Good Vibrations 12/31/2012

A buzzing anticipation.
A held breath.
Still, waiting,
butterflies and fears.

It hits in an instant,
     flows through the space;
the place, the sound, a smiling face.

And you let if flow through
     as something new.
At best you rest 'til it possesses you.

To the beat, through the heat
    my body is talking.
Let it show that I know
    that the music is rocking.
So discreet, I'm complete
    to the drum beat I'm flocking
and when I feel kinda low
    you know where I go.

And the doubts go away
     when the bass starts to play.
You can't go astray when you live for today.

I'm on top of the world
     as a curl unfurls.
As I twirl I am sure I'm the right kind of girl.


To the beat, through the heat
    my body is talking.
Let it show that I know
    that the music is rocking.
So discreet, I'm complete
    to the drum beat I'm flocking
and when I feel kinda low
    you know where I go.

I feel a hundred eyes watching
     the step that I led.
With the moves that I'm launching
     they can't turn their heads.

And all I really need
    Is the sound to surge through.
I concede that I bleed to the musical tune.

Road Trippin'. 12/27/2012

Three restless souls searching for solace,
embarked together to escape the abyss.
A goal without a destination;
a peace without need of elation.
They journeyed forth from place to place;
Endeavoring to pause all time and space.
The sun was still bright, no spot seemed right
so they ventured on, unafraid of the night.
At last they drove to the top of the hill
where the wind seemed calm, and the waves stood still.
Here, the three could freely breathe
with the wide-open sky and never-ending sea.
Concatenated by this, together they grinned,
watching the dew-covered grass quiver in the wind. 
Swift Twilight crept in and took the sky
and all three wanderers turned their eye
from one, to two, to a thousand stars.
They surrendered their fears and cleared their scars.
From this place of peace and beauty unmatched,
They could leave but could never be detached. 

The Stage. 10/13/2012

       The stage is such a sacred place, one of the most beautiful places in the world.  An empty stage carries the ghost of it's past and future on ever square foot.  The silence of an empty stage is the most comforting and inviting silence I've ever known.  The stillness is charged with an invisible energy that comes from the stories that have already been told and the stories that haven't been created yet.  
       The stage is all-inclusive.  An immediate interaction, conversation between the audience and the actors.  The audience immediately becomes part of the story, because all of the energy is shared.  We feed off of each other and carry each other through each new adventure. 

Complete 4/16/2012

There's nothing in the world like a good hug.
Two bodies coming together to fill the missing pieces,
Knowing that in that moment, that's all you have,
       and all you need.
There's an unspoken energy that can only be felt.
An implied vow of support and encouragement.
A joy, a gratefulness,
       of being at the right place at the right time.

Stories. 12/19/2012

           It's so bizarre to think about, to actually think about.  We've all heard it, it's been in movies, literature.  We've all even experienced it ourselves.  But to actually think of it, it's bizarre, and so very random; the people who come into our lives and alter our stories.
           Every single person we interact with changes our story, our personal narrative.  It doesn't matter how subtle, the effect is still there, the impression.  Not buying it? Well, let's try this visually.  Imagine that every single person walked around with blank books and pens, constantly writing out their life stories, moment to moment.  Any interaction with anyone else would obviously result in a change in the narrative.  Sitting side by side, you write a word, phrase, sentence, page that will find its way into both of your books.  The intention/perspective might differ but it's still always a collective effort.  
           In this regard, (as in most regards) quality is not equal to quantity.  You can spend chapters of your life writing with someone whose writing does nothing to push you forward.  Yet, you can write a sentence with someone that provides a spark for the emergence of a completely different style. Then there are the editors, if you will.  The family, close friends, who don't seem to ever truly exit the story, partly because they built the foundation.  Their job is to provide that extra lift whenever you run out of ideas.  
            The greatest thing about this process is that it's constantly changing, growing, developing, every instant.  And we never know who will come through the door and write with us.  Once they're there we can't say how long they'll stay, or what they'll leave us with.  All we can do is enjoy their company while we can, thrive and flourish with our new vessel of creativity.  Whether the story they leave us with is happy or sad is beside the point, it's new, and it has changed ours.  
            Even now, for the last three minutes or so, you and I have been sitting side to side, metaphorically.  So I would genuinely like to thank you for allowing me to write a part of your story with you.  

