words words words

All I want is for someone to listen, someone to hear, someone to know, someone to understand.

Those someones give the words

meaning.

move along, move on

It was an odd sort of nostalgia, an odd sort of longing, an odd sort of empty. It was haunting in it's familiarity, the way your stomach twists when you see a stranger that resembles a long lost friend. After you pass them, you miss the stranger. You miss the friend, but you miss the stranger more, because you didn't ruin things with them. You didn't lose them. You still have hope.

That's all that friendship is really, hope, she thought. Hope that this person won't let you down like the last. Hope that this person will love you unconditionally. Hope that this person will answer their phone at three in the morning if you call. Hope that this person will keep their promises, will hold your hand, will carry you when you need it.

credit: Lauren Treece

She struggled with reconcilling hope and physical loss, as the list of all those moving out into the world flashed on the inside of her eyelids. She had always lived by the motto that if it was meant to be, it will be. She knew not all friends would last forever, and the ones who did were the ones who mattered. And people had moved before. And she was right, the ones she still knew, years later,  were the ones who mattered.

But it was frightening thinking about losing anybody, because everybody mattered to her right now. These people were her ground, her earth, her support and her connection to something more solid than the fleeting oxygen, those who entered her life only to leave. That departure was easy, it was expected. But the earth moving beneath her feet, that was different.

"Attachment is suffering", she had read the other day, before vowing to live a more continual life, reach a more fluid existence. She knew she could not lose attachment entirely, because attachment made life meaningful, but she recognized it as an after the fact attitute- moving forward after recognizing the attachment had become toxic.



rainbow dreamer

Dear secret painters, hidden writers, pretend illustrators, imaginary artists everywhere!

This is your call. This is your reminder.

You love the feeling of the wood between your fingers, the colors falling onto the page.  You love the scent of the paint, smearing it onto the canvas, blending and stirring. You love the way the words ring out after you've written them, the way they send shivers up your spine.

Go out, go forth, create!

The world is filled with destruction, with hatred, with malice,

it is up to us to overcome it.

To build over it, to shut it down

by bringing the beautiful up.

Create! Today is the day.

Create something beautiful!

what's so amazing that keeps us stargazing

She would stare up at the stars each night before bed.  Examine each one closely, looking for the unique twinkle, the strange sparkle, the magic that was different for each.

Then she would close her eyes. 

Listen to the silence. 

To the sound of the universe ripping apart and the sound of the bees humming around, trying to keep the order.

Einstein had said that if bees were to go extinct, humans would follow in four years.

That's high school.

That's a few breaths, a few twitches of the eye, nothing more.

That's how connected we are.

She thought of her yoga teacher, the sound of the room breathing energy, creating light.

She thought about the first sound in the universe, the electric calm that filled the space.

Omm..Omm..Omm..

The sound of the honey bees.

"yes, i think we've met before"

It's about the love, not the lover.

It's about the feeling, the truth, the part of you that cringes when you remember.

It's letting go and starting anew,

but not starting over.

There's a grand world out there, a crazy world of beautiful people

just waiting to love and be loved.

So let your heart light shine on,

let it glow and flicker and tremble and reflect and shimmer.

Admire the shadows cast,

because they are as much a part of the beauty as the light.



some kind of wonderful

There was something beautiful and strange in vulnerability, she decided. In the moment when it felt as though every occurance in the world, every tiny interaction and experience was drilling into your skin, the feeling when you believed you were the entirety of mankind- Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders.

The peculiar blossoming pressure in the gap between your spine and shoulderbones, a weight where wings should grow.

There was a relationship to be had in self-reflection, in those times of existence when consciousness was filtered and drained through a lense beyond ones own, a lense of the intermost soul.

She knew her own emptiness, the bones in her that were still blank slates, awaiting their fate to be etched in by time.  She decided she was glad she didn't know what the words would be. 

The faint echos of the music that would trickle into her future was playing somewhere, softly.

She let a finger fall into her reflection, sending out tiny ripples that fluttered and shook the image. 

Just like that, she thought, it all could change. 

When the pieces floated back her image shone like she had never seen,

 the sun had slipped into the right place in the midst of the chaos.

