‘‘ For prayer is nothing else than being on terms of friendship with God.’’
Saint Teresa ( 1515 - 1582 )
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Awakeness
I wasn't able to sleep last night. I don't really know why. I was just full of 'awakeness', if that's a something at all. I know I should use the word 'wakefulness', because that is actually a word, but anyways. We all know what I mean, because at some time or the other, we've all experienced it.
During these fits of wakefulness, I'm usually finding myself thinking all sorts of things. Not that I'm not thinking all sorts of things throughout the day, but at this time, when all you can do (other than sleep) is think, that's when you enter a realm where thoughts don't usually tread.
I absolutely love thinking. I can never get bored because of thinking. Last night, for example, I was thinking about thinking. And how it was almost a physical feeling, of being able to mentally create pathways and open up portals to places, worlds, and discoveries that we'd never have done if we just closed our minds to thinking.
Sounds a bit strange, I know, how can a mind stop thinking? But through the many years my thinking self has sniffed at scents searching for whatever it is that a thinking mind searches, I've encountered so many people who really don't let their mind think. It baffles my own mind, because it's just so hard to comprehend how anyone at all could just not think.
Anyway, to the point of what I was thinking last night. I was amazed at the mind's ability to record things and the ability to open up that preserved memory years later - revealing an entire memory of events, or places that we would not have looked at twice but for something somehow unlocking that memory years later. The amazement with which I recalled this memory had me mesmerized by how many more little memories we may have all locked up in our mind, and how there are an infinite number of doors and windows waiting for us to reopen and remember.
This memory lead me onto another memory of myself, years ago at the age of 8, trying to locate my thick book on Dinosaurs frantically, while the rest of the family waited at the front door before leaving to go to some function. I knew it couldn't be somewhere hard to find, because this book - as big as any good version of an encyclopedia - was my bible at that age, and consequently it was always at hand. But for some reason, just when I needed it, I could not find it.
What I very distinctly remember doing is closing my eyes and retracing my steps regarding where that book could have been. I stood there at the doorway of my room, eyes closed as my inner self detached itself and rewinded through the steps I had taken to get where I was. I opened my eyes and lo and behold, the book was right there on my desk, underneath a pile of papers filled with math equations. I happily hugged it to myself and raced down the stairs.
There are two things I simultaneously thought when I recalled this memory. My mind branches out in so many paths just from a single thought, that it's hard to keep up with all of it, and wouldn't you know, half these thoughts don't reach the surface of my consciousness, and sink back into a shadow, so that some time later, something happens, a thought crosses my mind and suddenly it feels like deja vu.
One thing I thought was - if I were to share this memory with someone, one reaction from this individual would be 'How come you haven't told me this before?'. Now, this isn't what they literally would say, but this reaction comes once again from my cache of memory. That, once they actually had said this, and it made me consider how there was constantly things I'm recovering from this cache, things that I don't even recall knowing or remembering. So many memories, where every second is recorded, over days, months, years, that there is a lifetime of memories, or memories of memories to account or recount. So even with a person who knows you inside out, over years, one day you can come out with something you've never realized was part of you.
And one of the greatest ways of triggering these memory releases is by our interaction with others.Just in the same way I was amazed by the way I suddenly recalled a place from many years ago which I wouldn't have realized was the same place this person was speaking about had they not mentioned it.
This brings me to the second thing I thought, following the Dinosaur Book memory. A memory that made me recall a younger self with fondness, almost as if that version of me was actually another child I had just met. Even at a very young age, I was fascinated with knowledge. I wanted to know everything in the whole entire world. The year before, in Grade 2, I memorized everything I could about the planets, space, astronomy. I consumed all this amazing information with such an appetite that I couldn't help but want more. Family members who knew me didn't gift me dolls or toys, they gave me books. The Dinosaur Book, the Book on Science, The Encyclopedia of Biology, A Thousand Facts About The World....it isn't any wonder that by the end of the next year, my teacher told me that I most likely would be needing glasses.
My love for knowledge, for information, for reading, was a way for me to enter worlds I would never have believed existed. The more I knew about the world, the more I was able to learn about myself. The magic of getting lost in a novel, of living the experiences of characters, of considering the situations and what decisions or reactions I myself might have made, of relating, understanding more about who I was - it all translated into how I was able to be a better person for those around me.
A night's wakefulness isn't always a bad thing, when I awoke early the next morning, before the alarm-that-never-gets-to-ring rang, I felt absolutely and entirely rested. I felt at peace with myself and I really didn't know why. Sometimes a good think does that for you, you embrace old memories and thoughts almost with a caress you'd reserve for a collection of precious possessions or for a lover, and sometimes you feel an inner 'awakeness', a shot of life that goes from neuron to neuron at speeds so fast it's almost imperceptible.
During these fits of wakefulness, I'm usually finding myself thinking all sorts of things. Not that I'm not thinking all sorts of things throughout the day, but at this time, when all you can do (other than sleep) is think, that's when you enter a realm where thoughts don't usually tread.
I absolutely love thinking. I can never get bored because of thinking. Last night, for example, I was thinking about thinking. And how it was almost a physical feeling, of being able to mentally create pathways and open up portals to places, worlds, and discoveries that we'd never have done if we just closed our minds to thinking.
Sounds a bit strange, I know, how can a mind stop thinking? But through the many years my thinking self has sniffed at scents searching for whatever it is that a thinking mind searches, I've encountered so many people who really don't let their mind think. It baffles my own mind, because it's just so hard to comprehend how anyone at all could just not think.
