Escapism!

There. I said it. It's been creeping up on me again this week. The fantasies are always the same: A series of unlikely events or actions lead me to become close with an unlikely person. But is it really so unlikely? Just today I read about letting go. If I let go of fear and believe that any outcome is possible, the world becomes much more positive and inspiring. Nothing is impossible! But... It also means that I have to let go of my fantasies and go with intuition instead. I want to be more understanding, but fantasies are such a nice, warm blanket when the rest of the world is cold... In the end they are nothing more than future scenarios that did not come true (there's no sense in changing the past), even if they are far-fetched.

Letting Go

I find it is becoming easier to let go. Over the past few weeks I've begun to exclude many non-important activities in favor of more fulfilling pursuits. My routines are far from perfect, but I've felt much more congruent internally than I have compared to the past few months. Lately I've rediscovered the benefits of knitting, painting, music, imagination, listening, and just feeling.

The biggest distraction I'm working on letting go of is distraction itself. Meditation is coming along slowly, but I'm gaining good experiences from it. At the moment it's more of a weekly rather than daily practice. My meditations seem to leave me with questions rather than peace and clarity. I appreciate it as I enjoy the focus it gives me. (My days seem to be riddled with poor focus or a lack of focus altogether.) Hopefully one day my sessions will leave me with a few answers instead.

Last night's meditation took me up a hill in a forest (I always try to travel up in some way). There was a familiar dirt path that lead me towards the cottage. As I walked it, a small flickering light caught my eye off to my left. I walked over to it and discovered a small, amber-colored stone. When I picked it up, somehow I knew it needed to be cleaned, so I rubbed it. As I rubbed and polished it, I felt a bright sensation in my forehead. It took some time to clean it up, but afterward I felt better. By the time this was done, I was starting to lose my focus and felt tired. Right before I made it to the cottage, I sensed the woman with me. She told me it was ok to go to sleep. I would be able to come back later when I was ready.

Many of my meditations end that way: "You can come back when you're ready." It's not negative, though; it's conveyed with love and patience. I guess it's hard work getting ready to listen, eh?

An Exercise to Slow Down During Busy Times

I decided to take a moment for myself today because it was so busy. I felt mentally disorganized and overwhelmed, even though there wasn't much externally or internally that was stressing me.

I simply opened up a new document in Notepad and began writing what I could sense right this moment. I only used my five senses, no opinions or assumptions allowed. After typing for a minute or two, I stopped and was able to relax/meditate for another minute or two. It was enough to get myself back in order. I've italicized the thoughts that I should have reigned in.

I am present. I hear a plane muffled by the buildings surrounding me as well as the air between myself and it. I hear the buzz of fluorescent light and the click-clack of my keyboard. The phone rings, and I'm triggered to answer.

I sit up straight. A song plays in my head, and my teeth chew gum. Elsewhere in the building a printer does its work as does a stapler. I stop. Gum to the trash, and fingers still, eyes closed. Hoping the mind can follow for a time. Subtle ambient noises prevents me from hearing my own breath. Another plane, distant.

Your exercise may be longer or shorter, depending on how long it takes you to focus. You could also opt to repeat an affirming phrase to help you focus.

Still in the Aether

I feel as if you are waiting for me
Patiently biding your time until the right moment
We haven't met before
Yet I know your name, but nothing else
I wonder what you're like...
How does your laugh sound?
Will you be ambitious or cautious?
A feeler or thinker?
A sensate or intuitive?
What do you want to do with your life?
Which lessons have you chosen to learn?
Whenever you are ready, I will be waiting
I will know you when I see your eyes

Strangers -- Portishead

Ohh........
Can anybody see the light
Where the morn meets the dew and the tide rises
Did you realise, no one can see inside your view
Did you realise, forwhy this sight belongs to you

Ohh........
Just set aside your fears of life
With this sole desire

Done it warning
Done it now
This ain't real
On in this side

Done it warning
Done it now
This ain't real
On in this side

Done it warning
Done it now
This ain't real

Done it warning
Done it now
This ain't real
On in this side

Ohh............
Can anybody see the light
Where the morn meets the dew and the tide rises
Did you realise, no one can ever see inside your view
Did you realise, forewhy this sight belongs to you

A Content Explantion of Past Foresight

What have I done?

