How Bizarre

Sometimes my mind gets so full with awareness of how bizarres it is, this world we live in. Take corporations for example. People make up some service, give it a label, put shiny things around it, logos, websites, business cards, marketing. Then with a dash – include your “important” title, CEO, and Co-founder, your name. There you go. Legitimacy. Then you work to get followers on social media. Then, if you begin to get big enough you can build social classes within your org structures. The kind where when someone says jump others say how high. The place where you go but don’t allow people to have feelings or original thoughts. Where you can evaluate people annually by a set of unrecognizable standards that aren’t applicable to anyone which are ignored anyway and ultimately give raises based on how well you like people. Were we better off on a bartering system?

Or how about the system of housing where unless you live somewhere until you die, the poor house just never gets paid off. If a house was originally built for $100,000. It sells for $150,000 in 1815. Just making up numbers and dates. Then let’s say every 20 years it gets sold to a new owner. It is in an up and coming neighborhood and with inflation, each time it gets resold the cost goes up $10,000. So now the person who bought the house in 2015 owes $400,000 for a house that is almost a 200 years old and has already probably been paid for twice over. I’m terrible at math so not even sure if those numbers work out, but you get the point. It will continue to re-sell unless someone stays in it until they die and passes it down in the family forever. How bizarre.

The other thing I was thinking about is how everyone, including myself, wants to think we are special in some way, even though really we aren’t. I mean, I know people are like snowflakes, right? Each one unique. Unique yes. But is everyone really special? We all crave opportunities to feel unique and special. I am going to give some examples, some that I have been guilty of myself. Being the #1 fan of anything. First of all, you aren’t, lol. Second of all, who cares. Why do we feel like this makes us special in some way. And lord forbid if you luck out and a new movie of something you were always a “#1 fan” of comes out, or the main character in that movie dies in real life. You just hit the lottery! This is your moment to REALLY shine. You get to post on social media, to make sure everyone remembers how much of a fan you were, and how significant this is to you. What is that?? We’ll try to one-up someone on how much trauma we’ve experienced. How “hard we’ve had it.” Or on the flip side, “look at how good I have it.” Why? We are all looking for a niche to show some sort of skill to try to find our self-worth? Is my self-worth under this painting? Perhaps inside this sculpture? Did they hide it in my bonus? Perhaps it’s in this kid I accidentally had? I never checked behind this degree on my wall. Will they forget me or did I even exist if I don’t find it? I must be here for some reason. I must be special. I know I’m special my mother told me so and everyone around agreed at how special I was compared to other babies. They didn’t say those things to all babies right? No, definitely not. I was special. But are we? Do we have a purpose? Argue your point. I don’t have one, I’m just lying here wondering,  how bizarre.

We are on a roll so lets keep going. Other random thoughts. I read a psychology study one time and it talked about how upon interviews with doctors, people, primarily women, but I think even men too, they hide their underwear when they get naked in doctors offices. Why do we do that? Is the underwear dirty? So why do we hide them? Are we ashamed of our underwear? Do we think they smell? Are we worried someone will steal them? You tell me? I think for myself, there is some weird embarrassment around someone seeing my underwear. But again why? I’m about to spread eagle in front of that same person. They can see my labia but not my jockey shorts? Another question I wonder a lot about is when women go to the gyno, why are some more comfortable seeing a man vs seeing a woman? I prefer to see a woman EVERYTHING, therapist, pcp , eye doctor, surgeons, ob/gyn. I’ve always had male dentists though. I think that might be more due to the lack of female dentist in my network near where I live tho perhaps. Why do I want all female doctors? Am I looking for the nurturing I did not get as a kid? Does anyone else think of this shit? I must be special because I have these thoughts, lol. How bizarre.

Boundaries

What are their motives?
If you learn to listen, they will be made clear,
The healthier I am,
The more I can hear.

Most, simply doing the best they can,
Taking this into account,
As I observe from where I am,
Each person trying to meet their needs,
Even if they are unaware of what they are.

