The Beauty of Life

The awe inspiring beauty of all that surrounds is paramount.

 

When times are dark and stuck in a state of confusion and turmoil, it feels as though there is a veil- a blinding veil that cannot be lifted and seems that it will never again reveal the light of day. This is a natural cycle in the range of emotion, and one that I adorn quite often. There are the radical shifts between highs and lows, the state of my natural imbalance being represented ironically by the celestial scales of life.

 

When that veil is lifted….when the eyes can again see the light of day there is nothing that can compare.

 

The clarity and the radiance that shines forth are immaculate. The freedom and the oxygen levels- every breath is like a crisp clean summers day in a field of poppies….every gaze the naked eye consumes takes intensity of frequency, vibration and power into my heart and soul….every fragrant smell and succulent taste that I embrace is like the amber hue of a fall sunset kissed by the mist of a transcendental dew.

 

The particles of life float through the air and pass through my body as if I were nothing more than a gust of wind, weightless and floating, swaying like the wheat in the fields and flourishing like the flowers of the amazon….the wonder- the pure and simplistic wonder of all that is good and pure and lovely in the world.

 

All is right with my soul. All is well within.

 

I cherish these times for I know they get me through the weathering of darkness and they will meet me at the end of the tunnel.

 

The beauty of life….there is nothing that compares.

The Demon Within

How can I properly articulate the demon that is nestled between my ears? How can I explain the tenacity of his vigor, the strength of his whisper, the force he uses with the utterance of an urge?

Falling to my knees I am confined by the invisible chains that shackle my insides and destroy me emotionally, mentally and spiritually. The demon within, the friend, the foe; the disease that causes my dis-ease...

If you ever encounter him, be careful, he has a knack for twisting my words smooth as butter and causing them to be unquestionably convincing. He masquerades himself in the form of beauty and intelligence and leaves no room for doubt. His whispers lead me to believe he is always right- at least until the pain comes

The pain and consequence of listening to his voice…the pain and consequence of following his lead….the pain and consequence of letting him pull the strings that keep me shackled to use for his pleasure.

Break free- I must break free. Scream. Rage. Vibrations of immense force throw my body into a state of catatonic shock. Dead on the inside. The demon writhing wins.

It is at the point where I have totally given up and resigned to be bound by his torture forever that my eyes release from the glazed over look of surrender…it migrates then from my eyes to my broken heart which begins to pump, slowly at first but then faster and harder with force…my lungs- I can breathe- shallow to strong my lungs fire up…Strong and stable I stand to my feet and tell him he has no power over me any longer. I choose who to be, who to follow, and where and what I will do. And I choose to rid myself of him forever….the separation is painful as I feel the shackles and strings inside rip and tear- writhing on the ground I result in fetal position, in peace, and quiet. The lights dim slowly the burst through to a blinding sensation of release and freedom.

I have conquered the demon within….

The Man and His Tree

There once was a man who lived in a hole in a tree. In his tree he felt safe nestled beneath its wide roots and cloaked from what dangers may be lurking outside of his hole. He lived in a state of absolute solitude. He watched with fear at the life that passed by around him outside of his tree. He saw animals come and go, frolicking and playing- he also saw animals attacked by others and eaten for food. He saw storms, snow, ice, wind and sun. Yet in his hole he remained. He was unchanged, stable, and safe- or so he thought.

In this very old and very large tree he found comfort of having his own world to maintain without the need to engage in the other. The sap provided some nutrition along with the bugs for food; the nuts and berries that would wind up at the edge of his tree; the leaves, the moss and the grass sustained him. And the dew was grand and the rain was plenty. Yes, he loved his hole- then again; he had nothing else to compare love to.

As time went on he noticed something shifting with his great protector, the age of the tree has finally taken a toll and was not going to be sturdy for much longer. The man was terrified! He could stay and wait for the tree to fall and hope it leaves just enough to keep his hole covered; but then what if he stays and is crushed by the tree? As he sat there pondering his fate more and more the creaks and cracks of the old tree grew louder and he could feel the vibration with every movement. He did not want to die, so what other choice did he have than to leave his hole? He has never stepped more than a few feet away from his protector for as long as he could remember. He did not know his name, he had all but forgotten how to speak and even then it was a broken semblance of English.

The sun was raging and hot and he feared he would catch fire, the wind was strong and fierce and he immediately thought he would blow away. The sounds of the forest were alive and the animals were scurrying around him…in such terror he passed out landing on a rock which killed him. The wondrous beauty of life was all around him every day. He saw things that those outside of the tree would find enchanting, inviting, joyous, sad, and at times scary too. This man never knew any of those wonders of life.

He hid from life, bound by fear…and it was that very fear of living with took his life away.

Too Much

Too much...

There is simply too much.

A cloud of despondency plagues my state of consciousness, raging and battling as I sit and lick the wounds.

The spinning- the melting of the walls and the floating of the floors.

Everything becomes as lava and my views of reality become a distorted perversion of what once was. What was it once? What is it now?

How does one define anything? It appears that the definitions of my existence remain subjective and fluid, never rooted or grounded in a discernable resolution.

Bleeding fingers from lines and lines of incomprehensible nonsense...are these even words?

Stop the spinning!

Let me settle, where is the calm amongst the chaos?

The weight on my chest and the inability to breathe, is just simply too much.

The Cyclical Demise of Stability

How can I put into words the torture?

How can I verbalize the extremism that befuddles me so persistently?

As the pendulum swings so do the tides of my very being, my core, my innermost ability to be. To be.

It is as if I wake up in a completely new world from time to time. “Behold the old has passed away and the new has come.”

This new however is often times the old- and the old from time to time is often a variance of the new.

360. 180.