The avenue I chose was admittedly tragic in every sense of the word. It was the swiftest, most ironic opportunity that I possibly could have seized. Why? Well, what would you have done with evil in one hand and death in the other? Death was the lesser of two evils. I would have died anyway bearing what I carried. My will would not have withstood bringing such a thing into being. I am sorry to have caused you grief. It's no one's fault that it happened. If it's any consolation, I felt safe in your arms before I left.

I chose where I stood, therefore I chose where I fell. I made a sacrifice to prevent a dangerous outcome. It was time to move on—time to wait. When this memory came back to me so long after, I can attest that I felt comforted and relieved.

I can still feel you, even so far away.

Originally posted Decmeber 16, 2008, edited and re-posted November 13, 2009.

Religion

• More and more I realize that it doesn't matter what religion you follow because we are all on our own paths. I no longer feel any distance or resentment towards others based on their beliefs.
• I do not look down on others for their values.
  
• I accept that others do not have the same opinions as me, and that it's ok for them to have said opinions. (Sometimes I become too rooted in what I believe and feel hostile or defensive because of another's opinion, but then I step back and realize that they are entitled to their own opinion.)

The White-Grey Room

I feel an urge to return to the white-grey room. The place where I shared a connection. A place that has become unused. I felt safe there. No need to be anyone but myself. No need to speak, just be.