Chaos. 12/4/2012

Jumble, Jumble, Jingle, Jangle, Up, Down. Slow down! Jeez, Hurry Up! You're going too fast! Life's not going to wait for you.  You think you're so special. Ping! Oh, someone wants you. Ring, Ring! Could you get that? Buzz. Was that you? No? Oh, hang on, someone texted me.  Can I call you back? What's the name of the author of that book? Oh wait, I have a phone I can just look it up. Just give me a sec. There it is. What? Oh, i forgot again.  That's pretty sad right? As long as technology doesn't fail us we should be alright. Plug in the GPS and we're set.  Oh ask Syrie, she knows everything.  Yelp, I don't know what we'd do without you.  Buzz Buzz.  Ringgggg. Ping!...white noise...everywhere.

Tame The Jolts.
Take The Breath.
Chaos is the natural order of things.
But we can't let our things order our chaos. 

Blood (Monologue Version) 12/3/2012

(Actor may be sitting with a pen and a lot of paper, writing to release thoughts)

        I wish I didn’t know better.  Life would be so much easier.  I know too much, think too much.  I think my sense receptors are outta wack.  There’s so much to take in that it’s impossible to keep your sanity here.  I feel like we’re all walking through this thick fog; reaching out ahead of us with the hope of making contact.  We keep yelling at each other but the moisture clogs our ears to the point of deafness. 

       No one else seems to see this.  Or maybe they do but they can’t define it like I can, cause that’s scary yea? I mean it takes away any possible reason for living, hell it even questions our very existence.  But let’s not get too existential at the moment, ‘cause that never ends well.  I don’t wanna be the downer all the time so when I feel like this I spend a lot of my time alone. I go through the motions, continue to stray, drift, do what I can to feel…to feel-(actor gets a paper cut from one of the sheets of paper and reacts appropriately, then chuckles).    

       Blood. I love the color. It fascinates me.  How can something so subtle be so rich? It represents life, portrays passion.  It streams through my body like the tributaries of the Amazon.  It dances through my veins to an inaudible beat.  The steady pulse keeps me alive.  It keeps my thoughts flowing and my hand moving across the page.  But sometimes it feels trapped.  Sometimes it feels suffocated.  It tears at my brain, pounds against my skull begging for release.  And me? There are times when I want to comply.  Grant the wish.  An escape.  A release, freedom.  Sometimes I long to see it flow.  Trickle out from my arteries to drip onto the floor.  I love the color.  The sight of it surging out from underneath my skin, soaking the pages, drowning my world in its deep red paint; reminds me that I exist.  

Shimmer 1/18/2012

“I can’t do this”

“Yes you can, we both know you can. You’re a creative person.”

“I can’t, the thoughts aren’t coming. I just wish this would go away.”

“What’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you like this before. You’re holding yourself back. What are you afraid of?”

“I can’t explain it, I’m trapped. I can’t get out of here.”

I look in the mirror sometimes and the concept blows my mind. “This is me; all of me is contained in this one body.  Everyone who sees me sees this body slightly differently, even more differently than I see myself.  Who’s right then? If I can look differently to every single person, who’s to say I exist?”

There are times when I feel like my friends love me too much for their own good.  It’s a strange thought because obviously it’s not really something that most people would worry about.  I love them back though, every single one of them, yet sometimes it’s hard for me to understand why they would choose me to be their friend.  It comes from my habit of magnifying the good in others.  It’s a wonderful habit, but it can be self-destructive. Why? Because I don’t do the same to myself; in fact, I do the exact opposite.  Therefore, it’s hard for me to accept that I can be so valuable to these people that I admire so much. 

I’ve asked.  We were sitting on the steps overlooking the ocean.  She had driven all the way from my hometown just to see my apartment and spend a few extra hours with me before her flight back to Chicago. 

“Why?”

“Why?”

 The sound of the crashing waves resonated in the background.

“Yea, I mean, why do you care so much? Why do you consider me your best friend?”

She looked at me and gave me one of those sweet smiles that filled her face and lit up her soft, brown eyes. She laughed.

            “I don’t know man.  It’s impossible not to love you. You’re you!”

I smiled back at her and turned away. What an odd answer.  But she seemed to think that was enough.  Maybe it was, maybe I just can’t see it.

I sometimes wonder if butterflies realize how incredibly beautiful they look as they fly above the earth.  Their distinctive, deep orange color feeds such a spectacular contrast against the crisp, pure blue sky.  But they must have some sort of inferiority complex, it may not be justified; but to them I’m sure it could be bothersome. Imagine, flying from exotic flower to exotic flower, each more beautiful than the last, each exhibiting the perfect preservation of some vibrant yet delicate color. Spending your entire life living off of the nectar provided by some exquisite counterpart must become exhausting.  The flower is regarded so highly, how could the butterfly not feel inferior every now and then?