Anyway, to the point of what I was thinking last night. I was amazed at the mind's ability to record things and the ability to open up that preserved memory years later - revealing an entire memory of events, or places that we would not have looked at twice but for something somehow unlocking that memory years later. The amazement with which I recalled this memory had me mesmerized by how many more little memories we may have all locked up in our mind, and how there are an infinite number of doors and windows waiting for us to reopen and remember.
This memory lead me onto another memory of myself, years ago at the age of 8, trying to locate my thick book on Dinosaurs frantically, while the rest of the family waited at the front door before leaving to go to some function. I knew it couldn't be somewhere hard to find, because this book - as big as any good version of an encyclopedia - was my bible at that age, and consequently it was always at hand. But for some reason, just when I needed it, I could not find it.
What I very distinctly remember doing is closing my eyes and retracing my steps regarding where that book could have been. I stood there at the doorway of my room, eyes closed as my inner self detached itself and rewinded through the steps I had taken to get where I was. I opened my eyes and lo and behold, the book was right there on my desk, underneath a pile of papers filled with math equations. I happily hugged it to myself and raced down the stairs.
There are two things I simultaneously thought when I recalled this memory. My mind branches out in so many paths just from a single thought, that it's hard to keep up with all of it, and wouldn't you know, half these thoughts don't reach the surface of my consciousness, and sink back into a shadow, so that some time later, something happens, a thought crosses my mind and suddenly it feels like deja vu.
One thing I thought was - if I were to share this memory with someone, one reaction from this individual would be 'How come you haven't told me this before?'. Now, this isn't what they literally would say, but this reaction comes once again from my cache of memory. That, once they actually had said this, and it made me consider how there was constantly things I'm recovering from this cache, things that I don't even recall knowing or remembering. So many memories, where every second is recorded, over days, months, years, that there is a lifetime of memories, or memories of memories to account or recount. So even with a person who knows you inside out, over years, one day you can come out with something you've never realized was part of you.
And one of the greatest ways of triggering these memory releases is by our interaction with others.Just in the same way I was amazed by the way I suddenly recalled a place from many years ago which I wouldn't have realized was the same place this person was speaking about had they not mentioned it.
This brings me to the second thing I thought, following the Dinosaur Book memory. A memory that made me recall a younger self with fondness, almost as if that version of me was actually another child I had just met. Even at a very young age, I was fascinated with knowledge. I wanted to know everything in the whole entire world. The year before, in Grade 2, I memorized everything I could about the planets, space, astronomy. I consumed all this amazing information with such an appetite that I couldn't help but want more. Family members who knew me didn't gift me dolls or toys, they gave me books. The Dinosaur Book, the Book on Science, The Encyclopedia of Biology, A Thousand Facts About The World....it isn't any wonder that by the end of the next year, my teacher told me that I most likely would be needing glasses.
My love for knowledge, for information, for reading, was a way for me to enter worlds I would never have believed existed. The more I knew about the world, the more I was able to learn about myself. The magic of getting lost in a novel, of living the experiences of characters, of considering the situations and what decisions or reactions I myself might have made, of relating, understanding more about who I was - it all translated into how I was able to be a better person for those around me.
A night's wakefulness isn't always a bad thing, when I awoke early the next morning, before the alarm-that-never-gets-to-ring rang, I felt absolutely and entirely rested. I felt at peace with myself and I really didn't know why. Sometimes a good think does that for you, you embrace old memories and thoughts almost with a caress you'd reserve for a collection of precious possessions or for a lover, and sometimes you feel an inner 'awakeness', a shot of life that goes from neuron to neuron at speeds so fast it's almost imperceptible.
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Monday, December 24, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
A Voice
If there were a species that landed upon us and took our women, forcefully impregnated them only to snatch their children away to be chopped, minced, fried, barbecued or curried, we would be in a state of outcry.
If we were to encounter premises with the blood of our fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, children staining the floors, their empty, naked carcasses hanging upside down to be pickled and salted, to be showcased in storefronts for purchase, this would be declared an act of war.
It's okay for us, because we're at the top. But the moment this happens to us, it is an act of subjugation, terror, brutality, barbarism. We would wonder for what purpose this was happening to us, and what we could barter to save our lives, to save our own people, when the only reason is that we taste good.
This is how we perpetually rape, terrorize, enslave, abuse. Day in and day out. It's normal. Our height of selfishness dictates that we may, simply because we can. We empower the idea of killing, murder, and brutality on a daily basis for no greater purpose than filling a craving, a line so fine that it's imperceptible; how can we be so shocked when it comes in the headlines when it happens to our own kind? This is our supremacy, this is our compassion, this is our morality.
This is what no one wants to hear.
If we were to encounter premises with the blood of our fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, children staining the floors, their empty, naked carcasses hanging upside down to be pickled and salted, to be showcased in storefronts for purchase, this would be declared an act of war.
It's okay for us, because we're at the top. But the moment this happens to us, it is an act of subjugation, terror, brutality, barbarism. We would wonder for what purpose this was happening to us, and what we could barter to save our lives, to save our own people, when the only reason is that we taste good.
This is how we perpetually rape, terrorize, enslave, abuse. Day in and day out. It's normal. Our height of selfishness dictates that we may, simply because we can. We empower the idea of killing, murder, and brutality on a daily basis for no greater purpose than filling a craving, a line so fine that it's imperceptible; how can we be so shocked when it comes in the headlines when it happens to our own kind? This is our supremacy, this is our compassion, this is our morality.
