Forty minutes of stopping and starting, re-routing, frustration and attempting to just breathe. With a dull internal pain I'm almost certain is due to self-inflicted abuse and skin that shivers then sweats. Definitely in my top ten of worst traffic experiences. A thrown in the towel brain and arms that can barely hold the steering wheel, exhausted muscles all around. Including the muscle that is my heart. I was in a dire state, the scraps of mantras I could remember trying to save me internally and externally. To no avail. I had just about given up. Convinced it was now in my top five of worst traffic experiences. I just needed to survive; it would all be okay when I got home. And once I was home I would just go to sleep. Cancelling yoga. Cancelling any effort. Cancelling life. Just for a while. Just as I got home.
This was all happening subconsciously.
The pain in my side was real but the rest was covered with denial. To fully admit the source of the pain would be to acknowledge just how fucked up I am.
And then it happened.
Closer to the almost home stretch - the breaking point of wanting something so bad but it being just out of reach.
I was going home, downhill. Easy enough.
He was going somewhere far, with only uphill ahead. Hard as fuck.
At first I saw the rickety skinny wheels of his bicycle and thought about how old they must be. If they had ever broken, been fixed and if so, how?
Then I thought of what lay ahead for those rickety skinny wheels. Arm-fucking-strong Avenue. Did the bicycle know that it was surely doomed? Too steep a hill, too long a climb and too hard a journey. But then the bicycle became more than faulty looking equipment. It become more than a second hand piece of shit. It became more than something for me to scrutinze over so.
There are no words to describe the human being that rode that bicycle. So I just wept.
As my gaze lifted higher to his face the tears automatically welled and released down my ungrateful face. My face being the complete opposite to this man's face. His face was that of life, of gratitude and determination that beamed through every pore and circled his head like a helmet.
He knew what was ahead. He knows what he has to do. What made me cry is that he still does it.
There's a pureness that radiates around someone like him... spectacularly emanating strongly enough from him to be able to touch me so deeply.
I'm usually impermeable.
But this man was life and I let him be who he is, do what he was doing and my God was he great at it. He will never know that a white girl in her car was so incredibly moved in stand still traffic.
My thoughts were yelling of his impending doom. My ego was screaming at its shittyness. My self was too blind to ever consider what he would have seen had he looked at me.
No doubt it would've been in my top three of worst faces that he'd have seen.
Why am I unconsciously tormenting myself? So much more than any occasional hour long traffic nightmare, I've turned my life into traffic. I'll get where I'm going but I'm sure as fuck not enjoying it.
The stopping and starting, re-routing, frustration and attempting to just breathe. The mornings, the evenings, the days. The weeks, the months and the years.
Perhaps if I get a bicycle I can be like the man and avoid traffic and just be happy.
But that is not truth. That is thought and expectation and grappling for something else that is me.
No matter what the form of transport is, there is unavoidable effort required. There is unavoidable determination needed. There is unavoidable life that is meant to be accepted. But the most important thing in all of it is that you talk yourself out of your lies. Out of the norms, out of these preconceived notions that you won't make another minute. Because you will. The question is how, why and who.
How - you walk, you cycle, you swim, you drive. You move. Internally as well. Shift yourself. Shift your thoughts.
Why - you have a purpose, you have a home, a place to be. You are also already here. Exactly where you are.
Who - you have a self to be. The choice is natural but can be done wisely, within a second. A sixty minute test of traffic. A week, a month and a year. You have a lifetime to be who you are, keep yourself emanating spectacularly enough to touch someone. To touch the world positively. The who is the hardest - the Arm-fucking-strong of hills. If you persist with the how and the why, eventually the who will be stronger and no traffic will change that.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
what subconsciously follows
It was soft and slow. Intense feeling with open but full palms, contact of skin to caress. Moving all the cells of our bodies. And everything else did not steal our minds. Just your souls' cells and my souls' cells the point of contact and understanding and accepting. With every movement, mapped our connection closer, calmer and continuous.
Almost indescribable, the senses that are touched. A perfect mixture of safe, love, forgive, respect, surrender, accept. An energy unlike any other. Myself was not me and yourself not you but rather an unaccredited us.
That was my dream last night. I was a mess. I was kicked out of class (life class) for being the third of a trio of naughty students throwing ghost pops around. It was then raining and muddy and cold, and I found myself outside on the grass. And then there you were. And there I was. Mapping our hands and holding. No skin or space left uncharted. But glimpses felt like I was being saved. And I guess I still hold onto this possible savior notion very tightly because I am just becoming aware of its destroying aspect. Nothing appears to be perfect but everything can be peaceful.
____________________________
The art of letting go.