Don't Ask Don't Tell

Asking for equality, asking for liberty.

Equality,

to fight like other soldiers, to demonstrate pride for their country, to protect and serve.

Liberty,

to not hide who they are, to not have to act ashamed, to live as their true selves.

It's just love,

but is love ever "just" anything? 

Love is everything.

We should be arguing over hate, fighting prejudice,

not allowing it because of who a person loves.

Please call, email, tweet-
anything to get ahold of your Congress representative.

http://www.sldn.org/blog/archives/gaga

Let your voice be heard.

more adventurous

It was time for a change, she decided. It was time to be stronger. 

To step out of the pool of self pity, step away from the dangers of selective memories, all of the good moments looping through her head, every disapointment erased.

It was time to see the beauty in her breakdown, time to emerge as something more.

"Attachment brings suffering"

She remembered the words that had been whispered to her as she hiked through the forest one day.  An elderly man, a faded green cap on his head had asked her to stop for a moment.  He said he had learned one thing in life, and had nobody to tell. He asked if she would listen.

That was the first thing he taught her, to listen. To hear his intention beyond the words. To understand him. He was letting her, a complete stranger, into his life. How beautiful, how achingly raw! She wanted to rejoice but knew that was not his intention. Instead, she opened her heart and mind...and heard.

Now she was listening to herself. 

Her heart beating, the nerves in her mind and body humming as she moved her fingers, her toes.  As she walked.  Now she knew who she had to be.  She had to let go of the person that hurt, she had to let go of the person that was clinging desperately. Moving forward meant moving out, like a snake slipping out of its skin.  She would grow in new ways, change it all.

Become more adventurous.

trust in the world

There are more beautiful people in the world than there are bad people. You don't hear about them on the news, their faces aren't pasted on the fronts of magazines, but they are there. Maybe you know one. And now imagine, that that one person knows one more.  And one more. And on and on it goes.

Sometimes the beautiful in people is hard to find. In those people, remember that they are probably struggling with something invisible, intangible, indistinguishable to you or I, but to them it is a constant fight. They are using all their beautiful in that fight at that moment, so you can't see it. But it's there.

I remember one year I met a boy who was angry all the time. My most vivid memory was when he went into a fit because a group of us were playing cards and he was delt a bad hand. When we asked him to calm down, he screamed as though he was dying.  It was a hidious, horrific sound-the kind of blaring noise that twists your insides and makes your heart afraid to beat.  He knocked over a jar and the glass shattered everywhere.  He kept screaming.

Three years ago he began coming out to people, telling us he was gay.  Today he is one of the sweetest people I know.  He explained to us what had happened with his old rage one day, telling us that the screaming was his struggle. It was a fight he could never win, because he was competing against himself. Trying to change himself.

Half of him constantly winning, half of him constantly losing.

Beautiful people are everywhere.  They are your companions as you walk down the street, they are the man serving you your coffee, they are the person holding the door.  Be a beautiful person.  Do something more for these people today.  Smile a bit bigger, give away some spare change, call an old friend and remind them you love them.

Believe in the world. It is a beautiful place, abundant with beautiful people.

paris 1959

When I feel lost I look to "Howl" that I have pasted on my wall.

I twist myself into the words, get dizzy from all the thoughts that are flying by my face.  I open up my Kerouac and thumb through the pages, catching snatches of phrases here and there. 

Everything so free, so free.

When I'm done I feel more lost than when I'd begun.

But so much more free, so much more free.

And I remember that is all that matters.

you asked me about praying mantises

I can't get this poem out of my head.

Maybe because it's so simple but so true. Maybe it's because I'm scared to death I can't be with you in this life, but I haven't given up hope on the next. Maybe it's because I read this right after we talked about praying mantises.  Maybe it's because now that I know the answer I don't think you care.

Maybe it's because that's how poetry should be.

The words should stalk your days, the ideas coiling around your dreams.