Nature keeps me sane. It reminds me that I am a part of something bigger than just myself.  There is something worth fighting for.  The ocean helps the most.  It is so vast that you can’t help but feel like you are a part of it.  It’s a humbling experience.  How dare you think any of your problems are bigger than the problems of those around you?  We are all connected.  We all walk on the same Earth.  We all feed off of her resources.  So we should all constantly thank her. But people don’t…

I live in a box.  Not literally, obviously.  Literally, I should be open to everything; this is my time to explore. I’m away from home; I should be growing in every possible way. Yet I feel so restless from time to time.  I feel like my very skin is my prison.  When I look in the mirror I feel like shattering it, maybe shattering my very body to free my soul.  I feel like running, running as far away as I possibly can.  Maybe even until it kills me. 

Death doesn’t scare me.  I think this is because I believe that we are all a part of everything else.  We all flow together as this one energy.  It’s happened before to me, when I’ve realized that I am not really an individual person.  Well, in this world I am but I feel that my “soul” is a part of this greater force.  I’m connected to the soul of every other person.  Imagine the power we could all have if we joined together and fought for a common cause.  We shape our world with our mind; for the most part, we see what we want to see.  Our individual worlds are shaped by what we know, if, globally, we focused all of our energy towards changing the world, it would change.  We are so very powerful.

I’ve started to feel this new kind of love.  It’s not the romantic kind; at least I’m pretty sure it’s not.  I don’t even know if it is love, but I call it that for lack of a better word.  It scares me. I think mainly because I know how deep it is, I know how vulnerable it makes me.  It’s extremely overwhelming.  Putting so much trust in someone who’s already hurt you is a very dangerous thing to do. But I can’t help it.  So I keep going.  Hoping and praying that I won’t get hurt. 

I know he loves me too, the same love I have from all my close friends. I’m lucky enough to have many.  I’m very dear to him. But what I feel is different.  I wish I could explain it, I wish I could describe what it feels like.  I wouldn’t describe it as a pleasant feeling necessarily; I wouldn’t describe it as painful.  It just exists in me at all times, sometimes it’s well hidden, sometimes it consumes me.  I can’t do it justice with words.  It’s much too internal of an emotion.  I can almost feel it in the depths of my heart. 

Being such a scientific person, the fact that I can feel it in my heart irritates me even more.  The heart doesn’t really have a place for love.  That should come from the brain right? I mean I guess no one really knows where human connections and emotions really come from.  That’s probably where the soul comes into the equation. 

Yea, sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough for anything.  Sometimes it seems like everyone would just be better off if I didn’t exist.  But we are all a part of this world.  And I am one of the few people who can truly see that. I need to learn how to live life the way I want to live it.  These things cannot trap me, cannot contain me.  I am above all of this.  This box that I live in is self-constructed, the love that I feel is real.  Hopefully soon it will become truly unconditional, then it won’t hurt so much to see him go. I will accept the love that my friends give me because “When people show you who they are, you should believe them.” And like the butterfly, I will become aware of my own beauty.  It may not be as evident as that of a flower, but I will prove that because I am unique I can touch the world in a way that will make a difference.  I deserve it; I deserve to transcend these earthly pains.  We all do.  We can all take the steps that will lead us to where we want to be.  We just need to open up and let ourselves become free of our inhibitions and of our insecurities.  We need to live. 

The world is what we want it to be. The power we all possess is immense, sometimes frightening if it is let into the minds of those who do not comprehend that our power must be joined in order for it to work.  Imagine, not one, or two, but 6 billion temples of thought focused onto a single point. In each of us, lives a piece of greatness and potential, like a piece of shattered glass that has been torn from its brothers.  If each of us can find our shattered piece, however small, and share it with our brothers, we may be able to once again hold the glass, complete, in our hands to fill with whatever we desire. Each one of our pieces is a reflector of light on its own, but only when all the pieces join will we have the power to channel that light and form a single rainbow.  In some, the speck is hidden deep within them, so they are not aware of the light and power their piece holds; but I understand.  My life is beautiful because I cannot imagine living any other way.  Now we must assist others in seeing their piece in this puzzle.  The world is what we want it to be. And with only our collective thoughts, we can alter the illusions we live in…

“I can’t do this”

“Yes you can, we both know you can. You’re a creative person.”

“I can’t, the thoughts aren’t coming. I just wish this would go away.”

“What’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you like this before. You’re holding yourself back. What are you afraid of?”

“I can’t explain it, I’m trapped. I can’t get out of here.”

“Shhhh. Breathe. Just start writing, you’ll be fine. Release your thoughts”

“What if it goes too deep? What if it makes me too vulnerable?”