Amazing vessels in which we reside,
Consciously we feel the craving,
Physiologically the body understanding what is needed inside,
Each of us seeking to meet these requests.

Discerning where your energy is spent,
More easily decided,
Based upon others intent,
No longer needing to fill an empty hole,
More thoroughly understanding my own worth,
Puts decisions back under my control,
Able to set boundaries,
Aligning my environment with my long term goals.

Having compassion,
Leaving space for whatever that relationship may be,
But only committing to actions,
Toward the path that always keeps me free,
Free from emotional deflections, limiting perceptions, social bondage, spiritual blockage, energy deleters, and dream disbelievers,
Choosing my circle wisely of spiritual seekers, passionate dreamers, enthusiastic supporters, and tenacious warriors,

Capacity to think more in the gray,
Which provides allowance for others to be how they may,
Non-judging but acknowledging my right to live my best life,
Which may or may not include you today.

 

Sleepy Thoughts

How amazing it feels to not be where you were and when someone is capable of taking you fresh from where you are. How long past impressions linger within others is unfortunate. We like to put people in categories based on our past experiences. We are so flawed as humans, seeing things from where we are. Through the lenses of our past experiences, our desires, our conditioning. It makes acceptance of others more challenging. I used to carry so much with me, anxiety, weird energy, paranoia, and defensiveness. This is what people saw. Now people comment saying, “you seem happy today what is going on?” What’s going on is I am no longer the person I once was. On most my good days, I can live presently without stories, allowing me to have an open energy and lightness about me I didn’t once have. I guess only repeated behavioral patterns over an extended period of time will change the existing perceptions others have of me. As recovery would say, “10 or 20 years of drunkenness would make a skeptic out of anyone.” I can’t fault them as I too judge others. It is just refreshing when I am embraced anew, without having to prove that change to someone.

I am now able on good days to ground myself and walk into situations with a sense of openness and curiosity. Not assuming the worst of others or feeling scared, guarded, or defensive. To do this required me to be willing to journey inward within myself and look at my own thoughts and emotions with a sense of openness and curiosity. When I start feeling some sort of way I no longer need to run from the feelings, numb them, deflect it onto others, or use it to beat myself up. I can simply look at it with space, neutrality, and curiosity.

I’m exhausted but I had an amazing conversation tonight with an incredibly intelligent and beautiful woman. I got to listen as she explained how she observed and broke down the feeling of jealousy. I love that. It was such a big deal to me when I was able to finally see something energetically shift within myself and not get drawn into it. The first few times it happened were in recovery meetings. When I would share and someone after me would share something either in agreement or what I interpreted as disagreement to what I shared. I noticed this very strong stir of emotions would well up inside. I didn’t know exactly how to interpret it other than to just label it as ego. I was attached to my words and others either accepting or discrediting them caused thoughts to generate which would tell me stories about my worth or people’s acceptance of me. This was especially true on topics I felt more strongly about such as spirituality.

Something else I realized while talking to this beautiful woman is something I do pretty regularly in many relationships and in general. Which is comparing. Comparing my life, my activities, my skills, my relationships to others. Which is such a silly thing. We are all so uniquely different in our personalities, our needs, our goals, and overall physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual paths. How can you compare??? But yet, it is still a repeated pattern for me. This I definitely feel is the thing reoccurring the most in my life right now, breaking this will provide tremendous freedom.

For some reason this made my thought process go to Buddhist Monks and the mandalas art they do in sand and then immediately destroy. I think the act of this teaches so many things. It allows for practice of acceptance and letting go. It removes the capacity for comparison.  It is the practice of doing something for the love of doing it without the desire for acknowledgement or acceptance. Doing something without trying to derive your self-worth from it. In the past, much of what I posted and did was for recognition. I do not want to portray that I am free from this quality as I think I still do this frequently today. I am aware of it though. There is so much inside that must come out. Releasing that need for recognition or acknowledgment allows for much more creative expression in your art or craft. The reward is the very act of expunging whatever needs to be expunged whether that be a blog, a drawing, or a speech regardless or not of it ever been seen or heard. You cannot be a failure when you are simply having the courage to share for the sake of sharing. To create for the sake of creating.