This is what no one wants to hear.
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Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Deconstructing Happiness
This is how you do it. Choose a sad song. Preferably a song that brings tears to your eyes unbidden the moment it starts. In my case, it was Yaariyan from Cocktail. I didn't choose it so to speak, it just came on randomly while I was listening to music.
Then you get a baseball bat, and break loose. Break it against the windows, against the door, against the walls, against the mirrors. Line up your favourite possessions and break them to smithereens, one by one, or all together if that's what you want. Take everything that belongs to you and smash it all to pieces. Everything that ever brought a smile to your face, anything that made you happy, break it all apart.
Happiness is a futile emotion. It comes so fleetingly that you wonder if it were ever there. It's that sand castle you built when you were a child with innocent hopes and it all fell apart. Another kid running over it, a wave overcoming and washing it away, a parent telling you to stop making a mess and kicking it over. That's what happens to happiness. When you summon up every ounce of yourself to rebuild it, someone else comes to knock it over.
So pick up that bat, and break it all down. Break it all down before you break again.
Then you get a baseball bat, and break loose. Break it against the windows, against the door, against the walls, against the mirrors. Line up your favourite possessions and break them to smithereens, one by one, or all together if that's what you want. Take everything that belongs to you and smash it all to pieces. Everything that ever brought a smile to your face, anything that made you happy, break it all apart.
Happiness is a futile emotion. It comes so fleetingly that you wonder if it were ever there. It's that sand castle you built when you were a child with innocent hopes and it all fell apart. Another kid running over it, a wave overcoming and washing it away, a parent telling you to stop making a mess and kicking it over. That's what happens to happiness. When you summon up every ounce of yourself to rebuild it, someone else comes to knock it over.
So pick up that bat, and break it all down. Break it all down before you break again.
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Storyline 2
What if 'to be continued' was actually the end? The end of the story. What if there was no more? Like the way we go to sleep one night thinking there is a 'to be continued' subtitle to life, that our story continues to next day. What if we don't wake up?
If. If. IF. Everything somehow rotated around this phantom of hope. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to be able to hope that somehow magically, if I closed my eyes, the pain, the aches, the broken pieces, everything would somehow float up and away, along with my soul, and that when the cold morning light finally broke, I wouldn't wake up. The catch was that I had given up on hope and somehow hope just stuck to me irritably; a pesky piece of Velcro that no matter how much I shook it, it would detach only to stick again only stronger, and the more I fought it, the more I clung onto the hope that hope would let me go.
It stuck to me almost noticeably. I was exhausted with fighting it. If I ventured out, I was self-consciously certain that everyone was stare at the big swollen hope that had made itself at home on me, like a parasite - how could they miss it? I couldn't cover it up. If I tried to sit on it, I found myself floating on this balloon of hope, if I tried to stick it under my sweater, I looked like I was pregnant. Pregnant with hope.
How was it possible to be accompanied with hope and be so firmly entrenched in the deepest pits of despair? The irony did not escape me even when I was holding myself close, recounting ways of escaping life itself. Hope was a reminder. It let everything in the crack in the window, and suddenly it was frigid inside, everything frozen and everything so immeasurably brittle that all it took was one breath, and everything was breaking, everything was falling, everything was shattered. Hope just kept stabbing at you and making your wounds open and reopen, and wouldn't let you heal. Wasn't hope supposed to be healing?
I wanted to heal, I didn't want to heal. I didn't want to want. I wanted to be so completely numb that I couldn't tell if I was numb or not. I wanted to be the brittle ice that was ready to break and never come together again. I was that already, but why was I able to feel every single shard of myself even as far it had fallen off from me?
I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to be. I didn't want to. Life was all a stage. We were all pretending anyway. No matter how much we felt things from our hearts, or felt that life was a journey that was joyous or full of hope, we were all pretending. From the time we were children, isn't this what we learnt? Playing cops and robbers, doctor-patient, indians and cowboys. We were all conditioned to pretend, to grow up and keep pretending. We were all just an army of moving mouths, an elaborate play with our scripts coming to mind from a playwright unseen. You either know your part or you don't. When you forget your lines - then what?
If. If. IF. Everything somehow rotated around this phantom of hope. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to be able to hope that somehow magically, if I closed my eyes, the pain, the aches, the broken pieces, everything would somehow float up and away, along with my soul, and that when the cold morning light finally broke, I wouldn't wake up. The catch was that I had given up on hope and somehow hope just stuck to me irritably; a pesky piece of Velcro that no matter how much I shook it, it would detach only to stick again only stronger, and the more I fought it, the more I clung onto the hope that hope would let me go.
It stuck to me almost noticeably. I was exhausted with fighting it. If I ventured out, I was self-consciously certain that everyone was stare at the big swollen hope that had made itself at home on me, like a parasite - how could they miss it? I couldn't cover it up. If I tried to sit on it, I found myself floating on this balloon of hope, if I tried to stick it under my sweater, I looked like I was pregnant. Pregnant with hope.
