What I've learned thus far...
Last night I dreamt with an old cassette deck. In the dream, I kept on playing "Linger" by the Cranberries over and over again. It was a Fuji cassette and in red faded ink it said "Elderly Women Behind the Counter in a Small Town." I couldn't help but wonder why it said that on the outside and what was actually on it was "Linger." I didn't understand the message within the message and I will leave it up to you to decipher. But I will tell you this, the mind is vast.
Vast: –adjective
1.
of very great area or extent; immense.
Like the ocean, the sky and outer-space.
I don't think we understand its power. I think that we underestimate what we can do with our minds. I don't think we really understand when we so often read things like "thoughts become things"- because when they really do, we actually are left dumbfounded and wondering what happened. If only we would carefully listen to the voice of reasoning. If only we would concentrate in the things that we truly want to accomplish, the things that make us blissfully happy, and the things that we are meant to be doing. Ahh, but that is all too easy. So what do we do? We choose to focus on the things that we don't want to experience because we are so afraid of going through the pain, but what ends up happening?
After carefully thinking about my dream last night, searching the lyrics several times and trying to figure out the message I realize that I too was afraid. I was so afraid of losing you, that in the process I lost myself. But inadvertently something great has come out of the madness. Something bigger than me, something bigger than us, something bigger than I ever imagined my pain could ever be.
I can listen to our favorite song a million times and go over the same scenario in my mind time and time again but eventually hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away.
I decided to remove all of my love letter posts from my This is what Star thinks blog after this (which was my, my 100th post this year.) You know I'm such a fool for you...
Not at all,
Me.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Distance and Time
Dear Love,
Its difficult to take it all in, I know. We may not have that happy ending because true love never ends but letting go is saying I love you. I love you enough to watch you walk away, because deep down inside I know that is what you want. You are right when you say "I'm not the one for you". We are all afraid of our own reality and our feelings most of all. We talk about how great love is but it isn't always great. Love hurts and feelings are sometimes disturbing. For so long we are taught that pain is evil. But how can we even deal with love if we are afraid to feel pain. Half of love is pain. You've taught me that the pain is what wakes us up. Why do we try to hide our pain when in reality its very presence is proof that we will be stronger? It all depends on how we carry it. That is what really matters. Pain is feeling. Feelings are a part of who we are. If we hide them then we are letting society destroy our reality.
Thanks to you, stronger than my pain,
Me.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
More than one side...
There is a different perspective to every story that is told. Just because you have trouble seeing other points doesn't mean that you should make "absolute" statements. There are no "absolute" perspectives. Chances are people aren't going to see things your way and because we are free to have our own perspective we should always watch what we say.
Shifting perspective,
Me
Shifting perspective,
Me
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Daydreaming and dumbfounded.
Dear Love,
I missed you today when I awoke from my slumber only to find my heart empty and my eyes still tired. My dreams are slowly becoming as I sleepwalk steadfast throughout my day wondering how you are and why I am not the one and they are most definitely bittersweet, like the rest of me.
I’m a little scared. I know I shouldn’t say that. Although I will admit it is a thought that frequently visits the back of my mind lately. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know, and that isn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is that I did this knowingly. You have some how changed me and I am not sure what that means exactly. I certainly do not know you long enough to feel this way, but I certainly do long to know you better. Perhaps because I enjoy you deeply. I’m not good at relationships. You make me feel uncertain, awkward, weird, vulnerable, and a few other things that I’m too prude to write. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t tell you this: I have left the broken wreckage of relationships behind me. I couldn’t stand to ever hurt you and though I am very concerned that you will hurt me, I have taken the chance and fallen anyway. I hope that you can forgive me.
Love,
Your Muse. (I'm flattered)
I missed you today when I awoke from my slumber only to find my heart empty and my eyes still tired. My dreams are slowly becoming as I sleepwalk steadfast throughout my day wondering how you are and why I am not the one and they are most definitely bittersweet, like the rest of me.
I’m a little scared. I know I shouldn’t say that. Although I will admit it is a thought that frequently visits the back of my mind lately. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know, and that isn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is that I did this knowingly. You have some how changed me and I am not sure what that means exactly. I certainly do not know you long enough to feel this way, but I certainly do long to know you better. Perhaps because I enjoy you deeply. I’m not good at relationships. You make me feel uncertain, awkward, weird, vulnerable, and a few other things that I’m too prude to write. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t tell you this: I have left the broken wreckage of relationships behind me. I couldn’t stand to ever hurt you and though I am very concerned that you will hurt me, I have taken the chance and fallen anyway. I hope that you can forgive me.
Love,
Your Muse. (I'm flattered)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Diaphanously, imprisoned.
4:08 AM
I feel wounded and I am left to question my own motives for this self inflicted pain. I don’t want to love you anymore; not if you aren’t going to love me the way that I want to be loved. It is conditional I realize that, but I can’t do it. I’m hurting and I can’t ever explain the kind of pain I feel because it hurts so much that mere words are not capable of ever doing it any justice. Most of the day I’m unbalanced from trying so hard to ignore the voice in my head. I’ve asked myself why at least one thousand times. My insides are devoid; I’ve told you that before. I’m broken and I know that I cannot ever be fixed and it isn’t because I’m not able. It is because I realize that it isn’t ever going to go away. I enable this craziness, despite the circumstances and there are times that I actually feel worse because I’m the one that has made the choice not to talk to you.