“That’s what it’s for…”

The Drunkard. 10/25/12

                A celadon fog steals quietly through the nooks of a nameless street, and obscures all in its path; until the street lamps can no longer illuminate the stony road.  Through the night there is a husky haze filled with the scent of water vapor and cigarette smoke that becomes muddled with the little light that pours through the surrounding shop windows.   

                It is through this lighted darkness that the people walk.  Everywhere, the people walk the tired streets.  Tortured with each step they take.  Though they move forward, each breath makes their load heavier and heavier.  The grey nights are filled with the haunting symphony of the cooing wind and the rustling leaves; always backed by the steady rhythm of the footsteps: footsteps of the lonely people, treading along a path with no destination. 

                Every once in a while, the soft melody is injected with the jolly cry of the wandering drunkard.  Singing a song about someone he once knew, or someone he once was.  The drunkard laughs.  Some think he laughs because he has found his freedom, some claim it’s because he indulges in his escape.  Or they say that he laughs at the sallow faces that pass him by, night after night.  But no one dares to stop and ask.  If they did, they’d know the reason. 

                He laughs because he can no longer cry.  Yet the plight of man refuses to leave the marrow of his feeble bones.  He sees the faces that accompany the footsteps.  And in those eyes he sees a reflection of himself that he had locked away years ago.  He sees the desperation for love, success, belonging; as well as the strong intention to remain standing strong and unbroken.   He sees the portion of the soul that is left incomplete; the portion that can never be filled.    

                The people he sees are walking, continuously, ceaselessly, walking… walking every nameless street.  Indulging in the phthisis of their own being.  Yet in their eyes he still sees a flicker of hope.  So the drunkard laughs.

My Heart is a Masochist 10/7/2012

My heart is a masochist.
With options open, it never fails to choose the one 
       that will bring the most pain.
It's not that there's really no one out there,
       it's just that my heart is picky I guess,
       and stubborn.
I always seem to crave the people who will not, or cannot
        reciprocate my love.
No wonder I've spent my life being rejected
        countless times.
No wonder I have no hope of ever finding someone 
        who wants me as their own.
I don't know why my heart yearns for its own massacre.
I guess we accept the love we think we deserve.

Maybe? 10/6/2012

I know you care about me
     like I care about you.  
I just wish you'd succumb to it.

     unless you don't.
     unless I'm crazy.
     unless I'm just seeing what I want to see.

I could have imagined the way you become more animated 
      as I enter a room.
I may have made up the genuine kindness in your words
      or the love behind each insult.

Maybe the security you give me with each good hug
      is in my head.
Maybe the warmth in your eyes as you smile at me
      is just my perception.

Maybe...I wonder if I'll ever know for sure.

Suffering 9/26/2012

            Why does life have to be so brutal? I mean I understand that you need to know the bad to ever dream of appreciating the good. But what of the people who already appreciate the good? The ones who know how to live and live freely. The people who truly can and do give without expecting anything in return. These are not the people to take from. These are the people to give to, to reward. 
            I've seen too many of my friends suffer. And yes, their suffering may not compare to the poor and oppressed in unstable countries such as Tibet, but it's still suffering. Where it lies on the scale of relativity is irrelevant. There are too many of us who are cheated by life. I don't know why I said "us" because I don't think I've been that low yet...well perhaps once or twice...
            Life is beautiful. It's a circle. With it's sines and cosines. But the people who are in love with this always seem to be the ones robbed of it. And while I agree that this builds strength. I don't always agree with the necessity of it. 
            This surfaces the question, "is there really any meaning, any path in life or are we just a bit of flotsam in the sea, floating around, willy nilly, living our life to the luck of the draw. Life is not fair. Life is not equal and this very concept is so difficult for us as humans to comprehend and accept. We're constantly asking "Why me?" or "Why them? They (don't) deserve it." The thing to do is understand this fact fully. Life is not fair, it never can be and so never will be. It's the people who have the strength to embrace it anyway that are the successful ones.

Loose Ends 9/12/2012

Packing.
Preparing to go back to a place I once was.
A place I had just left.
I hadn't even had time to unpack properly.
I sift through the clothes left in the boxes;
untouched for three months. 

Dust arises, I sneeze.
I find a warm knit sweater
that I love and place it in one pile;
A shirt someone had given me that I know I'll never wear,
I place it in the other.

Odd.
Deciding year after year what to take
and what to leave behind.
Every year it changes.
Style, size, comfort; it all changes.

I pull out a pair of old jeans,
my favorite ones.
They looked terrible,
but when I put them on I felt beautiful.
I had held onto these through each packing, each unpacking.
They had almost come to define me.