How was it possible to be accompanied with hope and be so firmly entrenched in the deepest pits of despair? The irony did not escape me even when I was holding myself close, recounting ways of escaping life itself. Hope was a reminder. It let everything in the crack in the window, and suddenly it was frigid inside, everything frozen and everything so immeasurably brittle that all it took was one breath, and everything was breaking, everything was falling, everything was shattered. Hope just kept stabbing at you and making your wounds open and reopen, and wouldn't let you heal. Wasn't hope supposed to be healing?
I wanted to heal, I didn't want to heal. I didn't want to want. I wanted to be so completely numb that I couldn't tell if I was numb or not. I wanted to be the brittle ice that was ready to break and never come together again. I was that already, but why was I able to feel every single shard of myself even as far it had fallen off from me?
I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to be. I didn't want to. Life was all a stage. We were all pretending anyway. No matter how much we felt things from our hearts, or felt that life was a journey that was joyous or full of hope, we were all pretending. From the time we were children, isn't this what we learnt? Playing cops and robbers, doctor-patient, indians and cowboys. We were all conditioned to pretend, to grow up and keep pretending. We were all just an army of moving mouths, an elaborate play with our scripts coming to mind from a playwright unseen. You either know your part or you don't. When you forget your lines - then what?
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Friday, December 14, 2012
Level 3 Completed
Greeeeeeeeetings everyone. Tis a nice and bright sunny winter morning. Aaand, it's Friday! All reasons to smile.
Today's the birthday of one of my old best friends, and I'm not wishing them. I'd have a moment of melancholic silence for the lost friendship, but I'd already spent too much time in the past doing that. Now I'm glad to say, sort of in relief, that I can look back and think about that saying how some people come into your life for a reason, season or lifetime, and think that it's apt.
I was also having a 'discussion' yesterday evening with one of my close little friends who isn't quite so fond of the phenomenon of 'trust'. After we went our respective ways, I was thinking how things don't work out a certain time or phase in life because it's just not the time for it to work out. (Say what?)
I mean, I look at the events in my past and think of them as stepping stones to where I am now. I can follow the path I've walked to where I am, and see why I am here because of certain events that happened. If I hadn't had my heart broken in a young naive infatuation, then maybe I would never have started writing. If I hadn't started writing, then - long story short - I might never have been here. You may not be reading this because this would not have been here to read. You may not have been reading this because, if things didn't happen they way they happened, you may not have known me.
Now, if that's a good thing or not, I leave to you.
But I'm glad, grateful, happy, content with where I am now. If I look at my past I'm overwhelmed with amazement and thankfulness that I'm here where I am in life. At the things I have in life. The people.
I mean I've gone through crap after crap after crap after crappy experience (please don't mind the language), and it's like coming through it all to the golden light.
Think of it like a Mario Brothers video game. Fighting through the obstacles, killing the enemies, doink di doing doing. Getting gold stars along the way, ding ding, ding ding. Being able to jump over the holes to the other side, dddddddoink. Coming through it all, even losing some lives and getting hurt a few times, but that's okay. You still come through and get the prize. That's if you want to. That's if you try.
Today's the birthday of one of my old best friends, and I'm not wishing them. I'd have a moment of melancholic silence for the lost friendship, but I'd already spent too much time in the past doing that. Now I'm glad to say, sort of in relief, that I can look back and think about that saying how some people come into your life for a reason, season or lifetime, and think that it's apt.
I was also having a 'discussion' yesterday evening with one of my close little friends who isn't quite so fond of the phenomenon of 'trust'. After we went our respective ways, I was thinking how things don't work out a certain time or phase in life because it's just not the time for it to work out. (Say what?)
I mean, I look at the events in my past and think of them as stepping stones to where I am now. I can follow the path I've walked to where I am, and see why I am here because of certain events that happened. If I hadn't had my heart broken in a young naive infatuation, then maybe I would never have started writing. If I hadn't started writing, then - long story short - I might never have been here. You may not be reading this because this would not have been here to read. You may not have been reading this because, if things didn't happen they way they happened, you may not have known me.
Now, if that's a good thing or not, I leave to you.
But I'm glad, grateful, happy, content with where I am now. If I look at my past I'm overwhelmed with amazement and thankfulness that I'm here where I am in life. At the things I have in life. The people.
I mean I've gone through crap after crap after crap after crappy experience (please don't mind the language), and it's like coming through it all to the golden light.
Think of it like a Mario Brothers video game. Fighting through the obstacles, killing the enemies, doink di doing doing. Getting gold stars along the way, ding ding, ding ding. Being able to jump over the holes to the other side, dddddddoink. Coming through it all, even losing some lives and getting hurt a few times, but that's okay. You still come through and get the prize. That's if you want to. That's if you try.
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Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Q
"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."
-Gideon, Criminal Minds. (Quoting Harriet Stowe)
-Gideon, Criminal Minds. (Quoting Harriet Stowe)
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Monday, December 10, 2012
Perspective
Sometimes it takes a little displacement to find that you're right where you want to be. If you had gone through the last quiz I'd posted a few days ago, you'd have encountered the question that had me hesitating. "Are you happy?"
I wasn't really sure if I was. I might be, but then again I don't quite feel the "Happy-Me" that I always associated myself to being. I had things I was happy about, certainly. And there were things I was definitely thankful for in my life. But that's not the same thing as happy, is it?
Then I found myself looking at the date, yesterday, and realized it was the birthday of an old out of touch friend, and so I further found myself writing out a nice and simple birthday-wishing email. I ended it with "Hope you're having a great one, and even more importantly, that you're happy. "
That's when I did a bit of dissociation and put myself into a theoretical time where she'd ask me if I was. That's when I realized, from the many years down the road when she and I were much younger, and more closer, and would be thinking of a future, that this is what I would have wanted for myself. I was happy.