I didn't go back because the connection was done, but maybe I'm not done with the room. What will be there if I return?

~~~~~~~

It's no longer the plain white-grey room I remember. It's the cottage.

It has wooden plank flooring with light streaming in through small windows and cracks between the wall boards. There are trees outside. I can tell that the room is sparsely decorated, but I can't really focus on any one thing in the small abode.

There is a woman with a shawl in the room, smiling at me. She's holding out her hands as if she wants me to come closer and take them. Should I?

Coming Together Again

Periodically, several occurrences will all point in a similar direction (aka synchronicities). They are signs. They may indicate what to focus on, which way to go, or an answer to a question (whether consciously asked or not). Here are a few recent signs I've had:

Firstly, to my surprise, before today I knew little about Carl Jung. Most of what I knew was related to his work with personality archetypes, which were later used in developing the MBTI. Yesterday Jung's Liber Novus (The New Book) was published as The Red Book, as he so often referred to it. I'm quite interested in reading it, as it reveals a side of Jung that I was not aware of--he believed that spirituality was essential to life.

Jung's work on himself and his patients convinced him that life has a spiritual purpose beyond material goals. Our main task, he believed, is to discover and fulfill our deep innate potential, much as the acorn contains the potential to become the oak, or the caterpillar to become the butterfly. Based on his study of Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Gnosticism, Taoism, and other traditions, Jung perceived that this journey of transformation, which he called individuation, is at the mystical heart of all religions. It is a journey to meet the self and at the same time to meet the Divine. Unlike Sigmund Freud, Jung thought spiritual experience was essential to our well-being. Crowley, Vivianne (2000)

I agree with this vision wholeheartedly. It's interesting that Jung came to this conclusion in much the same way I did. For the past few years I've studied various religions first with the curiosity of obtaining knowledge and understanding others, but now with the intent of self-growth on my own spiritual path. The wisdom gleaned by others on their own paths may be helpful to me in developing my own. I research and plan to the best of my abilities in every day matters, so why should I not employ the same methods in my spirituality?

Secondly, but also related to Jung, I've started pondering meditation again (inspired by a random encounter to Erin Pavlina's website last week). And I see that Jung developed a method he called active imagination. It involves allowing emotions and unconscious feelings to play out as a narrative or their own entities, while you simply observe and respond rather than try to influence the unconscious. He believed this method to be a bridge between the conscious and unconscious. I intend to research more about it.

Thirdly, this morning one of my Care2 newsletter articles was called Breaking with Tradition. It discussed the pros and cons of traditional behaviors, but challenged their necessity in self-growth due to the stagnant nature of tradition. Tradition is secure and comfortable, but self-growth is all about pushing your limits and evolving, not following what someone else has already done.

Lastly, I've been helping a dear friend this past week, and it has led me to play a role I've never had to play. I have a unique perspective, and I sincerely wish her to heal and grow from the situation she's enduring. It's not every day a loved one goes through a crisis, and it's in those times that we rise to fulfill many of our potentials.

What do all these signs point to? It sounds silly, but I now realize that it's ok to make my own path, even though I've been walking down it for a while already. I've been doubtful the past few years in whether I should try to find clues from others or decide how I will walk to the end. I guess you could say I've been walking my path, but looking over at others as they walk their own, wondering if mine should look anything like theirs. I now realize that it's an unnecessary comparison. Years ago I decided I'd go my own way, but lately I've been looking for a reaffirmation of sorts. This was it.

The skeptic in you could argue that chances for growth are around constantly, so why am I choosing now to see signs of it? Well, that's why I am on my path and you are on yours. :)

Personalities and Crossroads

I feel restless, and that means it's time to write. I don't really have a set theme in mind, so let's see where I go:

I've been thinking a lot about personality typing the past few days. It began when I watched 9. The characters were pieces of a human soul. They all had different characteristics that warranted personality traits, so I tried to classify each to a different MBTI type. It didn't work for all characters, as most were not developed enough. (The movie really should have been longer with more character development.) All of this personality typing got me thinking about my own type, so I revisted the differences between INFJ and INFP. I'm just not an INFP any way I slice it. Even if I were more spontaneous, I'm still too definitive.

After I reasserted my own traits, I looked at Trent's again. I'm not dismissing the idea that he could be an ISFP. The only problem I see is with the Temperment Sorter description of SP's which holds that they are process-oriented, not goal-oriented. I'm aware that the book is full of extreme examples, but somehow it struck me oddly. (Perhaps it's my lack of understanding of SP motivation.) I definitely see Trent as an artist, but artists can operate in different ways. The traditional ISFP artist is all about the process, all about creating and appealing to the five senses in the moment. They communicate and reach outwards through their work, yet they have no goal. For them the motivation is simply to create, and the process is the reward. Their experiences are not preparation for later, but they experience intensely now. They "live on impulses." I'm having trouble understanding this completely, but only because I can't apply it to myself. What actually confuses me is trying to apply this SP template to what I see of Trent. Does he act this way? Is this his motivation? Is he really that impulsive?

Conversely, I've held the belief that he's an INFP. Quite different from an ISFP, I know, but only in the way information is gathered and processed. An INFP judges experiences against their inner values, and strives to live their outer life according to them. They usually have a greater goal in mind that they work towards such as bettering the world through what they do. Trent is quite outwardly, and unusually, gentle as an INFP is described. It is much easier for me to apply Trent to this model, but is it only because INFP is a visionary just like me or because it really does fit? Sadly, I may never know more of Trent's personality than what I have witnessed over the past year via his interviews, updates, and tweets. I hope that will change.
~~~~~
The movie for New Moon is coming out in November. Yes, I read the Twilight Saga and enjoyed it. But no, I have no inclination to see the movies, although hearing others talk of them stirs up all my feelings for Bella, Edward, and Jacob. Their triangle keeps grabbing me because it could so easily be real. Not the particulars per se, but the feelings and circumstances. I still believe what I said about fictional love: We find part of our own love within it. The lovers carve another aspect of our emotions, and in turn they take on a part of our will. It doesn't matter if their flesh is real. Their love exists, if only in daydreams. --Love's Reality

Ultimately I come back what I do know, and that's my own past, choices that I've made, and what may yet happen. Lately I've tried to focus on those choices: what did I do and why? What choices may come up, and what do I plan to do? Inevitably a scenario plays out in my head several times, imagining dialogue and action, stopping, reversing, refocusing. What does it feel like when you reach a crossroad?

