Paradise

As she sat looking out on the horizon, the tears glistened in her eyes. Was this indeed life? Was this what some would call paradise? Indeed! Were they blind or simply mad? Perhaps, they had lost touch with reality. Perhaps, they had lost touch with the realm of the real. Yeah, it had to be so because there was no way she could explain it otherwise. The tears, pain, climax of sufferance, and pits of lows could not be joy. They could not exist in paradise. Paradise was Eden. Eden was the perfect garden with perfect soul mates, flowers, trees, and beautifully pure souls. This was a filthy marsh where one could barely walk, least of all hold your head up. She could barely breath because of the stench. She could barely comprehend what they had come to call life. Is it the hourly pay, expensive suits, cheap dresses, luxurious cars, broken down rusters, or simply the humdrum of gas. What was it that these people had tagged life. A joke, a fathom, a ghost, a dream, and a fantasy. This is what they had called it. In their minds was an ideal which would never exist. A world of spirits which would never awaken in reality. This was a place of unknowns. A place where you never knew what was going to happen next. This was mystery, revenge, hate, and death all mixed together. It was the battle of disillusionment with no clear victor. And yet some manage to question the fact of a war without a conqueror. Look around you. Look about. IS there a winner? “A winner, but of course,” you say. She laughed. A joke. That is what this was - a great big belly shake. The dying deader, the sick sicker, and the poor poorer. Yet they claimed there was a victor. “But of course,” some said, “the good always conquers the evil in the end.” Yeah, in the world of idealism. So what was good? Or better yet, who was good? Those who oppressed the poor to give to the poor? Those who stole from the poor to give to the poor? Or those who suppressed the cries of the poor to exalt the needs of the poor? Hmm, she thought. Honestly, where is the victor? Can you find him? Can you see, hear, and feel him? Idealist no more. Step into reality. It is my plight everyday, she claimed. It is the path which I trudge with each and every step. It is the sun in my sunrise and moon in the evening. It is what I call life, she cried…… Her head dropped down to her chest and she heaved the last sobs away as she turned to leave. Aaaa, she thought, before long here she would stand to question yet another truth of life. It was a ritual, a habit which would not be broken with time for time herself followed the superficial pattern of their world. She too was a beast in the war, although seeming to partake of neither side…..

Confessions

Life is interesting. We meet such a wide variety of people. To express the thoughts in my head right now, my vocabulary will probably fail because I have seen so exclusively immersed in one field these past years. I look at all the people I’ve met. Some have professed to care. Others have professed to love. Others have attempted to convince me that they are true and what we have is real. And in all the people I’ve met, I realize those that have truly cared and loved, those with whom I have real relationships have not had to profess these to me. In fact, it was a simple click. There is a saying that goes it takes a day to love someone and a lifetime to forget them. There is truth in this statement.

Why do I care whether people who say they care don’t really care you must say? Why does it matter to me since I know that they are false? Why you ask me? I care not because I desire for them to express their honest feelings, but because I wonder at the lengths they must go to convince me otherwise.  At the end of the day, most of us come to realize that what really matters is what is real and what is real is what is truthful and honest. I am not saying you cannot fool yourself into believing that a shallow relationship has depth. Of course you can. We do it all the time. It comes from our desire to be oblivious to that which would cause us pain. But I tackle rough spots head on. That way I can cruise along the rest of the way instead of closing my eyes to the filth, only to have the stench stifling my breathing on the whole walk.

Why is it so difficult for people to be honest? We are scared, afraid of rejection, or perhaps simply do not want to. Truth be told, honest people tend to be honest with those they care for. The whole story about lying to protect the feelings of the person you care about is nonsense, nonexistent – a lie to yourself! And most of us know this. We know that our true reason for not “fessing” up to those close to us is because we fear the ramifications of our confessions on that relationship which we value. We fear how the other’s perception of us will change, how they will reject us in some way. Because we had built that relationship on feelings – either old or recent – we fear the rejection of those feelings once the other becomes aware of our true self.

Moral of today’s blog: we lie to ourself and others because we fear, not because we care. What will you allow to rule your actions and speech: fear or honesty? Don’t kid yourself: honesty is a rare rare find indeed these days. But it is not altogether gone. And we must all start somewhere. You determine your happiness. Start by choosing a determining factor that won’t crumble in your face.

Thought girl signing off ~ 

3.15.09

A take on "Seven Pounds"

When a man tragically loses his most loved possession, he becomes a donor machine, giving more than most people cannot live without. After sitting through a longer than life viewing of his story, I thought to myself ‘It really can end just like that.’

The moments that rip us apart, the days that tear at the soul, months that suck the juice of our joy, it is at these times which we find our truest character defined. In our joy, claiming victory is almost a joke. Not that we are not grateful. Don’t misinterpret the language of joy. Yes, we are most thankful for those moments which are not credits on our souls. Those are the moments where we say thanks with the loudest exclamations and proclaim life the greatest gift of all with the most ease. It is then that rejoicing is our daily attitude and strength is an of course backbone. Our pillars cannot be crumbled. We are ready to fly, not worried about our lack of wings. The feelings of the moment convince us of our false invincibility. We truly can do and conquer anything because we are at the pinnacle of contentment, despite the once-in-awhile minor speed-bumps to remind us to slow down, that danger lies ahead.