Happiness doesn't just knock you over, or make you want to click your heels in the air. Happiness is also a cousin of contentment, and can also be just as quiet. Despite all the smaller things crowding around in everyday life, and the little annoyances, arguments, or dissatisfaction, when I stepped out of my body and looked at myself, I realized I was happy. I am. I'm happy. Could have fooled you, right? I don't blame you, I forgot to realize I was as well.
I wasn't really sure if I was. I might be, but then again I don't quite feel the "Happy-Me" that I always associated myself to being. I had things I was happy about, certainly. And there were things I was definitely thankful for in my life. But that's not the same thing as happy, is it?
Then I found myself looking at the date, yesterday, and realized it was the birthday of an old out of touch friend, and so I further found myself writing out a nice and simple birthday-wishing email. I ended it with "Hope you're having a great one, and even more importantly, that you're happy. "
That's when I did a bit of dissociation and put myself into a theoretical time where she'd ask me if I was. That's when I realized, from the many years down the road when she and I were much younger, and more closer, and would be thinking of a future, that this is what I would have wanted for myself. I was happy.
Happiness doesn't just knock you over, or make you want to click your heels in the air. Happiness is also a cousin of contentment, and can also be just as quiet. Despite all the smaller things crowding around in everyday life, and the little annoyances, arguments, or dissatisfaction, when I stepped out of my body and looked at myself, I realized I was happy. I am. I'm happy. Could have fooled you, right? I don't blame you, I forgot to realize I was as well.
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Sunday, December 09, 2012
Grime
This morning I was scrubbing up the sink (weekends are allocated for the house scrub-down). I was admiring the gleam reflecting back at me when I realized I'd left something yet to be cleaned and rinsed. The popcorn machine butter thingy. Now this piece belongs to an ancient popcorn making machine belonging to my father, and this little thingamabob was the part where you'd put the butter and while the popcorn was popping, the butter would melt and be ready to be poured over the fresh popcorn. This implement, having not been used in years (and I really mean years) was encrusted with some sort of grime (if you're guessing old leftover butter then you'd get first prize. Don't even begin to wonder why leftover butter would be allowed to sit for years - it boggles even my mind).
For about two weeks, I'd look at this thingy and just let it soak. Every time I got to the end of the dish-washing process, I'd look at it again, still encrusted, and let it soak longer.
Today, I decided having it sit there in the midst of my gloriously sparkling sink would be a heresy. I picked up my sponge, ready to battle the layers and layers of grime. To my surprise with one wipe of the sponge, it came away, leaving sparkling silver behind.
The ease with which this happened started a train of thoughts. This was exactly what life was like.
I mean, say you've got a problem; sometimes it's just better to let it sit for a bit and soak out the hardness and difficulty. That's easy to understand.
What's even more easy to understand - but what we always fail to remember - is that sometimes all it takes it the effort to get what you want, to get what you want. While I was looking down at the sponge in my right hand, and the thingamabob in my left, I was struck by a similarity to someone looking for diamonds. They're constantly finding rocks, which they give one glance and keep looking for the shining, hard, beautiful and priceless diamond in the midst of digging in the muck.
What one fails to understand is that all it would take is the effort to remove the mud around the rocks to find the diamond. And even more so - that life's problems are just like that. We constantly look at these rocks we're finding, and we think they're so useless and full of disappointments, and we're pulling ourselves down by the face-value of our problems. All it takes is one wipe - it is in the intention that faith is found. Faith is not in the moment you get what you want, it is in the moment when you don't know what you're getting, where you're going, but still take the step forward in order to achieve it.
We're casting ourselves around wondering when the diamond will show itself, when the grime will disappear. Obviously it's not going to show up ready-made for us. We have the power to wipe it away, all it takes is faith.
For about two weeks, I'd look at this thingy and just let it soak. Every time I got to the end of the dish-washing process, I'd look at it again, still encrusted, and let it soak longer.
Today, I decided having it sit there in the midst of my gloriously sparkling sink would be a heresy. I picked up my sponge, ready to battle the layers and layers of grime. To my surprise with one wipe of the sponge, it came away, leaving sparkling silver behind.
The ease with which this happened started a train of thoughts. This was exactly what life was like.
I mean, say you've got a problem; sometimes it's just better to let it sit for a bit and soak out the hardness and difficulty. That's easy to understand.
What's even more easy to understand - but what we always fail to remember - is that sometimes all it takes it the effort to get what you want, to get what you want. While I was looking down at the sponge in my right hand, and the thingamabob in my left, I was struck by a similarity to someone looking for diamonds. They're constantly finding rocks, which they give one glance and keep looking for the shining, hard, beautiful and priceless diamond in the midst of digging in the muck.
What one fails to understand is that all it would take is the effort to remove the mud around the rocks to find the diamond. And even more so - that life's problems are just like that. We constantly look at these rocks we're finding, and we think they're so useless and full of disappointments, and we're pulling ourselves down by the face-value of our problems. All it takes is one wipe - it is in the intention that faith is found. Faith is not in the moment you get what you want, it is in the moment when you don't know what you're getting, where you're going, but still take the step forward in order to achieve it.
We're casting ourselves around wondering when the diamond will show itself, when the grime will disappear. Obviously it's not going to show up ready-made for us. We have the power to wipe it away, all it takes is faith.
