heaven and hysteria

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Jupiter.

That’s my planet.

(I told my dad, because maybe in a past life I believed that I could have a ruling planet. Some giant ball of gas and toxicity thousands and thousands of miles away that had some affect on me as a fellow thing made out of star stuff.)

Maybe it does.

Walking along this beach was the usual quiet hum of waves approaching. Dad was using his phone to tell me about which planets were what, because on this stretch of Florida land it was the darkest night I’d seen in years.

I could even make out the Milky Way.

Saturn was there.

Of course the Moon, peaking over the peninsula. (Oh! and some shooting stars, if you’re the romantic.)

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Spending time with family is parts heaven and hysteria. Love and love’s fun way of being with the ones that see you gain weight and grow up and live through life’s light and dark.

It is sometimes overwhelming to imagine the time of things — sitting in the midst of three generations thinking, “So many things happened just right.” And now I’m here, sitting with the people that brought me to this place.

I realize I read too much into a thing, but I also don’t want to pass up a good thing. Especially if it helps me.

Especially if a day is good.
Catching crabs off the beach,

drinking cold beer and wrapping up the hot sun.

it soaked deeply into my skin, the heat I can still feel.

I suppose it’s always new, whatever the tide brings me.

some peace to calm the worry,

with my heels sinking into the sand.

 

star

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Would you do it all over again?

The things that made your heart so hard

then soft,

then hard again?
that is all I feel,
each day is your story, forever.

you will never gain back your innocence
when you didn’t know
when you didn’t know what things felt like
what they took from you,
and your wild wild heart.

now, those things make you tired
they make you scared
sometimes they make you want to be someone else,
somewhere else.

some times,
not enough can happen.

The Calabash clash

like when a star begins to die,
it pulls pulls pulls,
it swirls like a sink draining water,
dirty oily water, littered with every little thing

faster and faster the closer you get,
and not enough things can happen,
in fact, everything happens,
nothing escapes (not even light, they say.)

light is heat and radiation and safety,
hot and red and full of fury.

like you.

it has its own pull,
one day, not in my lifetime,
our star will collapse
and every atom of our memory will be pulled into some greater mystery.

but not yet.

the fire and rage and furnace of your heart is still here,
as is your memory and your heart as it pulls pulls pulls

you are also made of the cosmos,

so yeah,

I would do it again.
including the pain,
because it is where everything began in me again

as it pulled everything into my universe again

everything

every. little. thing.

you are made of this.

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I haven’t felt this full in a while.

Saturated.

Like a rain soaked coat it weighs on my shoulders, and I remember other lives, most of them mine. How do you say you’ve been the same person your entire life? I know I cannot and I will not be this same person next year.

I got to spend some time with a few folks from a past life here — I don’t know. Things are always moving, so to say a past life means it’s something I’m done with when clearly I’m not. Either way, my thoughts go deep into the rhythm of who I used to be, and I’m constantly making amends to the person I am now.

The person I am now.
More gray hairs then I’d like to comment on. Tired looking face, every so often. My brain has been messing with me lately — a mixture of anxiety and nervous anticipation — something I can’t say I’ve dealt with very well in the past. It felt unbalanced. Shook. Highly aware.

I speak on these things because it helps. My dreams as of late have been vivid. Some awful. Some digging up things I haven’t thought about in years. Whatever has been going on in my head broke down a wall and I’ve been flooded out — up to my neck in all the scary things.

I want to talk on the pressure of things, but I don’t know that I’ve ever felt them this strong until my body couldn’t take it anymore. I would notice my foot and leg nervously rocking while I was laying still — and I would wake up at 3am thinking I’d forgot something and couldn’t fall back asleep.

I went to the doctor. Luckily, he said, I wasn’t dying. (Not yet, at least.)
But the things I used to cope with stress, I’ve quit and no longer take part in.

So, I’m learning how to cope without the things I’ve always had. As it turns out, it is extremely difficult to move forward without them. They almost feel like friends. Things that I could reach to in the midst of a crisis — not knowing the places they were settling in my mind.

I feel so much better, as of today. Though the people who have spent time with me the past month or so know, I’ve been heavy with worry and stress. Mostly on myself and with the changes I’ve been taking. I’ve been coming to conclusions I would’ve hated in myself a few years ago. I cannot have it all. I cannot control it all. I cannot let it control me.