My World

Currently my world is anxious. I feel hesitant to move a muscle. The delicate web would shake and wake a terrible beast that I loathe to disturb. I must wake it and deal with its actions or a worse monster will appear in time.

I want to unplug. I want to read, dream, bake, and create. I want to make others happy and hurt no one. I do not want to cause conflict. Balance says I can't have joy without pain, though. And so I consider: Do I have the confidence to fix the world?

Context

con-text -- (noun) the set of circumstances or facts that surround a particular event, situation, etc.

Context can be locked in place with a memory in detail or be conveniently omitted. The worries I have now were not the same five years ago, and they will not be the same five years from now. That comes with being human. Context shapes our memories and decisions, yet can have little bearing on the actual event.

It's a shame, but it's necessary.

The Beliefs of Others

So what do I make of it? Hearing someone's beliefs? It's been so long since anyone asked me how spiritual I was and whether or not I was "on the same page." It doesn't matter if I'm on the same page, though. We're all on our own journey.

It is interesting to hear what others believe. Secretly I do want to share mine with others, but as always, it's a bad idea for me to wear my heart on my sleeve. Inevitably I get burned. I'm scared of being laughed at, rejected, or even worse, ignored. If only humanity felt as I do. As I long to be understood, how much do I understand?

What drives me to understanding?

Intuitive Surfing

Most of the weekend I seemd to be in tune with others. Several times I mentioned something before it happened--a phone call, what someone was going to say or do. I also felt unnoticed--in a good way--for a while. I felt perfectly natural in everything I did. I don't remember doing anything differently that might have triggered it. I only remember feeling...correct. I didn't feel out of place or insecure for once.

Reality is like an ocean, and we are all floating in it. We are pulled by currents, creating eddies when there is a greater significance. But what if you could master a wave? What if you were so in tune with it that the line between wave and surfer didn't exist? Who's controlling who? What would it feel like? But...waves usually exist near the shore, and they end on the beach. They dissolve and become part of the ocean again. Does the surfer get another chance?

Love's Reality

Why is fabricated love so appealing? It comes from the imagination. It isn't real.... Yet, it is. We find part of our own love within it. The lovers carve another aspect of our emotions, and in turn they take on a part of our will. It doesn't matter if their flesh is real. Their love exists, if only in daydreams.

Passions

The "guilty pleasures" I indulge in fulfill or express a part of myself that I don't otherwise give in to much. The best example I can give is my love of Christopher Hall's band "The Dreaming." His music is decidely emo and full of lyrics that ache for love. While I don't empathize with most of the lyrics (anymore), I enjoy the music and emotion that he puts into the music. His energy and sincerity is what I really enjoy. Each word he sings is genuine, and I saw it plain as day on his face when I met him.

Christopher Hall and Trent Reznor are struck from a similar mold. They are truly passionate about what they do. As a fan, I enjoy the intricacies of their music and songs. I even find it cathartic to sing along, but in the end, it's their life. This raises a question that I've danced around for years: What am I passionate about?

Passion: a strong or extravagant fondness, enthusiasm, or desire for anything: a passion for music. (What an appropriate example.)

Now, understanding that passion is exemplified through an enthusiasm and desire for something, it is assumed that I might be passionate about the activities I enjoy the most depending on how strongly I feel for them. While I love music, and it is often the bridge of my comparisons, it does not fill my every waking thought. Musicians eat, sleep, and breath music. I simply enjoy it.