Come For a Walk With Me

Walking with my dogs,
Sun beating down,
Shadows from tree leaves dance on the ground,

I have to pee

Ok…I am a block from the house, 
Harping on this will not make me arrive any faster,

Breathe, do my mantra, “I am worthy of love and connection.”

I need to clean the bathroom, it is so dirty, once I get that done I can sit down and relax. Then I’ll be happy.

Ok…I am a block from the house, 
Harping on this will not make me arrive any faster,

Breathe.

It smells like a early summer morning,
Shortly after I mowed the grass for my father in my youth.

Breathe.

God, why does Andie have to take so fucking long to smell that mailbox. Seriously, this is ridiculous.

Because this is their time, they sit in that house while I do God knows what, let them enjoy this time. How selfish I am.

Don’t fret, I give them a much better life than most. Many people don’t even walk their dogs. I love them and I am doing my best.

Apparently a third voice has decided to chime in,
To try to absolve me of my sins,
Breathe, feel the sun warm on my skin.

I need to get back and clean that bathroom. It’ll take me an hr at most to do everything I need to do in the house. Then I can sit and enjoy the rest of the day. I’ll feel so much better.

It repeats.
Breathe, “I am worthy of love and connection.” Breathe.

God here they go again. Charlie is going to pee on Andie’s head. I swear he fucking loves to give him golden showers. What the fuck. 

Anger rising up from within,
Where does this come from?
Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Here comes a truck. Don’t make eye contact. You’ll have to smile or nod. I hate social pleasantries. Just look at the ground. Act like you are busy corralling the dogs. 

What kind of love and awareness am I brining into the world with that attitude. What’s wrong with me.

Breathe. One step. Feel my feet touch the earth. Breathe.
Beauty. Colors. Chirping of birds.

Wait is that kids I hear? God please don’t let them come over here. They are going to ask to pet Charlie. Charlie is going to be an asshole and act like he is going to bite their face. It is going to be this whole ordeal. It is going to stress me out.

Well if I think like that I am going to attract that situation. Laws of attraction remember.

Breathe. Release. “I am worthy of love and connection.” “Financial abundance is on its way.” Breathe.

Third season of Handmaids Tale. I wonder if binge watching this has fucked with my head. 

Breathe. Eyes close. Breathe. Sun warms me. Breathe. “I am home.” “I am home.”

I need to clean the bathroom. God it is so fucking dirty. Ugh, it is totally making me feel like shit.

Irritation building up inside.
Ruining this moment. This moment which has absolutely nothing wrong it. A perfectly fine moment.

You know as soon as you clean the bathroom, your brain is going to find some other issue to bitch about.

Breathe. Smell the fresh cut grass. Breathe.

Morning Meditation

The dog barks from somewhere outside,
High pitched shrill barks,
A small dog for certain, Perhaps a Maltese…
Clearly unhappy for being left,
Is this an irritation? Or an opportunity to become present?
The cooler which contains the 5-gallon jug of water,
Buzzes and rattles as it seeks to cool the water,
Smacking it will only cause it to reside briefly,
Is this an irritation? Or a reminder to return to the present moment?
The dog stops barking, the cooler ceases running,
Quiet. Lack of noise. Silence seems so profound,
Gratitude for the noise, causing the absence of it to bring great peace.

Sensing the body, how is it today?
Appreciating all the areas that don’t ache,
No tension headache,
The lower back is tolerable, the left knee feels great.
Enjoying a full breath.
The air is refreshing and cool as it flows through the nose,
Expanding the lungs in a fulfilling stretch,
Sitting deep inside this body.

Observing the mind as it tries to find problems,
After all, that is the job it has been given,
To find and fix problems.
The dog begins barking, bringing back the present.
Breathe. Set intentions for the day. Begin.