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I am constantly reminded of this life, and how tiny it is in the midst of millions of years of this world groaning with melted rock and steam, war and peace, time and pressure.

I’m not a person who will ever say a person is not special, or unique (or as we’ve been tagged as a snowflake generation) — I don’t know. I do value what I see in others and their potential. I see our ability to grow with each other and settle conflicts — and fall in love and love each other so, so well.

I know things are also really f***ing hard. People cheat on us. And lie. Let us down and break us into a million tiny pieces.

We also stand up again.

We breathe deeply and soundly.

We move forward, inevitably.
You are not going to lose the pains of your life and former lives. I am sorry if this hurts, but we don’t forget what moves us deeply — and we don’t forget the ones we’ve kissed — the ones who we have seen their shape in a mirror or standing in the light of something larger than this world.

We make them our own.
We hold them on our shelves with the other things in our lives. The books and songs that have moved you and the ones who gave us our noses and our toes.

You are made of this — billions of atoms comprised of the stuff that make stars explode and expand and form into new beautiful things.

It takes time – you know this.

but you are worth the time it takes to grow deeply into your place among the things that breathe here, and your light is strong.

keep moving.

 

moon stuff.

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Sometimes I wish I was on the moon.

Maybe near the sea of tranquility, running my fingers through space-cold star stuff.

I would look upon Earth with hope knowing that everything tremendously good and bad has happened there forever and ever. Moaning and twisting. Settling, too, from time to time.

I would feel all sorts of ways. The moon sometimes feels sad to me. Because it is often trumped by the Sun — alas the moon has always been my favorite. Quiet. Pulling us in and out of her grace.

I would see a place of heaven and hell.

Dark and Light, of which I embrace both. You have to, really.

It is all so awful sometimes. But you can’t say anything. And you can’t blame anyone. We are only filled with our experiences. We are not a very open world, that is for sure.

There we are anyways. Just hanging around in the middle of whatever space is. This brilliant and short lived thing and we get to sit on and complain about our fries being soggy.

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I hate that people kill other people. And I wish guns were just used for shooting clay discs out the sky or birds for people to eat or other animals for sustenance. I hate that we’re all unhappy with our world that we drive so many people not to like one another.

None of that really matters, and I don’t really care anymore. I don’t care that you have really expensive legal guns. It’s your life, and I really don’t care. And I know you don’t care about what I think — trust me, it all goes full circle.

People hurt though. And I don’t trust myself with any knowledge that any of this is okay. The depth of a human being is filled to the brim with fear and passion and rage — all sorts of love stuff too. It gets all mixed in together, as well.

The part of me that hurts the most is my numbness to all of the conversations. Of all the people I love and respect.

All I can think to do anymore is keep the conversation light, and to keep close the people that I can spill my guts to, which seems to get smaller and smaller as life goes on. I don’t know. I guess at some point I will change. Something will happen to me over a very long period of time, and I will change.

But not today.

Today I just want to be on the moon.

Far away.

Waiting for the dust to settle,
in hopes that I can listen well and act justly when I am supposed to,
and sew good and love into whatever fabric we are becoming.

treasures.

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It is something.

All of this.

I push inward to what hurts. I tell myself not to think or write about it anymore, because the idea of peoples thoughts and opinions always seem to oppress what I’m feeling.

Sometimes, it is lonely. And I fear people get angry with me when I complain. That it’s my fault I have defense mechanisms and am afraid of wandering into another universe.

Perhaps your universe. Perhaps navigating my own.

Mine has been so safe. I toil here and there. Adjusting a picture when it’s slightly off. Leaving a few dirty dishes for tomorrow. Or the next day. I guess these are the things I can control. It is a luxury and is also a heavy loneliness.

But it isn’t a lonely where I feel sorry for myself. It is merely the self-awareness that I am moving quite singularly among people who live closely with one another.
In the softest places of my heart I miss it so, so much.

That love was a great gift for me. Even when we are quick to turn folks into enemies for what they’ve done — there is some kind of residue left behind of memory and little treasures.