When do we truly see our reflection? When is our inner self most revealed? When we are faced with what we don’t want. When you are given what you want, the universe and you are in accord, unified to your content. When life takes away your toolbox and you are told to build, then your true abilities come forth. You must dig deep into the reservoirs of self creating devices and telling tales that have never been written. It is here that a true hero is made. A hero that is unsung, unrecognized, and unknown. The moments where everything crumbles and you are left standing, that is the defining time. Standing in the dark where no eyes behold your fate but deep down you know the depth of this deep, dark hole you are falling down. You are Alice in Wonderland falling down a rabbit hole where everything is upside down. With everything going opposite of yourself, what will you do? Do you press on with that vision, that dream, that burning passion and flame which keeps you awake at night and drives you to your feet each morning? Do you? When there’s nothing to hold onto, what do you do?

I saw this man give up pieces of his life. I saw this man give of himself after he lost everything. I saw him see his reflection in the mirror and unknowingly decide that he would be an unsung hero. I saw him reflect and decide that it was in the darkest moments that his greatest attributes would shine forth. I saw him driven by his passion despite the prison of his situation. There, I thought to myself, is a hero. It was not just about overcoming what appeared to be insurmountable and impossible obstacles to the world. It is about living beyond ourselves, living past the moment to the unseen. A hero is a hero because they tell the story of faith, belief, and character. They tell us that we can overcome the impossible. They tell us of a forlorn happy ending to our miserable tale. In that happy ending is not a champagne accolade but a person made. And that is how many heroes go unsung, we miss the happy ending because we see no wine bottles popping. The villain appears victorious in his unchanged state. But the hero is unseen after being transformed from mundane happiness into ultimate dignity. After pressing on past the seen into the unseen, the hero becomes lost from sight.

Defining character is telling a story that has not yet happened because in that story we don’t know the end but we strike forth to live past the impossible.

12.28.2008

Tomorrow Today

Sometimes I wonder do I have a place in this world?

And if I do what is it?

This world moves so incredibly fast.

You’ve got to be insta-famous, snapchat lit, vine ready, facebook fresh.

Everything is so yesterday.

Tomorrow is always coming in today.

We’re so future oriented sometimes I wonder when did I miss today.

If you aren’t doing the next thing, then you’re already behind.

Forget the present. You always should be living for tomorrow they say.

We are going a million miles per hour.

Where we’re going I have no idea. But we’re getting there fast.

I know me rumbling about how fast this world is moving is nothing new,

And this script will likely change nothing,

Nobody is going to rewrite their narratives because of my ramblings.

If you can’t keep up they say, get out of the way.

But then I look around the tired faces, the fatigued glances

The mud we cake to hide the lines.

And I wonder?

The way we push, prod, and exhaust our engines to keep running that extra mile every day.

I wonder?

Where are we going? Why are we going there?

It’s just the pace of the race you say.

The way things are.

Perhaps.

But what do we do when the race outpaces the runner.

Do we trample underfoot? Because you've got to run the race you see. 

Everything is about the race. 

What would we do without it.

By it we set our days. 

What do we do I ask?  

City full of people

Loneliness and depression are my constant companions
In a city full of people I can't seem to connect
Even my faith has come to seem irrelevant to my human experience
As I've fallen into a pit too deep for Jesus' healing balm
All these smiles and eyes but no expression

Where do you go when you can't hide from yourself
When your demons seem stronger than your will
What do you do when you can no longer hear the echo of your own voice
When gloom weighs you down more than fatigue

In a city full of people I can't find a single look
In a city full of strangers I can't make a single friend
Somehow I can't seem to fit this puzzle
Is it me?
Are these hand holdings an illusion?
Is everyone as broken and lost as me?
Or am I trying to survive on an island that I've built myself?

Where are all these kindred spirits?  
Fellow lost souls?
Can I find them?
Will I ever meet them?
Will I remain forever lost in this city full of people?

How can I be lost in a city full of people?
Am I not human too?

Gloom, despair attach to me like Velcro
Like oil on my skin, they prevent anything else from feeling comfortable
How can I drown myself if I've been taught to swim
Perhaps my only friends are what stand between me and this city full of people

This city full of people
This city full of people
And yet as human as I believe myself to be I am lost
Seemingly to never be found

How is there so much darkness in a city full of lights
So many old stories in a city that promises new 

Definitions

 I want to believe I am who I am for a reason, but I find it harder and harder
In a world full of conflicts
How do we define who we are?
Do our definitions matter?
Or are they simply means for us to quickly reject?

Brokenness

  This is the place where no amount of Jesus, faith, praying, believing feels enough...where your insides are shattering into a million little pieces. Yet still all remains the same. And you wonder how much more you can break before you totally disintegrate into nonexistence.

......the tragedy of the brink between sanity and insanity..how much more can I tell myself "joy is coming, peace is available" when pain is all-consumingly real, darkness is completely binding. The life is suffocating out of me...how much longer I ask myself can I tell myself words that although meant as promises are becoming to seem as lies.

Misery is a constant companion. Loneliness mocks me as I stand in my shattered dreams, unanswered prayers, and hopelessness...the reality of where I am cannot withstand the pressure to lose faith....and the realness of all the despair I am feeling and experiencing feel more real and powerful than any words I hear....how much longer can I resist the waves that want to take me under....?