Depression

The woman resided to her comfortable space,
Secure within its walls of protection it provides,
Her energy depleted,
From the internal war she fights,
Often left feeling defeated.
She attends to her devoir as a worker, a student, a member within recovery,
Heavy is the feeling of everything,
Putting on deodorant takes all but her strength,
With great antipathy, she does the things she must to survive,
When she is out she does her best to be invisible,
Not daring to look up unless they see her insides,
When asked how she is doing,
I’m ok is the response she provides,
Emotional storms past,
As all storms do,
But this feeling of nothing,
Its passing is long overdue,
She refuses to call an armistice,
To roll over and let it possess her,
After all,
Tomorrow may be the day it gets better.

Words of the day:
Armistice: an agreement to stop fighting a war
Devoir: something for which a person is responsible; duty
Antipathy: A deep-seated feeling of dislike; aversion
Defeated: used to describe someone or something that has lost a contest or game..etc.

Why I Write…

I am a 36 introverted divorcee who lives alone with two dogs. I work from home. I go to school online. I have very few friends. Writing is what helps keep me sane. There are days where the only one who hears my words are my dogs and this screen as I type them. I post my words out into the digital universe, realizing that they potentially will never be read, but somehow the slight chance that they will, makes me feel less alone. Writing makes me feel heard.

Relationships are hard. I get triggered by people. I take meds to try to make me more balanced, practice mindfulness, go to therapy. I do all kinds of things, but in the end, being alone is just easier. It is less painful. I think of myself as a fairly funny person with a good amount of insight. That is the one good thing gained from a ton of isolation, you become extremely insightful. I’ve begun to accept that my life, for the most part, will be an alone journey. An extremely insightful one, and from this I will do my best to make lemonade from lemons. I will continue to try to find purpose. To be a better person than who I was yesterday. To enjoy each moment for what it is with comfort in knowing that this is the path that was handed me. A path that has many positive aspects. We all have positive and negative aspects of ourselves and our lives. The discontent is found when looking at those around you and comparing.

Writing to me is release. It is like taking the steam kettle which is screaming like no one’s business and removing the heat. It is taking the 2-liter of soda which I just dropped and accidentally kicked across the kitchen and slowly loosening the cap. It is the feeling of taking your shoes and bra off after a long day. For those that drink, it is the feeling after your first drink. I can turn to it when overcome with emotions, good or bad and I can write until those feelings become more manageable. Neither emotion in their extreme form is bearable to me. When I write I am not judged or critiqued, at least not during the actual act of writing.  While writing I do not feel anxious that someone is tired of hearing me talk. That I might be, being selfish by only expressing my thoughts. To write for the sake of writing, with no intended audience, there are no rules. No limits. No restraints. True freedom of expression.

When I write, there are times when I feel tapped into something almost supernatural. I can physically feel my heart peeling open and some sort of energy, flowing out or in, or both. The words, that flow, almost don’t seem like mine. I feel apart of something much greater than myself. Other times when I write, I am very aware that it is just me. That is ok too.

When I sit down to my computer, there is a sense of excitement, because I rarely know what words will end up coming out. Sometimes I am quite pleased and other times, I think, what rubbish. Regardless of what I think, how I feel is always better.

There are days and times, when I will be out doing something and I am struck with this overwhelming need to write. It is almost like the writing fairies tapped me on the shoulder and whispered sweet nothings in my ear. I can’t wait to get back home to write and I just pray that the inspiration doesn’t leave before I get there.

Writing is my companion. My dearest friend. It listens, it accepts, it is always there whenever I need it. Writing is a dream, a vision unexplored, new territory just waiting to be discovered. It is a sad monologue in times of grief, an angry rant about the unjust world, a sappy poem from a love-struck heart.

I am never sad when the words stop. I expressed what was needed. It is similar to the last bit of toothpaste being squeezed from the tube. Being drained but in a good way, like the relief when after the second flush everything goes down. I know the words will return. They will ask to be shared and when they do I will be here, ready and waiting.