An Entomologist's Last Love Letter, Jared Singer

dear samantha
i’m sorry
we have to get a divorce
i know that seems like an odd way to start a love letter but let me explain:
it’s not you
it sure as hell isn’t me
it’s just human beings don’t love as well as insects do
i love you.. far too much to let what we have be ruined by the failings of our species

i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night
i know you would never DO anything, you never do but..
i saw the way you looked at the waiter last night
did you know that when a female fly accepts the pheromones put off by a male fly, it re-writes her brain, destroys the receptors that receive pheromones, sensing the change, the male fly does the same. when two flies love each other they do it so hard, they will never love anything else ever again. if either one of them dies before procreation can happen both sets of genetic code are lost forever. now that… is dedication.

after Elizabeth and i broke up we spent three days dividing everything we had bought together
like if i knew what pots were mine like if i knew which drapes were mine somehow the pain would go away
this is not true
after two praying mantises mate, the nervous system of the male begins to shut down
while he still has control over his motor functions
he flops onto his back, exposing his soft underbelly up to his lover like a gift
she then proceeds to lovingly dice him into tiny cubes
spooning every morsel into her mouth
she wastes nothing
even the exoskeleton goes
she does this so that once their children are born she has something to regurgitate to feed them
now that.. is selflessness
i could never do that for you

so i have a new plan
i’m gonna leave you now
i’m gonna spend the rest of my life committing petty injustices
i hope you do the same
i will jay walk at every opportunity
i will steal things i could easily afford
i will be rude to strangers
i hope you do the same
i hope reincarnation is real
i hope our petty crimes are enough to cause us to be reborn as lesser creatures
i hope we are reborn as flies
so that we can love each other as hard as we were meant to.

fly away

"I always wonder why birds choose

to stay in the same place,

when they can fly anywhere on earth.

Then I ask myself the same question."


Where do you dream of traveling my loves? 
Now, how will you make it happen?

i love people

I want to meet the world.

I think everybody is just so incredibly beautiful.

I can't help but love everybody. I can't help but see the good in them. 

And I think everybody can see that good.

But there are people who walk their entire lives without knowing the good inside them.

There are people who walk their entire lives unloved

because nobody's told them otherwise.

Tell them. Speak up.

There are people out there that need to hear your voice.

They need to hear what you already know.

That they are beautiful.

brave new world

 "But I don't want comfort.

I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness.

I want sin."

"In fact," said Mustapha Mond, "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."

"All right then," said the Savage defiantly,

"I'm claiming the right to be unhappy."

-Brave New World

 I had to read this book for summer reading, and I loved it. Those were my favorite lines.

Because honestly, what good is comfort if you never get to feel freely?

 I think everything is beautiful.

The rush is beautiful...and the fall. Because when we fall, we get to stumble up again.

We get to take the hands of the people who love us.

We get to realize how strong we are.

 

Look around you.

Life happens because of feelings.

The true actions are done because of how a person feels.

It's what makes us incredibly, grotesquely, miraculously human.

 We can pretend that our uncontrollable feelings are our faults, our downfall. We can try to lose ourselves in the silicone labrynth of technology, drown ourselves in paperwork and dollar bills. We can take medication until we forget who we are. We can diagnose and catalogue and graph and map and disect and try to find the heart strings to pull so we never have to cry. We can kill so we don't have to think.

Or we can take ourselves as messy and imperfect.

We can take ourselves as feel-ers, as life live-ers, as truth-ers.

"All good things are wild and free"

-Thoreau

change

The lights vibrated, pulsated, floated through the air like independent particles with their own mind.  The girl opened her mouth and let her ribcage fly out, felt her muscles twist and shake and tremble with a feeling beyond rage. The feeling of edge. The state of existance just beyond an emotion.

The microphone in her hand, she was armed. Words flew like diamonds, shattering on the ground, slicing into people's faces and legs, cutting them raw.

This is your wake up! She shouted.

This is it! Now what will you do?  Tell me, what do you want to do!

"Everybody here lives in fear. I want you to open up beyond that! Yes, it's uncomfortable,

Yes it hurts, so feel it! Feel that!"

Her voice lowered to a trembling whisper, a sound that crawled through the dingy basement, brushing against the people inside.

"Can you break yourself?" She asked.

"Can you break yourself so that you can put yourself back together in a new way?

Will you? Will you try it?

Because that's the only way to change, really,

that's the only way to change."