In a World of Glass

Ideas are sand within an upright hourglass. The shifting changes of the world upend and unsettle the neat pile of hopes, thoughts, and wishes. Each grain tumbles and fights for its turn through the bottleneck. They make their inevitable way toward the bottom which was once the top, a world turned upside down. But only one grain may pass through the narrow opening at a time. Only one idea—one view—may hold the fleeting passage of time before yielding to the next. And the next. And the next. Until...

At the end of the grain's journey (which you could argue is also the beginning), after a hard landing against others below and beside, it comes to rest so that it may watch the progression of the rest of his kind. Will it sit at the top, aglow with the unexpected triumphant of the last-become-first? Or does it cower in its fear of the first-become-last? When the glass tips again, it will find its place buried below thousands, or millions, of its kin. Quickly forgotten by the world for all the shiny ideas stifling it.

Reality Beckons

reality beckons,
a sharp knife concealed
piercing remembrance
fatal to wield

dreams spread as a rust,
incremental and vast
a slow death indeed, yet
defense unsurpassed

there will come an assault,
an assailant unseen
shall I wield harsh reality
or defend with a dream?

INFJ Thoughts

This could make us sound arrogant (we aren't INTJs, you know), but nothing could be further from the truth.
We’re humbled and puzzled by our existence. Our divine spark is a torch, a burden, a comfort to ourselves, and a beacon to others. It is the question. It is the answer. It is our lens to view the world. And we live with it day in and day out, wondering if anyone else uses a similar lens even though we know no one else could ever see the world the way we do. Yet we excel in seeing reality as anyone else can by easily stepping into their shoes.

We feel like everyone and no one. Someone someday, perhaps, but when? When will we realize we're already ourselves?

For BC/On Obsession

You're stuck in my mind, and I can't get you out.
I'm so sorry
But I alone know of your presence
and your influence upon me.
I drift through my day, customarily gesturing at others.
And you are with me, even though you are not.

In another world we are woven together.
we are new friends talking of books
we are old lovers tenuously reunited
we are bitter enemies in perfect misunderstanding
growth and progress and developments are made
I respect you
You respect me
caught in perpetual possibility

I long to strip this web from my sheltered self
and stretch it across my breast for all to see
its intricacies
its schema
the raw energy
the basics of me, the basis of me
a fatal flag to fly
baring uniqueness to this world

Why do you stay with me long after you're gone?
We have never met, and we may never be.
But chance fuels my odd faith
And the hope of reciprocated respect is my ambition

From a Companion

If you could sweep me away, 

I would never hesitate.

There's so much routine to run from.

I dream of you between these repeating grey days.

My enthusiasm for life has died.

Resurrect it with your child's perspective.

Show me the magic of this world

that I have become too numb to see.

I am just a shell of what I used to feel.

Memories no longer sting, warm, or entice.

Day in day out, repeating grey days.

But you will never come, will you?

*********

External, pessimistic, and a little fatalist, perhaps, but a good representation of how some of the Doctor's companions (or probable companions) might feel. They always rely on the Doctor for everything at first. Everything becomes his fault, and he is expected to fix everything. And the Doctor puts up with it, to an extent, because he challenges himself to be useful and important. He wants to be needed since he's destroyed so much in his life.

It's Time

to look through a different lens.
to break some rules.
to rebuild my reality.
to live by intuition.
to love everything and everyone.
to trust the universe.

Ding!

I've been putting out the intention this week that I wanted a sign from my guides on what to do about my current job. I've officially been thinking too hard. "Meeting halfway" was a message from my spirit guides to meditate and talk to them. I never thought I would misunderstand a message, but there's a first time for everything. Guess I'd better start meditating regularly!

une belle petite fleur

vous êtes une belle fleur.
dérivant dans la mer.
qui allez-vous ramasser
et vous apporter à votre amour?

you are a beautiful flower
drifting in the sea
who will scoop you up
and bring you to your love?

oh, précieuse petite fleur
dérivant dans la mer.
qui va pendre votre coeur
et vous ramener à moi?

oh, precious little flower
drifting in the sea.
who will catch your heart
and bring you back to me?

At the End of the Day

I feel in-between. I'm mentally weary from a day's work and need to wind down. I feel no urge to absorb information. Now is a time for rest and processing. I would like to experience something familiar, not new. I think I have the perfect music in mind for the drive home.

I am comforted to simply be.

Blind to Yourself

“Your prevailing characteristic is hidden. You act on it without seeing that you’re acting on it.”

This is why I have trouble defining all but the most general characteristics of myself. I know I'm introverted, intelligent, funny, caring, and emotional...but nothing defining comes to mind such as "caretaker, artist, lover." I've come to appreciate a label-less me. It just makes writing biographies and descriptions of myself difficult. ;)

A Sonnet on Thursday

So impatient and anxious, yet hands are tied.
What is this weakness? This longing inside?
I'd locked it away as a dream denied
so long ago it should have died.
But now I cannot forget its gaze.
Stricken with passion, my heart ablaze
became an actor who portrays
a lovestruck fool in countless ways.
What began as passing time, a muse
has ushered thoughts I did not choose.
Every moment I pine; I cannot refuse
an intoxicating daydream while listening to you.
Your songs and sounds, they set me free.
I beg you, come and play for me.

The Choices We Make

"There's only one thing in life you can be sure of: you will die. Once you are born and take your first breath, you begin to die. You have to be prepared at all times." While several of my coworkers scoffed at the 70-year-old contractor for blatantly spouting the "fact of life" as he called it, I smiled thoughtfully in my office. I knew he was right.

One of the young ladies was taken aback and proclaimed, "How negative! I don't think of life that way." "You might want to start thinking about it.You might even go before I do! I'll be ready to go when my time comes." This came from a man who has worked almost every day in his adult life. "You people who work here need vacations. I don't need 'em, cause I don't work. If you don't enjoy what you do, it's work. I enjoy what I do so it's not work. Life is beautiful." After several more minutes, the lady received a phone call, so the contractor said his goodbyes. She protested, but he insisted that he had to continue on with his day. He told her in one last jibe, "I'll be going so you can have a good day." True enough, I think she'll have something to think about the rest of the day.

This is one of the last places I expected to hear this type of conversation. But of course, at the end of the day, anyone can be enlightened. There is always a choice.

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.

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

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?

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.

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.