It's an art because it's perception
Felt, feelings, evoked, believing
Your eyes
Your ears
Your tongue
Your skin
Your heart
Your feet
They all need to let go
The heavy stone
The golden throne
The train of thought
and the web caught.
They all need to let go
Every inch of your body
Your mind
Your idea of what was
Of what appears to be
Of how to portray
On display
Is not what is
Only the artist knows the truth to his work
the reflected else is just perception.
Be
Art.
Not just perceiving.
(BE letting go)
_________________________
You can care and not share it.
You can love and not shove it.
You can know and not show it.
You can heal and not feel it.
___________________________
I feel like a dog walking myself. Collar on, lead in mouth with teeth trying to smile but more clenched than anything. Which way? Am I in the countryside, on the beach, the city, a busy road or not even out the gate yet? Or am I just lost whatever the surroundings? Independence I don't know how to handle even though I want so badly. A memory of familiarity. A heart of only forgiveness. And no one to walk with. Curiosity blind. Short spurts of energy until a halted stop, nose shove and a faster disinterest. Much like a dog, I'll piss on what interests me. Mark my territory, try it, get nothing back and then swiftly move on. If that mark I made fades and I come across it again, by will or by chance, I'll piss on it again. If that mark fades and I never come across it again, I won't give it a second thought or leg lift. Who put this collar on me if I have no one to walk with? Who owns or possibly opened the gate to let me out? Who is beyond and above my crotch-view and outside of my hairy skin? When will I stop? If I do, I'm faced with options I don't know the consequences to. The option to trace my steps back with familiarity. The option to sit and wait for someone wiser, bigger and more human to find me. The option to keep searching for what I don't know. I could chase my tail for a while. Feels like I'm moving and being productive but in actuality these stationary circles of self-attainment are dizzying and exhausting. And then, after not quite realising my demon, my tail, is attached to me, is me. Interest is lost. Ignored. Which way now? Or nowhere at all because what is a dog without someone to show unconditional love to? Wild. Savage. Stray. Infected. Independent sure, resourceful if it wants to survive yet completely threatened if not cautious. With a calling of a howl rooted to the makeup of my being, there is instinct. Albeit faded by conditioning, wolfed down and out by civilisations silencing and suffocating all that is natural. Whether instinct gets me in trouble or propels me to safety, either way it's learned and trusted within. Trouble leads to fight or flight. Safety leads to tolerance and tranquility. I'm a dog that could bark, bite or bolt. I'm a dog that could be poked by a toddler and be okay with it. No matter of what a toddler means or is to me. Temperament evolves. My walk evolves. While I search I forget the lead is in my mouth. There is no other being pulling me nor being pulled by me. I can even let the lead drag if I want to. Possibility of tripping increases of course. Along with getting snagged, hooked and causing destruction behind me. However with this risk comes unclenched teeth, an unsuppressed open mouthed inhalation of everything in all directions. Independence with purposeless. Tripping happens when I backtrack, ignorance happens forward and onward. I choose to ignore what is attached to me. I just let it subconsciously follow me. Every walked dog has done this at some point. It feels at first like reckless freedom and advances to erratic confusion. It is not sustainable. The lead must detach or it must be in my mouth or it must be held. I'd rather it be in my mouth in the greater scheme of things. If it's held, it would be to follow or lead with a heavy pull. It would be an attachment and co-dependency to what is holding you. Holding you together. Giving you direction. Most dogs less frequently walked will try lead and will need that leash for control. It is rare that you see a dog on a lead tranquil enough (trained enough) to walk parallel to its owner. A sign of obedient submission. I suppose the ultimate would be to walk parallel to your unconditional love without the lead. The rarest. But I am a dog walking myself. I don't want to drag my lead so I put it in my mouth. I clench my mouth and I modify my tail from in between my legs to wagging. Albeit still lost. Biting more than I can chew in an attempt to avoid the fear, loss of control and tripping while walking forward. Most if not all of the lead disciplined and tightly compressed. Restricted in seeing more than I'll allow. The bind. A collar with a name tag, an attachment I try to control and the sad sight of no one walking with me. However the fact that I am outside and walking regardless of where and with whom is in itself remarkable. Never taken for granted. I may be lost and feel lonely at times but this is impermanent and more like a dog I should be elated in not over thinking the moment, joyful in the unpredicted. The collar, the leash and the despair of both are not me and they are ultimately detachable.
Almost indescribable, the senses that are touched. A perfect mixture of safe, love, forgive, respect, surrender, accept. An energy unlike any other. Myself was not me and yourself not you but rather an unaccredited us.