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Friday, December 07, 2012
Quiztime!
Seeing as it's the weekend (hurrah for sleep-ins!) and I'll most likely not be posting, let's have a little break from my 'serious', 'depressing', and 'boring' posts. A quiz for you all! :)
- What is on your bed right now?
- When was the last time you threw up?
- What's your favorite word or phrase?
- Name 3 people who made you smile today?
- What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
- What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
- What is your favorite holiday?
- Have you ever been to another country?
- What is the last thing you said aloud?
- What is the best ice cream flavor?
- What was the last thing you had to drink?
- What are you wearing right now?
- What was the last thing you ate?
- Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
- When was the last time you ran?
- What's the last sporting event you watched?
- If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?
- Who is the last person you sent a comment/message on myspace?
- Ever go camping?
- Do you have a tan?
- Have you ever lost anything down a toilet?
- What is your guilty pleasure?
- Do you use smiley faces on the computer alot?
- Do you drink your soda from a straw?
- What did your last text message say?
- Are you someone's best friend?
- What are you doing tomorrow?
- Where is your mom right now?
- Look to your left, what do you see?
- What color is your watch?
- What do you think of when you think of Australia?
- Ever ridden on a roller coaster?
- What is your birthstone?
- Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive tthru?
- Do you have any friends on myspace that you actually hate?
- Do you have a dog?
- Last person you talked to on the phone?
- Any plans today?
- Are you happy?
- Where are you right now?
- Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
- Last song listened to?
- Last movie you saw?
- Are you allergic to anything?
- Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
- Are you jealous of anyone?
- Are you married?
- Is anyone jealous of you?
- Do any of your friends have children?
- Do you eat healthy?
- What do you usually do during the day?
- Do you hate anyone right now?
- Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
- How many kids do you want when you're older?
- How did u get one of your scars?
♥
POSTED BY
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Dear Life
Most of the decisions in life are about which outfit to wear, which toothpaste to use, which tea to drink, which book to read. Whether to set the heat on high or medium, or whether I should decry my state of mind while having the luxury to do so on a computer. I have the decision to do so on my laptop or desktop. I have the option of exercising, because not only do I have enough to eat, but I get time to devote to caring about my body.I have the luxury of being attended to by medical professionals if I have as much as an allergy or cough. I have the luxury of having emotions, feelings, of expressing them without fear or punishment. I have the luxury of having what I think considered and appreciated. I have the luxury of being appreciated, liked, and loved.
I have the luxury of being alive, in luxury.
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Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Broken
Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.
-Rumi
-Rumi
POSTED BY
Sensitivity
Having started introspection - well, not really so much 'start' as it's always on-going - with the focus on my temper, I've delved to another level altogether in realizing that anger isn't so much the problem as is the root of it, my sensitivity.
This definitely should not - and does not - come as a surprise. I've always said that the one thing I'd change about myself is my emotional sensitivity.
I had just taken a break after writing the above, to kick the useless radiators that have not been working since the temperature has dropped. I'd turned the valves on the ends of the radiators in order to bleed out the trapped air, so as to, hopefully, fill it up with hot water that would then render the radiator useful.
There is some vulnerability in me that is unable to close of my emotional valves in certain circumstances. I don't know how to cut down how much I care without totally cutting myself entirely. All I know is this is something I'm on my own with.
This definitely should not - and does not - come as a surprise. I've always said that the one thing I'd change about myself is my emotional sensitivity.
Being overly sensitive is not, in itself, a bad trait but it is likely to lead you to assume slights that you imagined, or are not intentional. You will be easily hurt by comments and actions that are 'normal', that most people do not find hurtful. Misinterpreting constructive, everyday interactions can limit your ability to lead a happier life. -WikiHow.
I had just taken a break after writing the above, to kick the useless radiators that have not been working since the temperature has dropped. I'd turned the valves on the ends of the radiators in order to bleed out the trapped air, so as to, hopefully, fill it up with hot water that would then render the radiator useful.
There is some vulnerability in me that is unable to close of my emotional valves in certain circumstances. I don't know how to cut down how much I care without totally cutting myself entirely. All I know is this is something I'm on my own with.
POSTED BY
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
Storyline
I'd wanted to be alone. So, I lost myself in the crowds. I wanted to forget. Forget who I was, forget the deafening silence of cold nights, curled up, voices and memories hammering on my head. Forget the pain and exhaustion. The hole inside of me.
I didn't want to go back to the usual hangouts. They were burnt out memories. Ruination. I did a quick search, and in the silence of the quiet night that shrieked at me like nails on chalkboards, I readied myself to join the crowds. I'd stopped looking in mirrors. Avoiding the emptiness reflected at me. Avoiding the spectre that reminded me that I was still alive. Alive for what?
As I slipped into the crowded room, the noise came at me like a soothing shadow on a hot day. Here was a place where I couldn't hear myself think. Here was a place where I was a stranger, where no one knew me, and where I didn't have to care. If I didn't care, I didn't hurt. It was strange, I thought to myself, as I slid into a seat, how I needed a place where I couldn't even feel I existed. Stranger yet how I wanted to be alone in a place where I was surrounded with people.
Slowly, people took notice of me. They asked me to dance. I didn't want to. I wanted to remain unnoticed, unseen. Someone took a seat nearby and pulled me into a conversation, and a bubble of kindness overpowered my resistance. I didn't want this.