Smilingly, I start folding them for the "take" pile, and stop.

There's a rip. 
I hadn't noticed it before. 
But it's there, plain as day. 
I scramble to find a needle and thread to tie up the loose ends.
Or a patch to tame the frayed area. 

It can't be.
I've had them for so long.
They're a part of me.
How do I leave them behind?

Distressed, I attempt to wear the jeans with the rip.
Perhaps if I had tried enough I could fool myself.

A moment of clarity. 
One. But it was enough.
I pulled off the jeans, folded them neatly,
and placed them with the ugly shirt. 

I sighed, a tinge of remorse in my movement.
The jeans had served me well,
but they had tied me down for years.
I knew I couldn't let them define me anymore.
Some loose ends aren't worth tying. 

I Sliced My Finger on a Serrated Knife in Santa Cruz. 9/10/2012

I sliced my finger on a serrated knife in Santa Cruz.
         I bled a lot.
         My platelets were shot.
         Those looks I got!
         I haven't forgot.
I sliced my finger on a serrated knife in Santa Cruz.

I hit my knee riding a rainbow skateboard in Isla Vista.
         The fall to the ground
          unleashed such a sound.
         With no one around 
          help couldn't be found.
I hit my knee riding a rainbow skateboard in Isla Vista.

I burnt my hand with a hot cake pan in La Quinta.
         It left such a scar
         my complexion was marred.
         In the shape of a star 
         When seen from afar. 
I burnt my hand with a hot cake pan in La Quinta.

I bruised my toe with high heeled shoes in Huntington Beach.
         The spot was all black,
         like I had been attacked.
         And when I came back
         my nail had cracked.
I bruised my toe with high heeled shoes in Hungtington Beach.

I sliced my finger on a serrated knife in Santa Cruz.
I hit my knee riding a rainbow skateboard in Isla Vista.
I burnt my hand with a hot cake pan in La Quinta.
I bruised my toe with high heeled shoes in Huntington Beach.
And it hurt.

Apotropaic Gypsy 7/29/2012

It's not easy,
    living a life where you fit in everywhere;
    but belong nowhere.
It's not easy,
    living with your mind and your body
    and a restless heart.
I'm a gypsy. A wanderer. A vagabond.
I have no home.
     Surround me with trees and I'll be comfortable enough.
I have no anchor.
     No one to keep my heart safe from harm.
I have no ties.
     I love people dearly, but expect to be forgotten.


Though all of this pushes me forward, I'm still trapped...
I have no course.


I often think about value and worth.
     My own value and worth.
If I have no port, why keep a ship?
What's my purpose if I have no bonds?


Perhaps it's not worth it.
Maybe Gaia doesn't need me.
Maybe I'm not in her plan.
I could just disappear.
Yet I know I can't.
I can't extinguish the light.
I have a calling. I can feel it.


Yet knowledge is often a curse.
I wish I didn't know better,
Life would be so much easier.
I know too much, think too much.
There's work to be done.
     Yet I'm left frustrated and unsatisfied;
      unaware of my task.
I cry out, but my Romany is heard by few,
      understood by fewer.


So I continue to stray, drift,
     do what I can to feel...
                          to feel.
I want to help, Gaia, my people.
I want to extinguish the darkness I see
      creeping through the roots,
      seeping through our pores.
Extinguish it before it eats everything
      that makes life beautiful.
Perhaps this is why I must wander.
My task is too great.
It cannot be accomplished in stagnation.
I must be free.


My home is Gaia.
My heart beats with the pulse of her swelling tides.

The Shard 7/26/2012

    I don't know why all my most inspired ideas come to me at the most ungodly hours of the night...but I guess "se la vi".  So here I am again, scrounging for my notebook with weary eyes, scavenging for a pencil within reach in the dimmed lighting; simply because I fear forgetting the thoughts that are flashing through my brain.  I'm also confused I suppose, I have no clue why this came up, why I'm thinking about this when this period of my life has reached a close. Finally.  But, in any case, I have obviously decided, subconsciously or not, that this thought was worth all of the effort.
    "Change is nature." We are all continuously changing, slowly, gradually.  However, each person also experiences defining moments that storm through in a flash, and change them forever.  It happened to me.  I'm not sure whether this is an ode or a lament to that moment, perhaps a little bit of both.
     I remember it vividly, visually.  I remember what you were wearing and what I was wearing.  A salmon colored button-up which complimented your hair, a light blue graphic shirt to compliment my eccentricity.  I remember what I was expecting, a release, a reunion, a reactionary. The anxiety and excitement fueled my already giddy gait.  We walked, talked, sat; you away from me, the first clue.  You complimented me, brushing away my doubt.  Then you said it.
     This part is a blur.  Sensory overload.  Fighting to understand while straining to retain composure.  Trying to take in every word.  The effort left me inescapably behind, lost.
      You finish. My turn.  That's how it goes right? You serve. I receive.  But I was still lost.  Sensory overload.  In that flash, I changed.  I can never again be who I was before that instant.  I remember the image so clearly. So distinctly.  My transition was quick, but certainly not painless.  I was silent, but my spirit wept, perhaps for the first time, and I changed.  That image will never leave me.  Perhaps it never should.
      I have been unsure of how I feel towards the person I've become since that instant, but I'll have to learn to love her, because I can never go back.