The radical shifts seem relentlessly unavoidable.

Homeostasis is change.

The settling begins and the feeling of finally taking root is ingrained only to be changed within a blink of an eye for no apparent reason, shaking the core stability that I thought was becoming me.

I can’t. Stop.

Breathe….just breathe…

In the face of one side I long for stability, for a sense of normalcy and a steadfast philosophy of living, yet in another face I challenge and combat the stability for the chance at “freedom,” and still in another face I am left with the perplexity of the cycling and shifting- confounded and confused.

The triad of my consistent inconsistency…

There is beauty in torture, there is constant growth.

Change. Cyclical demise of stability.

The Exquisite

Flashes of light and dancing swirls, sparkles and drips of dew fill the sky, lit with the splendor of nature.

The beauty that surrounds me is unbearably glorious....

How can one look into the majestic flawlessness of the woodlands and meadows and not bow down in reverence to God?

Colors pop and vibrant images consume my eyes, crisp crackles of animals and air swirling through the grass and trees, the fragrance of the pure intact beauty of flora invades my nose...

A breath of release, a breath of tranquility- it is as if my entire being is one with the world around me, as if in this point in time I am completely released of myself and instead I am a blended part of a designed whole. Oh the beauty that befalls me...

Contradictory Existence

There are no words that can express the cycle of a contradictory existence. It is like living on a never ending seesaw of indecision and inconsistency. I beg and plea for balance, yet I constantly find myself tipping the scales back and forth, back and forth; balance is a state I may have to resign to never achieving.


What it ultimately boils down to is the same exhausting questions of who am I, what do I believe in, what are my likes, my dislikes, what is my identity? On the surface of this pondering I searched for answers in the shallow realm; what do my clothes say about me, what does my taste of music say about me, why do these seem to never stay the same? The gamete of stereotypes and labels began running through my mind in a materialistic effort to find some defining answers about my identity.

It was then that my unwaveringly over analytical mind took it many more steps below to the underlying factors of why the need or desire is there to ask such questions, the main one being why I feel the need to compartmentalize myself in the societal sense. I determined it comes from one factor, the desire to belong.

We are creatures of change ever morphing into newer versions of the prior self. We change in appearance, we change in intelligence, we change in morality and beliefs- change is the only constant in life. Some of us experience those changes minimally, and some radically experience hyper active amounts of change. These high level examples of change are personality characteristics that may or may not be a learned trait. Perhaps they are natural tendencies for some to remain relatively “the same person,” or to the other end of the spectrum (where I seem to reside) “never the same person for more than a mood.” We are perpetually evolving, but the question is what are we evolving into? Or yet a better question, what am I evolving into- again, who am I? What is my identity?

For the sake of entertaining the societal implanted views of what subculture our fashion says we must belong to, I would currently fit the mold of “indie”, “hipster” or “bohemian.” It would be assumed that I listen to alternative, rock, folk, singer-songwriter, and underground music. It may bring on the impression that I prefer the arts, intellectual stimulation, culture, and diversity; it may even suggest that I enjoy independent films, foreign films, etc. As much as I hate to say that I would agree with stereotypes, this is my surface identity in a nutshell-these are my likes.

Prior to this was the punk identity in which patches, spikes, and chucks were practically an extension of my body with wild colors and patterns, a gigantic mohawk, and an attitude of screw you- damn the man! Music was loud and fast with the most defiant and rebellious lyrics combined with radical social implications and random humor. Another step back was the hardcore identity where the chelsea was rocked and my life revolved around screamo and hardcore concerts, thrift store chic tees bandanas and belt-buckles as my trademark. There was even a short time where Gap and Abercrombie ruled my life and I listened only to pop, boy bands, and wore ribbons attached to my perfectly curled ponytails… Stereotypes of society would have called me a punk, a rocker/hardcore kid, and prep. These “identities” have been recycled more than once throughout my life.

This need to identify and belong is something that is a major struggle for most young people trying to make their way through adolescence and into adulthood. It seems that most people outgrow this need to belong; so why haven’t I? Why do I still find the need to define myself by such irrelevance? The reason for this need is that I still do not know how to fit into my skin, how to be satisfied and confident, how to know just be. It progresses unequivocally from who am I?

Aside from the shallow notions of fashion and music, there are the deeper changes that occur in beliefs and ambitions, in priorities and goals. It is in these areas that my greatest discomfort arises and that which causes me to question the validity of my “identity.” Beliefs have shifted from super strict Christianity and within this headship to claiming various forms of this religion (Catholic, Presbyterian, Baptist, Charismatic to name a few), to agnostic, to Wiccan, to Buddhist, to Hindu, to New Age, and the list goes on. Ambitions have shifted between living in the midst of a thriving city life where opportunity to revel in the arts and self-fulfillment appear to be plenty, to living in the country riding 4-wheelers and wearing camo and listening to country; from living life as a single parent having no long term love commitments and retaining my independence outside of a relationship to being a “stepford” wife PTA soccer mom living in suburbia and have a family all dressed in matching khakis and driving a mini-van. Goals have gone from owning a coffee/wine bar with live music and poetry readings to being a super successful corporate business woman and back and forth for all of the ambitions and goals above.

It is a constant cycle of fierce desire for independence and adventure to extreme stability, conformity, and routine. Impulsive decisions made by barreling through life towards immediate gratification on a whim which often lands me in a state of discontentment and the feeling of being trapped, repeatedly. The consequences of my choices become overwhelming. This seesaw is a constant war that rages within and suffocates the ability to define who I am. It creates the inability to make life decisions and even decisions in general for fear that my mind will change and I will be shackled in a cage of despair and unhappiness.

Balance, yet again, is a state I may have to resign to never achieving…