I am okay to be messy. As much pride as I take in keeping my shit together for the people I see and do life with most, there is a burden of something unfair. An unfair expectation I put on others because it’s what I want. That is the raw thing that is tender and sore.

It’s how I love proximity and vulnerability, but push away a person because I so love to be free to move and stretch and maybe at times fall asleep with my hand in a bag of popcorn.

It’s the realization of sacrifice — of wanting it all — but understanding that you have to give up what you’ve built for yourself, in your own little universe.

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I’m okay with losing it again.

I’ve never been one to close my heart off, and I find myself more often than not having to make decisions that hurt another person’s world. Never anything physical — but perhaps toying with emotions and feelings. Pulling them in and not being responsible to who they are: real people.

That is it, really. Navigating all of these uncharted territories like I know what I’m doing.  Most of the time, I just want to wrap myself up in some ridiculously healthy form of myself and exist. But I can’t. I have the bits of space and time that’ve been pulled into my universe and they are mine.

Spinning and tilting. Each showing some light as to what they’ve been to me. It is all this beautiful gift that involves nothing short of tiny miracles and mercies beyond me.

And as messy as we all are to start, we are working it out every day.

I am working it out every day.

I welcome you to it. My mess. My imperfect universe of treasures.

I keep them close,

and I give thanks.

gargantua

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I couldn’t fall asleep last night.

Maybe it was a mixture of my day’s lump sum.
Drinking. And crawfish. Eating. Taking a nap.
Drinking a little again. Eating a bit more.

These are days that I try to smooth over a bit.
Sort of like trying to fix the frosting on a cake,
and getting it all over my fingers in the process.

I felt it all too.
And I missed her deeply, especially on this day.

Somehow I was given the space to deal with it all. I’m not always that lucky.
I began watching “Interstellar” and tried to make it through the whole movie, but it was late.

My heart had been beating so fast. I think because of Saturn again. And its beauty. And its symbol to me, at this point in my life. People may think I’m crazy, but it stirs something deep inside my own swirling galaxy.

My head wouldn’t stop spinning. Not because of alcohol or blood sugar, but because of outcomes. Because of time.

I couldn’t let it go. At least not last night.
The subtle shift of life’s forward motion. A small bump into a new trajectory.

It became so bright and sparkly. Maybe some pieces were engulfed in flames, like rock or metal skipping off the atmosphere.

I told myself to take deep breaths.

In between my steady stream of thoughts and worries. I squirmed and tossed and turned.
I punched my pillow a few times to get it positioned just so.

It was one of those nights where I think I got some sleep. Enough to wake up, at least.

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I woke up yesterday with a burn in my belly. Restless from the get-go. Those are the days I walk through carefully.

I think about every single thing. What would happen if I would have stepped left instead of right. Embracing my world like an old friend I haven’t seen in quite some time. I think that’s maybe what feeling small does to me. My tiny world, hanging so delicately on some sort of tilted bias, occasionally in darkness, but always coming to light.

I heard a young poet yesterday say that ‘wonder is the inevitable conclusion to fear.’ And that ‘someone, somewhere has already cracked open its beauty’.

This is truth.
These pains and these joys have already been felt and explored. But we are all so new to everything. We are allowed the opportunity to explore these frontiers for ourselves, as scary as they are. And we get to see each new day, when we open our hearts to it.

Like I open my heart to the universe and its pull.
Or when I want to hide in my own darkness, gravity and time still find their ways to fill me with wonder.

Cracking open what is infinitely human,

again and again.

dots

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Big changes.

Big lessons.

Big moves.

These are the themes in my little swirling galaxy.
Currently, in my head, are a million different ways of doing a million different things.

I see faces and I hear their words.
pressure.

I think that’s what I feel most.
Not necessarily from these people, but what I put upon myself.

The pressure to be the best and make the best choices. Or at least to keep getting better. I know this in itself sounds troublesome to you. But in my line of work, if I wish to succeed and be better, I have to keep practicing.

This is a reason as to why I cook so often for my friends and why I push myself. I don’t have the luxury of a professional institute training me how to do things. I don’t know anything about business. I’ve taught myself everything.

So that pressure. It’s not always bad. It continues to push me beyond my own boundaries, where I know if I wanted to stay in my room all day, I could.

