Fifteen years later, I am still too raw and too lost for words to minimize the pain with tears that can’t reach the infinity of sorrow by her absence in my world.

Maybe the things that matter the most to us have their own journeys to take through the un-navigatable corners of our hearts and souls. For me, it seems, that much I know is true.

This an excerpt from a previous post, “All That We See or Seem…”
The vibration resounded for me today, so I shared that vibe. Maybe some part of my own grieving and cherishing process will encourage others who feel the same strain of hiking such painful, mountainous terrain. Be blessed.

Breathe! Breathe in the air…

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Breathe! Breathe in the air…

We run circles around ourselves in attempt to maintain order amidst the increasingly chaotic and overwhelming responsibilities that govern our existence. We chase our to-do list into a perpetual tomorrow, as it snowballs itself into a mountain of unsorted papers of things we should have taken care of but couldn’t seem to manage to find the time to complete. We invariably waste hours of our lives attempting to sort through these paper Mount Everests hoping to eliminate the impending sense of dread and failure by minimizing the amount of random lists and consolidating them into one giant new list, but then we remember all of the things on today’s list that also never got taken care of because we were making an enormously pointless attempt at litter-reduction — which manages to accumulate into a deepening feeling of doom on our heavy hearts and frazzled minds. It’s a circle-jerk, for lack of a better term.

Being low in the attention span department myself, this is highly autobiographical and yet I know without hesitation that it speaks on some level to us all. With the million gadgets and trillion sources of non-stop stimulation, we have become (collectively speaking) a species of Now-or-Never. The to-do lists are less literal than metaphorical, but it seems notable that our brains have acquired the capacity to perform best when overworked. While that sounds appealing, I’m not actually convinced it’s true. I think our brains were made just fine to begin with, and we’re all lying to ourselves if we claim that overkill is a necessary factor in our own ability to process information and effectively conduct all of our affairs in the most optimal fashion.

I think you should give your synapses a break from the ongoing madness of when you were supposed to get what done at which place before whoever needs a ride to that one thing and then the world falls apart because you forgot everything except the list consolidation.

I think you should join me and turn your phone off, leave the emails for tomorrow, put your mind on pause and go for a walk. Go take a hot bath. Read a pointless book, for no reason other than soothing the soul. Make some real food, with fresh ingredients, take three hours to cook it if that’s your thing, with some perfectly ridiculously wonderful music playing while you do it. Barefoot. Naked. Whatever.

Take a moment (or five-hundred and fifty-seven moments, consecutively) to let your spirit remember what life is supposed to feel like. You know; alive.

I promise, the to-do lists can wait one more day.

 

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mrojrDCI02k