Blood. 7/03/2012

I love the color;
      It fascinates me.
How can something so subtle
      be so rich?
It represents life;
      Portrays passion.
It streams through my body
      Like the tributaries of the Amazon.
It dances through my veins
      to an inaudible beat.
The steady pulse keeps me alive.
It keeps my thoughts flowing
       and my hand moving across the page.
                             But sometimes it feels trapped.
                             Sometimes it feels suffocated.
                             It tears at my brain,
                             Pounds against my skull
                             Begging for release...
                             
                             And me?


                             There are times when I want to comply.
                             Grant the wish.
                             An escape. A release. Freedom.
                             Sometimes I long to see it flow.
                             Trickle out from my arteries
                              to drip onto the floor.
I love the color.
The sight of it surging out from under my skin
Soaking the pages
And drowning my world in its deep red paint 
Reminds me that I exist.

A Simple Phone Call 6/28/2012

A simple phone call.
A short conversation.
Cordial, nice, and to the point.
No ups, or downs.
        So I'm lost.
Lost for an explanation of how the sound of your voice drove me to tears.
It hasn't been long.
I haven't thought about you especially.
So why?
Why could I not control the overwhelming emotion?
Where did the trickling tears form?
         I could not place it.
         Not from sadness, loneliness, jealousy.
         Not from bliss, joy, excitement.
Crying in the car I shuffled through emotions,
Searching desperately for one that would fit.
But I was unsuccessful.
I have no explanation. 
A little voice keeps shouting at me.
Through my pursuit it has been waving at me through the rearview mirror.




But love is a feeling
Not an explanation. 

Harmony in Segments 6/12/2012

The winds run by 
through my hair 
gently softly 
lift me off of my feet until i'm no longer grounded 
higher and higher 
until i realize that my breath becomes that very same wind


We're all breathing together.
There's nothing else.
We're all the same thing.
The sea, the sky, the earth.
We're all the same thing.
Made of the same stuff.
Such stuff as dreams are made on.


Let me melt into your fiery arms
and be dissolved into your endless ocean 

Steps. 4/29/2012

A step outside, followed by another.
Step. Step. Followed by an indescribable unrest.
Step. Step. Followed by an unexpected darkness.
An army of dense mist rose from the sea
      devouring all in it's path.
The invisible arrows scattered on the shore.
Cautiously, I proceeded. 
Step. Step.
Though I made no noise, I had been spotted.
An invisible arrow had pierced my heart. 
The poison spread quickly, but was unusual.
It would not kill me, yet it distressed my state.
It reminded me of someone I knew,
someone who was dear to me.
Someone I loved and admired.
Suddenly my very being was filled with fear,
I felt like I had lost him
Yet I know it wasn't too late.
He was changing, self-destructing.
Though the pain and fear were both strong
I knew there was still hope.
Distracted by a meaningless conversation
I pushed forward.
Step. Step.
Reaching my house, I was thrown into solitude.
Alone with my thoughts, now guided by the poison.
The fog crept through my window,
A chill filled the room.
Hastily, I reached for the first jacket in sight; His.
As I pulled it over my head I was infused with warmth.
The same warmth his eyes would give me when he smiled.
I felt valuable in his presence;
Stable, needed, appreciated, grounded.
I need to fight for him.
As this realization filled my head and heart
I could feel the poison dull.
The pain was subsiding.
The fear was still present, but less overwhelming.
The warmth seemed to spread through my fingertips
and out into the room.
The fog cleared, I could see again.
The sun would come back soon.
Hopefully, so would he...
Step by Step.

Solitude 6/2/2012

I create the mood.
     Lovely, soft lights...
         maybe some candles.
A nice, home-cooked meal for myself.
I wrap myself in a blanket
    creating a cozy environment.
I try to focus on the light;
     pacify myself with beautiful love songs.
Closing my eyes to transport myself 
      to such stuff as dreams are made on.
Humming the notes that mask the deafening silence.
I breathe in and out, slowly, deeply.
Listening to my own heartbeat.
But my smiles can't ease the pain,
   'cause in the end I'm alone again.