But I can’t. And I won’t.

This galaxy, that is swirling constantly, is pulling in and slinging out all sorts of jetsam and flotsam.
Daily, I am digesting new information and recycling ideas with each new day that I find myself staring into some oblivion, hoping to connect the dots at some point.

Like stars they are, floating in a great mystery. So many tiny dots — like bulbs lighting up the darkest of spaces.

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I am aware there’s a common theme to what I’ve been writing lately. A lot of “I don’t know what I’m doing and where I’m going”, and bits and pieces about food and how it relates to all of this.

I suppose that is what this time in my life is about. I know better than to act on a day thought. Sleeping on ideas and words are often better than me making a quick life decision. I realize that life is about failing too, and people keep saying that it’s okay to fail, but that also seems really stressful. Many of us are in this boat.

It’s a very large boat.

I will do as I always do. I’ll try my best to hold loosely to my loves. My friends. My family. Their lives will change. I will maybe fall in love. I might move away again. I can guarantee you food will still be very important. Nothing seems to be very permanent, except cheeseburgers.

But alas, I put my hope in much higher things than cheeseburgers.

I put it in today and tomorrow. In people. In feeding their bellies and watching them raise their kids.
I say thanks to it all, for the tiny galaxy that consumes and moves and transforms,

and the mystery we’re all floating towards.

finding a universe

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The more I learn about people, the more I find myself exploring their depths like a newly discovered galaxy.

I wish I could say Interstellar didn’t have some role in this piece, but I cannot deny that looking for a habitable planet is a lot like looking for a suitable mate. Now I know, I don’t usually talk about dating on this thing. I generally save that for the thousands of other blogs that are much better and braver for it.

Too hot. Too cold.
Not enough oxygen.
Too much space.
Not enough space.
Hard to read.
Habitable?
Thin atmosphere.
Hospitable.
Barriers of communication.

This life is about thriving in your conditions.

So often I find myself living in a truth that timing is one of the most difficult things. In the ways our planet wasn’t able to support life for millions of years, I often think how rare it is to actually find a place to settle for a while. I have no doubt there are many people good for each other in a lifetime. The fact that we find people who we can share a life with at all is pretty amazing, when you think about it.

Many people dwell in a place for an entire lifetime. Some bounce around, finding a space more quickly, and others, through choice (or not) are left wandering around the cosmos trying to find the energy to again explore another.

Those who know me are probably really nervous that I appear to be way into astrology these days. Fear not, I will not be joining a cult soon, and I will not be drinking the kool-aid.

That is not to say that I don’t relate a lot to our world and our wonderful gift of a planet. It is just too perfect for us.

But I have to submit to my own wonderings.

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I find this dating thing to be extremely difficult. I have forgotten how many variables are in play and just how much it seems like a dance. A super frustrating, but fun dance.

Deep down, there are so many things about so many people that I just love. I see all these strengths and I have this idea in my head of what things would maybe be like. I guess I have this odd advantage of having been married, and I recognize both worlds.

I spend a lot of time with married people, and remember the ebb and flow. I spend time with people who are in relationships outside of marriage and people, like me, who are single and floating around in the midst of a world where it can be hard not being tethered to another human being.

When I was married, a friend of mine would often ask me what I’d be doing if I wasn’t married…or to imagine the freedom of being single again. Often times when I’m around married people, and I let them divulge in the bits and pieces of drama I scrounge up, they say, “Oh, I’m so glad I don’t have to do that anymore.”

Well, I don’t either.

But I must lay down my arms and my panic.

Finding another place in all of this space takes time. Along the way you will experience so many other worlds and it will still be wonderful and sometimes suck. That is the duty of exploration.

Drifting, into other worlds,
exploring and fumbling with the right words.

To me, it is infinite.

I am traveling at the speed of my own body,
embracing the great spirit of that same body.
Knowing always the importance of movement,
and new discoveries upon the horizon.

energy and space.

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My head is feeling a lot like the state of my room at the moment.

Scattered on my floor are clothes that I really need to put away. A new heater I spent 10 minutes at Wal-Mart researching, because well, the weather has taken a cooler turn in the South. I’m always a little giddy at that. I also grew comfy with the sound of my little heater in Portland. (That is, when the breaker wouldn’t switch in the middle of a frigid cold night.)