The definition of passion does claim "anything" as the object of passion. The question could also be posed as: What do I desire?

That question is one that I can answer:

I desire mental states and activities which put me closer to fully understanding my potential and purpose. I desire understanding and wisdom. The activities that aid me in this desire include: self-improvement, listening, learning, guiding others.

It may make me sound a little like a tree-hugging hippie, but I really do feel this way in my heart. Simply, I want to understand and be understood, and in turn help others to do the same. I want to help them understand where they come from, where they belong, and where they are going. Without the journey, it would all be meaningless. I want to be a guide.

Questions

I find myself searching. Watching every story, every event both real and fiction for similarities to what I believe happened. Do others suspect? Do they dream? Do they remember? Are they subtly revealing these beliefs through their actions and tales? Why do I want to find them? To know I'm not alone? To feel a connection to others? Do I really want them to remember, or keep the knowledge hidden? What part will they play? What part will I play later? Why do I become so restless that I have to get all of it out of myself?

Oh! To gaze upon serenity again... It will signal our undoing:

Legions of them, listening to his voice. The look of serenity upon their pallid faces. How can they listen, so dumbfounded, so innocent? They will follow him to the end. They will follow him to the end.

To Remember

Even after dawn the memories pull at me--a dream deferred. Their cloudy images have lost description and purpose, but the feelings linger. Determination, terror, sacrifice, unconditional love. Love. Words cannot do justice to that love. I was born to love. I killed and was killed for that love.

What do these memories mean to me? They feel like a security blanket, a beacon. An old friend. An aspiration. A hole, a wound, a tugging string. A soft wind, a blade of grass, calm water, the warmest touch. Harsh blades, harsher words, unjust intentions. They are balance. They are a world forgotten, yet they are a part of everything.

What was is now gone. What will be has been written.

Some feelings cannot be shared. I cannot express the longing I feel to be complete again and understand the past.

Messages

If I could know your heart,

Would it be as sweet?

Would you laugh as I hear?

Would you dream as I dream?

Would your love be as deep?

In the end...

You do not know my heart.

Every day is a message

To reach and dream

To prepare and live

To plan, yet wander blindly

In the end...

Fate has been written.

Displaced

Floating.
Nothing to hold on to today.
Irritated.
Uncomfortable.
Memories, emotions, and suppositions unlived.
Yet familiar.
Lost.

Cannot stay outside.
Cannot stay inside.
Where else to go?

Bonds

He stands before me, clad in white.
The red chairs are far behind us.
I understand now,
And I am comforted.
My smile says all there is to say: "Your happiness is mine as well."
If only all hearts could shine so brightly.

Limits

Red again, dare I attempt to...?

It would be unprecedented

To change the constant

Afraid and doubtful

My words lost in turbulence

They may not matter, dismissed

The eye of the beholder

is a sight unseen

Now is not the time.

The World of Another

What do others dream of? Are they so epic as mine? So pivotal?

A glimpse...?

Perception

I haven't come back around to writing on perception as I had planned to do at the beginning of Spring. However, a few events occurred today that got me thinking...then I happened upon an inspiration in an unlikely place. Is it so unlikely a place?

It's all about Perception.

Substance

What to do when it's all locked away?
Cannot compose, play, sing, paint, or build.
What to do when it can't be shared?
I would gladly show them, if they would look.
To have peace and balance, temperance of soul.
Bridges.
An ocean full of rage beyond a stoic cliff.
It can't be black and white.
Both or none?
What is it that you want?

Two Chairs

A blank grey room. Two round red chairs face one another, several yards between. I sit in one chair, he in the other. Both of us are absorbed in our own silent activities. We do not need to speak. We merely are aware of one another and appreciate the company. It does not matter why we have this connection. It simply is.

I look up to see frosted glass obscuring his half of the room. Why the sudden need to hide?