Conversation With the Sea -6/13/12

Timidly I trod along her territory.
Washed entirely in admiration.
"You're so beautiful!" I yelled;
"So incredible."
"You encompass everything
and everything ultimately flows back to you."
She just looked at me and smiled.
I took it to be her arrogance.
Out of my admiration rose a swift fire,
Jealousy, rage.
"It's not fair! Why can't I ever be so beautiful...so breathtaking?"
She continued to smile.
My anger swelled with the tide 
and I hurled the stones into her belly.
And I heard her laugh.
Frustrated and tired I stopped.
I stopped and glared at her.
Standing alone, the jealousy had not subsided.
She approached me cautiously,
her gentle waves kissed my feet.
The soft embrace pulled me in.
She had been smiling at my ignorance;
She had fashioned me in her own image.
I was just as beautiful as she.
I just hadn't realized it yet.  
Living a sweet dream.
                        

Flawlessly Integrated 5/11/12

This world has bound me.

Created by man.

Here, I can't be free.

But out there I can.

            Quickening my pace, I escape.

            I'm allowed to breath now;

            Deeply, freely.

            My heartbeat settles.  I’m not far enough.

            I push forward.

            To the world that calls me in.

            Created through perfect harmony.

            The melodies I sing,

            and the steady beats of my step;

            flawlessly integrated.

            Here I can be me, be free.

            Sanctuary. Comfort. Peace.

            all are given to me through my very existence.

            reassured by each blade of grass.

            I have found it.

            And yet, I know I can't stay here forever.

            All things must pass;

            And the thing is, that everything comes together at the end.            

            There's more for me. A need to move on.

            Gathering my thoughts and emotions I step away

            farther and farther.  Until I reach the brink, and cross it.

The glimpse of a flower catches my eye.

I pick it up, and now I know I

can take my comfort with me, wherever I may roam.

Freedom, security and love. I make my own home.

                                                                       

Misstep 2/27/2011

Let’s do this dance again…

You lead and I’ll follow. 

Make sure to stick to the beat. 

Aren’t you supposed to hold my hand?

Please try not to step on my toes, I

 painted them all nice for you. 

Remember to keep a firm grip. 

Light on my feet. 

Give me some momentum,

a nice hard tug maybe?

Oh dear, it’s here,

the climax,

the lift. 

Back straight.

 Keep the focus.

 Arms straight out.

 Toes pointed. 

I trust you with this.  Throw me up…

Next time, I lead and you follow.

A Tangent. 12/17/2010

   I was checking facebook today and started to feel philosophical, so I opened old notes I had written.  I read the comments and words of encouragement that I love so much and decided that I wanted to write something new.  So I grabbed an oreo from the pantry and snuggled under the covers (where I write best).  As soon as I got comfortable, I saw a beautiful pink rose out the window.  It was overcast today so the vibrant pink really stood out amongst the green and grey.  Those of you who know me know that I couldn't possibly admire the rose from inside the house.  I jumped out of bed and ran for the camera to try to capture this rose and all of its beauty. 

        Feeling successful, I walked back inside and once again became comfortable in my bed, eager to write.  Then I realized that I was faced with a dilemma.  I had nothing to write about.  Disappointed, I racked my brain for ideas.  Whenever I thought of something interesting or worthwhile or genuine, a voice in my head said "You can't put that on facebook.  So many people will be able to read it!"  So I would cast those ideas away and save them for another time when I would write them down in a notebook somewhere.  For now however, I wanted feedback.  As my mind was still flipping through ideas to write about, I began to wonder why I cared so much if all you people would read my notes.  Did I cast those ideas away because they were too personal? Too revealing into my mind or soul? And if so, why would it matter who read it? I just wanted to be honest and get something off of my chest. 

         Why are we so afraid of each other? Everyone experiences this, and if you say you don't it is because you are afraid of yourself as well.  We are all afraid of being judged by our peers.  That's why so many walk around with masks on; masks that are altered depending on the occasion.  We construct these ourselves with the occasional help of those around us.  As we grow older, these masks harden and become more difficult to remove, until they are permanently fixed onto our faces.  Our eyes can only see the world through the mask and our ears can only hear through it.  Soon the mask becomes so routine that we forget it exists.  This is when we cease to be the person we once were or could have been.

        This may be why honesty is so respected in our world.  Honesty is for the brave.