I see quarters and nickels and dimes everywhere, because I pay with cash a lot and have been used to Oregon’s zero-tax thing. The good part of it is, it’s a very messy way to have a savings plan. I have little treasures all over my apartment.

This week, I’ve been dealing with back pain on and off. Mostly muscle related, from all the twists and turns and bends of being a cook, no doubt. So, I’ve been needing to take it easy. I’ve stayed off my feet to the best of my ability and my surroundings showcase the laziness of my strained frame.

That’s okay.

To be honest, I have to fight with every sentence to not complain about being single. I tell myself not to write about it, because it makes me feel as though I’m looking for pity. I hope you don’t see it that way. I really don’t have too many complaints, to be honest. I think about what a gift it is to have a partner, and to also be single. I think about how both sides give us plenty of room to grow into good, strong people. Though it’s always through some pretty mucky stuff. Sometimes sad and frustrating, washed over with plenty of goofy-lovey-sweet stuff.

You notice peoples physical touch a bit more when you’re single. I went to an amazing show last night, and noticed all the lover things happening. The neck kisses, the couple that’s been making out at the bar for an hour straight who should probably just go home and get things settled. The sweet dance via bass and snare and high-hat — of getting closer to someone you don’t really know. Maybe the lightest presence of another close to you feels like it’s all going to be okay.

And while I’m being honest, I’ve been waking up quite often, missing her. I’ve felt embarrassed and sad about a lot of things. The Black Keys say that a broken heart is blind, but more so, it is the most fragile thing on our planet. I wonder how often we take responsibility for each others broken hearts…not that we should carry the weight of it, but that we should live knowing our actions are always echoing through the bones of those we know.

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I saw a picture this week that said, “Take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.” by Jill Bolte-Taylor

I’ve probably posted it to every social media outlet I can stand, for the sake of how it resonates deeply, and how I need to be better of it myself. I think being aware of your energy is hard hard hard. Some people know it and are comfortable with it. Other people suck it up like a vortex, and you can almost hear the collective ‘sigh’ when they leave. I think about the people who tell me I’m a calm presence to them, and what that must mean when I am in a room with others.

I suppose if they saw the inside of my head, my appearance would be much more tired looking, with my hand rubbing the sore muscles of my back, dazed and maybe a little hectic. Probably confused that I would be thinking about the sandwich special of the week, or how many leeks I needed to order for the butternut squash soup.

More often than not, I suppose all of our heads are cluttered from the things we just have to do now.

And much like the story I wrote about in my last piece, you have to start one at a time, most likely.

When I get out of bed, hungover from a dream or reality, I pick a good song to start my morning to. I stretch, more so, considering the state of things, and find comfort in the warmth of my gas stove.

I drop in a spoonful of butter and let it get the lightest bit brown, before dumping in my eggs.

I squeeze the last, most flavorful drops of my bag of PG Tips with my bare fingers, because the heat doesn’t much bother me anymore.

I let that incorporate into whatever it is I can’t control,

and I let that, for the moment, be enough.

 

 

the mystery of other worlds

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Sometimes, when I look out into a room,
or when I sit at a table,
I imagine tiny universes
sorta, spinning around.

I see them give and take,
smile and nod and reach,
as though they are trying to understand another world
vastly different from their own.

I understand this.
At times, I am the one who helps facilitate.
I am the one who keeps their glasses full
and their plates warm with food.

It is not the burden of Atlas that I carry,
but the weightlessness that comes
with noticing the invisible things
and the gravity of a new discovery.

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I’ve always enjoyed space.
I love the mystery of other worlds,
which is why I love the mystery in you. As you.
This unknown galaxy swirling like the Milky Way

Don’t let this time go to waste.
You only have a few moments to be this connected
and to discover!
and to explore!

I remember watching the sun shine on your skin
How it glowed, and also its shadows,
the way it allowed me to stand in wonder
as I do always, when I stumble upon a world not my own,

a little universe
with its own fiery suns
as swirling stars.
there you are,

sitting and falling,
moving with intention,
all with a slight lean,
as different worlds do,

drifting into their own forever.