I ran out in a panic. What was I doing? What was the point in anything anymore? Against a cold brick wall, I cried as the rain came down on me. The lamposts flickered dimly and I wandered through the night, another night without sleep, until I reached my door and crashed on my bed as the sun began its ascent.
The next night, inexplicably I found myself back at the new place. Despair was too strong a toxic substance that if its presence was all I had for company, I would submit to its addiction. What was so bad in that? A bubble of resentment pulled at me and I felt like screaming. I looked around me, surrounded by mouths. Moving mouths, smiling mouths, smirking mouths, mouths imbibing in drinks, mouths with shiny gloss, mouths all moving for some purpose. What purpose could there be in an army of moving mouths that threatened to conquer sanity?
Sanity was a notion I considered as if it were an alien unknown but theoretical. Was I so bereft of everything that I couldn't locate my identification for sanity? I patted myself down and found that I no longer knew who I was. The thought brought me comfort, and for the first time in a long time, somehow, I smiled.
To my horror I found that someone was smiling back at me. He approached and sat himself down and proceeded to speak. I was riveted by my horror at having a moving mouth directed straight at me. I needed to throw up. I was being pulled by that humanistic tendency to socialize and I was ready to die.
Death was something I was not stranger to. I'd considered various methods of dying. When moving mouths were too loud, and the mute button wouldn't work, I found that death was a welcome channel. Jumping from the highway overpass, walking into the flooded winter rivers, sitting in the subzero rain, ingesting toxic substances.
The moving mouth was offering me some substance. I blinked at the kindness and shook my head. Unspeakably, I found my mouth moving and I had uttered two polite words. The fish grabbed the bait and ran with it, and I was trapped into the world of moving mouths, enslaved to the phenomenon of small talk. Like a fish who'd gone without water for too long, I gasped and found that words were like a welcome drink. A drink I partook of too much for my own good. Within the night's end, I was made not only an acquaintance but a friend.
I didn't want to get close to anyone again. Ever. I was riddled with bullet holes and racked with agony from the electric shocks that had run through my body again and again. Years of mental despair that had eroded too much.
Every night, I found myself pretending to be someone I was not. I was somehow the one who made everyone laugh, who talked energetically, and, worst of all, smiled incessantly. Soon, I was hit by the realization that this was not what I came here for. That despite the luxury accorded to me for the few hours I was here, everything was just the same, if not worse. I was living a lie.
To be continued.
I didn't want to go back to the usual hangouts. They were burnt out memories. Ruination. I did a quick search, and in the silence of the quiet night that shrieked at me like nails on chalkboards, I readied myself to join the crowds. I'd stopped looking in mirrors. Avoiding the emptiness reflected at me. Avoiding the spectre that reminded me that I was still alive. Alive for what?
As I slipped into the crowded room, the noise came at me like a soothing shadow on a hot day. Here was a place where I couldn't hear myself think. Here was a place where I was a stranger, where no one knew me, and where I didn't have to care. If I didn't care, I didn't hurt. It was strange, I thought to myself, as I slid into a seat, how I needed a place where I couldn't even feel I existed. Stranger yet how I wanted to be alone in a place where I was surrounded with people.
Slowly, people took notice of me. They asked me to dance. I didn't want to. I wanted to remain unnoticed, unseen. Someone took a seat nearby and pulled me into a conversation, and a bubble of kindness overpowered my resistance. I didn't want this.
I ran out in a panic. What was I doing? What was the point in anything anymore? Against a cold brick wall, I cried as the rain came down on me. The lamposts flickered dimly and I wandered through the night, another night without sleep, until I reached my door and crashed on my bed as the sun began its ascent.
The next night, inexplicably I found myself back at the new place. Despair was too strong a toxic substance that if its presence was all I had for company, I would submit to its addiction. What was so bad in that? A bubble of resentment pulled at me and I felt like screaming. I looked around me, surrounded by mouths. Moving mouths, smiling mouths, smirking mouths, mouths imbibing in drinks, mouths with shiny gloss, mouths all moving for some purpose. What purpose could there be in an army of moving mouths that threatened to conquer sanity?
Sanity was a notion I considered as if it were an alien unknown but theoretical. Was I so bereft of everything that I couldn't locate my identification for sanity? I patted myself down and found that I no longer knew who I was. The thought brought me comfort, and for the first time in a long time, somehow, I smiled.
To my horror I found that someone was smiling back at me. He approached and sat himself down and proceeded to speak. I was riveted by my horror at having a moving mouth directed straight at me. I needed to throw up. I was being pulled by that humanistic tendency to socialize and I was ready to die.
Death was something I was not stranger to. I'd considered various methods of dying. When moving mouths were too loud, and the mute button wouldn't work, I found that death was a welcome channel. Jumping from the highway overpass, walking into the flooded winter rivers, sitting in the subzero rain, ingesting toxic substances.
The moving mouth was offering me some substance. I blinked at the kindness and shook my head. Unspeakably, I found my mouth moving and I had uttered two polite words. The fish grabbed the bait and ran with it, and I was trapped into the world of moving mouths, enslaved to the phenomenon of small talk. Like a fish who'd gone without water for too long, I gasped and found that words were like a welcome drink. A drink I partook of too much for my own good. Within the night's end, I was made not only an acquaintance but a friend.
I didn't want to get close to anyone again. Ever. I was riddled with bullet holes and racked with agony from the electric shocks that had run through my body again and again. Years of mental despair that had eroded too much.