        But if we all do exist in a state of consciousness, why should we be afraid? We are all a part of each other.  So it's time to take a hammer and chisel and chip away at the masks we all wear.  It may be painful at first and it may not be pleasant to look at.  But the end result will make it all worthwhile.  The soft wind on our newly opened pores will soothe the pain, and our freshly opened eyes will make the world around is beautiful.  If we take off the masks we will truly achieve it...freedom.

Journey (segment) 3/15/2012

Everything means something,

Yet nothing means anything.

I walk through the lighted darkness

Together with my four shadows.

As above, so below.

Fall out of the light

My shadow disappears.

Ghostlike…

Floating through the moments;

The light comes back…

I continue to walk.

Validation 3/15/2012

I am not closed. Yet I am.

I am inside. And outside.

Forever lingering in this potential space.

Never satisfied.

I yearn for more.

Not more, new, different, unique.

Like me.

But you?

I need you.

I wish I didn’t.

I do.

You are a part of me.

Acknowledge it.

Acknowledge me.

Validation.

SnowGlobe. circa 12/5/2011

Trapped, in a transparent world:

No way in or out.

No thoughts enter, no thoughts escape.

Complete isolation.

Yet in their ignorance they live

What seems to be a blissful existence.

With happiness and love that extends

Not past themselves.

There is one that knows,

One who can see through the glass.

Willing to risk their lives

They break through:

Shattering humanity’s perfect globe.

Cautiously they venture forth

Into the cold darkness.

Through which they find their true purpose.

Purification. circa 2009

A heavy feeling lingers throughout the land; the feeling of burden and routine.  It seems as though the earth itself is weary and tired. Suddenly, the blazing sun's view becomes obscured by a dark cape.  In the distance, a flash of light sparks.  The grumbling of a thousand hungry lions invades the air and causes the earth to tremble.  Eyes, worn by constant sunlight, fill with hope as they gaze toward the dark abyss ahead.  Longing, yearning, waiting for a drop.  It seems as though all the world has held its breath in anticipation.  Finally, the first droplet touches the earth.  One by one they land, like flower petals atop calm water.  Slowly they are joined by more.  A steady beat is finally found and they drop as one.  The soft, cold wind delicately flows by, like an angel illuminating the proper course.  Faintly, she sprinkles a mist of water upon all in her way, as if to entice them into a sense of clarity.  Gently, the water falls; enveloping all in its path, caressing each and every object.  Sweet sounds of the collision of earth and sky reverberate.  Another flash streaks across the sky, another band of hope.  The trembling of the earth becomes more frequent, a sigh of relief.  The wind becomes more determined to show the way, and earthworms dance across the moist ground.  Still the water pours down from the heavens.  As a clean, crisp scent rises from the ground, the steady fall quickens, and soon, nothing is left untouched.  Every creature, every plant, every sturdy rock is cleansed; ready for a new beginning.  

PureTrueLove 4/23/2012

   Something's wrong here.  I don't know exactly what it is...but something's definitely off.  Yes it's Springtime and love is in the air, but it doesn't feel right.  The love here is different.  It's almost like it's not understood in the same way.  People here talk about love all the time, if not directly, then indirectly.  Everyone wants it, wishes it was everywhere, so they scatter it everywhere.  But what's being spread isn't love.  It's not. Love is not a word you say to someone, it's a feeling that you have for them, and if you're lucky, share with them.  A feeling you can't ever completely understand, because that takes the novelty from it.  I want love, but not this kind.  And I'm not picky or high maintenance.  I just know that I need something stronger, deeper, purer, than this.

     I don't want a love that rises and falls like the sun.  I don't want it to become a task, a chore, an obstacle.  I can't have it be rooted in passion because eventually the fuel will disappear.  I don't want anything too one-sided.  I don't want the idea of "give and take" to even exist.  I don't want room for jealousy. I don't want to have to demand respect.  I don't want a love based on a selfish need.  I don't want it to bind me, suffocate me, imprison me.

    I want a love that's freeing.  One that allows me to love myself for reasons I'm currently unaware of.  When he looks at me I want to feel beautiful. When he holds me I want to believe that I've reached the safest place in the world.  I want to smile to myself when I smell remnants of his cologne in my hair.  I want him to want to talk to me solely to hear my voice, my laughter.  I want us to allow each other to see the world through each other's eyes.  I want honesty, respect, comfort.  I want to share everything, the most intimate things.  I want him to be my best friend.  I want him to make me a better person.  I want my world to come alive.  I want this love, this essence to overwhelm me.  I want its beauty to drive me to tears. 

      It's out there...it has to be.