That was my dream last night. I was a mess. I was kicked out of class (life class) for being the third of a trio of naughty students throwing ghost pops around. It was then raining and muddy and cold, and I found myself outside on the grass. And then there you were. And there I was. Mapping our hands and holding. No skin or space left uncharted. But glimpses felt like I was being saved. And I guess I still hold onto this possible savior notion very tightly because I am just becoming aware of its destroying aspect. Nothing appears to be perfect but everything can be peaceful.
____________________________
The art of letting go.
It's an art because it's perception
Felt, feelings, evoked, believing
Your eyes
Your ears
Your tongue
Your skin
Your heart
Your feet
They all need to let go
The heavy stone
The golden throne
The train of thought
and the web caught.
They all need to let go
Every inch of your body
Your mind
Your idea of what was
Of what appears to be
Of how to portray
On display
Is not what is
Only the artist knows the truth to his work
the reflected else is just perception.
Be
Art.
Not just perceiving.
(BE letting go)
_________________________
You can care and not share it.
You can love and not shove it.
You can know and not show it.
You can heal and not feel it.
___________________________
I feel like a dog walking myself. Collar on, lead in mouth with teeth trying to smile but more clenched than anything. Which way? Am I in the countryside, on the beach, the city, a busy road or not even out the gate yet? Or am I just lost whatever the surroundings? Independence I don't know how to handle even though I want so badly. A memory of familiarity. A heart of only forgiveness. And no one to walk with. Curiosity blind. Short spurts of energy until a halted stop, nose shove and a faster disinterest. Much like a dog, I'll piss on what interests me. Mark my territory, try it, get nothing back and then swiftly move on. If that mark I made fades and I come across it again, by will or by chance, I'll piss on it again. If that mark fades and I never come across it again, I won't give it a second thought or leg lift. Who put this collar on me if I have no one to walk with? Who owns or possibly opened the gate to let me out? Who is beyond and above my crotch-view and outside of my hairy skin? When will I stop? If I do, I'm faced with options I don't know the consequences to. The option to trace my steps back with familiarity. The option to sit and wait for someone wiser, bigger and more human to find me. The option to keep searching for what I don't know. I could chase my tail for a while. Feels like I'm moving and being productive but in actuality these stationary circles of self-attainment are dizzying and exhausting. And then, after not quite realising my demon, my tail, is attached to me, is me. Interest is lost. Ignored. Which way now? Or nowhere at all because what is a dog without someone to show unconditional love to? Wild. Savage. Stray. Infected. Independent sure, resourceful if it wants to survive yet completely threatened if not cautious. With a calling of a howl rooted to the makeup of my being, there is instinct. Albeit faded by conditioning, wolfed down and out by civilisations silencing and suffocating all that is natural. Whether instinct gets me in trouble or propels me to safety, either way it's learned and trusted within. Trouble leads to fight or flight. Safety leads to tolerance and tranquility. I'm a dog that could bark, bite or bolt. I'm a dog that could be poked by a toddler and be okay with it. No matter of what a toddler means or is to me. Temperament evolves. My walk evolves. While I search I forget the lead is in my mouth. There is no other being pulling me nor being pulled by me. I can even let the lead drag if I want to. Possibility of tripping increases of course. Along with getting snagged, hooked and causing destruction behind me. However with this risk comes unclenched teeth, an unsuppressed open mouthed inhalation of everything in all directions. Independence with purposeless. Tripping happens when I backtrack, ignorance happens forward and onward. I choose to ignore what is attached to me. I just let it subconsciously follow me. Every walked dog has done this at some point. It feels at first like reckless freedom and advances to erratic confusion. It is not sustainable. The lead must detach or it must be in my mouth or it must be held. I'd rather it be in my mouth in the greater scheme of things. If it's held, it would be to follow or lead with a heavy pull. It would be an attachment and co-dependency to what is holding you. Holding you together. Giving you direction. Most dogs less frequently walked will try lead and will need that leash for control. It is rare that you see a dog on a lead tranquil enough (trained enough) to walk parallel to its owner. A sign of obedient submission. I suppose the ultimate would be to walk parallel to your unconditional love without the lead. The rarest. But I am a dog walking myself. I don't want to drag my lead so I put it in my mouth. I clench my mouth and I modify my tail from in between my legs to wagging. Albeit still lost. Biting more than I can chew in an attempt to avoid the fear, loss of control and tripping while walking forward. Most if not all of the lead disciplined and tightly compressed. Restricted in seeing more than I'll allow. The bind. A collar with a name tag, an attachment I try to control and the sad sight of no one walking with me. However the fact that I am outside and walking regardless of where and with whom is in itself remarkable. Never taken for granted. I may be lost and feel lonely at times but this is impermanent and more like a dog I should be elated in not over thinking the moment, joyful in the unpredicted. The collar, the leash and the despair of both are not me and they are ultimately detachable.
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