Every night, I found myself pretending to be someone I was not. I was somehow the one who made everyone laugh, who talked energetically, and, worst of all, smiled incessantly. Soon, I was hit by the realization that this was not what I came here for. That despite the luxury accorded to me for the few hours I was here, everything was just the same, if not worse. I was living a lie.
To be continued.
POSTED BY
Anger
Good morning! It's such a beautiful day - it's almost like spring again. It almost disarms a person to forget what preparations they've made mentally, bracing for the winter cold. Likewise, as I'm coasting on a spell of good mood, I'm almost tempted to put aside my newly born resolution for another day. That's not happening though, have no fear.
Anger is a waste of time.
There was a time when I stated 'I don't believe in anger, it's a waste of time.' Because more often than not, it isn't constructive. And selfish. When I get angry, I either turn against the person and become incredibly ice-cold, and emotionally I've locked away the parts of me that might get further injured if I leave them out vulnerable. My anger doesn't usually last longer than a few minutes, it's a bright flash and then just as quickly transforms into hurt.
Angers you, conquers you.
One of my favourite quotes for years and years - "He who angers you, conquers you." I've used this to counsel many people over these years, about not letting people who don't matter get under your skin. Once they've angered you, you've let them affect you, and they've got the upper hand. If they don't matter, then why should what they say or do really affect you?
My problem however, is that it's the people who I do care about - who are so close to me that they have the ability to spark the wire to my temper.
What are the situations I find that spark this temper?
- Low tolerance for stupidity/nonsense.
- Impatience.
- Resentment.
- Expectations - a person who should be able to be more understanding, not understanding.
- Expectations - hoping a person would say or do something, and not.
- Being crowded in my personal space. I need breathing room.
- Being slighted - ignored, told off, treated like a doormat.
- Being unappreciated.
And the list might go on, I'm still thinking so that's going to be another post for another day. *sigh*
POSTED BY
Monday, December 03, 2012
Re-Solution
Happy December!
I normally write after I think through a lot of what I've been feeling or experiencing, and usually I write up something that's already sort of a solution of some kind, that leads to us all - myself mostly - feeling something akin to inspired.
It's almost the end of the year, and when January kicks in, we reach that clichéd time where we're all expected in an ambiguous sort of way to make New Year's Resolutions. I have always hated that, growing up, having to write out a list of resolutions that was first and foremost a dreaded chore, and secondly that list having to meet the approval of said parent, and thirdly the entire thing weighed down by those damn expectations.
But, lately I've been telling myself that there are bits of me that I need to change. And this is what I'm writing about, I'm making my own Old Year's Resolution right now. I, IQ, am going to battle my inner demons and hopefully conquer that quietly raging fire that's inside me. My anger.
What anger? I know, most of you might never - and how God has blessed you - have come across my anger. But it's there, and boy is it ugly when it rears its fiery head. I can be cool as a cucumber on the surface, but there seems to be something - and yes it is when I get extremely close to people that it seems to awaken - that's like a volcano. There was a time when I rarely got angry, and when I did it was like Armageddon. I'd figured out a relationship - the frequency of my anger was inversely proportional to the magnitude of my anger.
And I know that some of you *stares at someone* think I just need a vacation from all the stressors of life. But that's just it. It's sort of like a drug addict or alcholic never really coming to terms with their addiction, because they've always avoided the stressors that stimulate the cycle of them reaching for their stash. No matter what, life is always going to be there, but the people I care about may not - not if I continue to lose my temper. I need to work through and live through the stress and be able to do so without the temper being unleashed.
I need to remember that this is only my starting resolution, I'm not meant to find any solution just as yet. But I am going to work on it. That's a promise.
I normally write after I think through a lot of what I've been feeling or experiencing, and usually I write up something that's already sort of a solution of some kind, that leads to us all - myself mostly - feeling something akin to inspired.
It's almost the end of the year, and when January kicks in, we reach that clichéd time where we're all expected in an ambiguous sort of way to make New Year's Resolutions. I have always hated that, growing up, having to write out a list of resolutions that was first and foremost a dreaded chore, and secondly that list having to meet the approval of said parent, and thirdly the entire thing weighed down by those damn expectations.
But, lately I've been telling myself that there are bits of me that I need to change. And this is what I'm writing about, I'm making my own Old Year's Resolution right now. I, IQ, am going to battle my inner demons and hopefully conquer that quietly raging fire that's inside me. My anger.
What anger? I know, most of you might never - and how God has blessed you - have come across my anger. But it's there, and boy is it ugly when it rears its fiery head. I can be cool as a cucumber on the surface, but there seems to be something - and yes it is when I get extremely close to people that it seems to awaken - that's like a volcano. There was a time when I rarely got angry, and when I did it was like Armageddon. I'd figured out a relationship - the frequency of my anger was inversely proportional to the magnitude of my anger.
And I know that some of you *stares at someone* think I just need a vacation from all the stressors of life. But that's just it. It's sort of like a drug addict or alcholic never really coming to terms with their addiction, because they've always avoided the stressors that stimulate the cycle of them reaching for their stash. No matter what, life is always going to be there, but the people I care about may not - not if I continue to lose my temper. I need to work through and live through the stress and be able to do so without the temper being unleashed.
I need to remember that this is only my starting resolution, I'm not meant to find any solution just as yet. But I am going to work on it. That's a promise.
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