A Dream/On Love

He held me close, as a friend. Each of us needed comfort and support. We knew our faults and graces, no need to deceive. He knew my heart and I his. I wanted to know him forever.

Not of the deepest love, but closer than what exists now. Hands have not forgotten what time has sundered. I see his eyes.

In the madness he held me. Nothing else mattered.

~~~~

This came from a dream about someone I want to know. Upon review it also fits someone I *do* know. The only difference is love. The one I know has my deepest love. That love is my foundation. But should love be subjected to partiality? Although we may love differently, love is still love.

That deepest love may extend to all. Do I not fight for its existence?

For CH

Always a parallel step
A familiar scene
Or feeling relived
Perhaps you know...
You intrigue me
Dreams do no justice
To your demeanor
Let us confide in one another
Alone
Presence and passion captivate them

Intellect and conscience neglected, unseen
Beneath

I feel your sincerity
And I am smitten
As a friend enamored
Stay with me gently
Held close
As a friend true

When Insides are Out

fa·tal·ism
n.

1. The doctrine that all events are predetermined by fate and are therefore unalterable.
2. Acceptance of the belief that all events are predetermined and inevitable.

fa·tal·ist
n.

1. One who maintains that all things happen by inevitable necessity.
2. Anyone who submits to the belief that they are powerless to change their destiny.

That's not how I want to feel...

Every action scratches me. Downtrodden. Each sound is noise in my ears. My every thought seethes. Calm waters seem like shattering glass. Familiar words razors. I want to shut myself behind a door where no one else can go. It wells not from hate or paranoia, but from raw exposure. I awoke bruised and ripped. From what I know not, but I need to retreat and heal. Lest I damage myself more.

The whole of me sits upon my lap in plain view. I cannot protect it. I cannot hide it.

I feel brash, rude, and uncalled for.

I feel no need to apologize.

I feel useless.

That's not how I want to feel...

In Between

It was so long
with no movement
the seas still
no hole to fill
a world eternal, unflawed
so perfect...

silent
untouched

emotion is born
the world ripped apart

Nostalgia or Preparation?

I feel as if I'll drop a thought if I don't write something this morning. I feel antsy, just like most mornings.

I've been thinking about the past (when am I not?). Today specifically I've been listening to some old, nostalgic music. Thinking about what it meant to me years ago; comparing it to what it means to me now. Memories flow through more current thoughts, relating values and lost feelings.

So many songs:
The first cd I bought of my own volition, even though others I valued didn't care for it. The songs that make me think of old friends now lost or gone away. Ex-lovers. The voices I swooned over and cried for. The words I still remember--repeating them now reminds me not only of my own growth and change, but of the world's changing landscape. I'm not one of the kids anymore.

More often now I realize that I'm not as overly-nostalgic as I thought I was. I don't run around in reverse, I have blinders on. I see little but that which lies ahead of me. Reflection is necessary to understand what will come. The future is endless and finite. While I do dwell on events from the past, it's from a desire to understand what must happen. How does it fit together?

On Dreams

How can you see from the windows of dreams? All sense slips asunder, relegated to memories of order. Laws anew flourish and mutate. Scenarios ponder, worship, and cry. Parts are played by masters and slaves, though not as one would reason. Reason feels foreign upon a dream's fragile frames. Encounters unscripted. Worlds without end. Pens plumb subconscious depths to publish only a piece of what hides. Existence and persistence rules by curiosities and fears.

Dreams are borne of the night. Shadows of the sane. Residents of the reverse. A mockery of the mundane.

Untitled

All will see
All will see
clearly, so clearly
finally in tune
into the light
shedding superficial sacks
All will see

The Ever-present Itch

Oh, what an itch it has become!
It nags, unreachable, inherent, and irreversible
pulling at every thought and purpose
distracting my attention
disrupting all endeavors
branding each day
dissolving the frame
breaking and sealing each bond
after all is gone, it will remain