It is selfish, I know, but if I am forced to move forward and steadfast and I fear that I will not be able to do that if you are left to linger, I’m sorry. Maybe if we were normal there would be chance, but we are far from normal and I am done taking chances. I am the one left watching you walk away every time. I am the one still standing every time you look back and contemplate whether or not you’ve made the right decision and when you return, and you always do, it is validated. I am there through the wind. I am there through the rain. I am there always.
So yes, the answer is yes. I am inconsolable. I know you pretend not to understand that. I’ve notice the pattern in your behavior; how quickly you are to respond when something I feel bothers you, because you well know that your actions are the cause. You pretend that it’s not possible for someone to have the power to make you feel a certain way. So, you belittle those feelings instead of putting yourself through the distress that you in fact are their cause. You make it a point to remind me how amazing I am, but you forgot to remind me that I’m not amazing enough for you. The thing is that, I didn’t forget either of those things. Don’t try to make me feel better. Inconsolable, remember? That means there is no need for you to try.
Sometimes when I’m driving in traffic, I look out the window and I tell myself that I’m doing well and managing adequately. But instantaneously, I hear the distant laughter of that voice in my mind. I try to dispel the nauseating reality that I am living and I say epigrammatically to myself: How quickly things can change, how I wish that I could fix myself to what you find is perfect for you. If you would only bite your tongue and let me love you. Just then the voice whispers “Why”.
And when traffic is suddenly at a stand still I lower my window and I stick my hand out with my palm facing upward and as my hand divides the cold dry wind that hits it, I close my eyes for just a second and I imagine my beating heart on the palm of my very hand amidst all the chaos that surrounds it and I can see it clearly and it feels just like my hand does. I want to pull it inside and make it warm again, the thing is that it’s already inside where the cold, dry air permanently resides. I wish I could just take it out, but since I can’t, I have no choice but to allow it to beat, to pump the blood that rushes through my veins feeding my desires, weakening my resistance, sustaining my unfulfilled aspirations, allowing me to stumble unstably and I haven’t a say. I cannot force my mind to fulfill its request to resist from loving you.
I think of you throughout the day. Come to think of it, there are always sporadic moments when your physique appears in my thoughts and they scatter everywhere, everywhere but where they are suppose to be, and just before I can confine them back to my painful and unpleasant reality I pause and tell myself, “I wish it was bittersweet, like it used to be,” and I remember the old us. We have never been fun and free like you’ve wanted us to be, but we have always “been." Always, except now.
“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere." I should know by know that we are a false pretense that I have created by hanging on to your words; words like those. I’m losing myself. I toss and turn at night and I wonder if you think of me and what this is doing to my insides. How can we balance if we are always at this oddly pointed knife? It is inevitable we are bound to fall off. It isn’t real, we aren’t real. It is some fictional love story that I have created for sake of the hopeless romantic that lives imprisoned within my soul with orders to love just you. It’s sick and fictitious and that I am aware of, you are not Shakespeare and this is not some rendition of 15th century love story where we spin viciously until we are at some point rescued and rewarded with a life of “happily ever after.”
I’m sleep waking through life. It’s lucid, nonetheless. It’s catatonic and echo-less. I have to wake at some point and look up to see the edge of the knife we were standing on. The worse part is standing up and dusting myself off only to be reprimanded by that distant voice that whispers so unkindly, “Come on, you’ve know this all along. I told you so,” and I have to swallow my pride without being prejudice and wallow in the conviction of my indecision. I hate it.
As I sit and listen to “The Scientist,” the tangible truth is slowly resurfacing. Resurfacing: I don’t like that word. When things resurface it means that they where once peripheral and somehow, they were submerged and lost for some time; even if for a moment. Something has to be lost to all of a sudden resurface. When things are on the edge, they always run the risk of being unstable, falling off, or being lost. Yes, they can resurface, but why can’t they just remain on the outer boundaries of the circle consistently, instead of balancing on the extremities leaving room for the uninviting surrender and for the plummet of the breakdown? It would be so uncomplicated if it were all up to me. We would always be evidently secure on the apparent exterior surface. Never having to resurface, meaning always and consistently present. After all, isn’t that how we are supposed to live, always consistently present?
We are temporary and at this point, my vision has become blurry. I’m not sure what the end result of this will be, if it will even be at all. Nature sure played a deceitful trick on me, if this is it, after I religiously followed the course; not minding the forecast, weathering the storm, carrying my backpack, feeling unwavering while staring at my vision clearly despite the unfamiliar and unfriendly surrounding and against all odds.
As irrational as it seems, this is deeply liberating. The very act frees me from the tyranny of my internal critic, from the uneasiness that likes to dress itself up and parade around like a circus of rational hesitation. You remove my inner critic, the barrier to my life, and inside all the mystification, I become able to watch you walk away time and time again; fearless, undoubted, worry free without regrets, focused, ready, and without me and it hurts so madly to watch the beginning of our end.
I feel wounded and I am left to question my own motives for this self inflicted pain. I don’t want to love you anymore; not if you aren’t going to love me the way that I want to be loved. It is conditional I realize that, but I can’t do it. I’m hurting and I can’t ever explain the kind of pain I feel because it hurts so much that mere words are not capable of ever doing it any justice. Most of the day I’m unbalanced from trying so hard to ignore the voice in my head. I’ve asked myself why at least one thousand times. My insides are devoid; I’ve told you that before. I’m broken and I know that I cannot ever be fixed and it isn’t because I’m not able. It is because I realize that it isn’t ever going to go away. I enable this craziness, despite the circumstances and there are times that I actually feel worse because I’m the one that has made the choice not to talk to you.
It is selfish, I know, but if I am forced to move forward and steadfast and I fear that I will not be able to do that if you are left to linger, I’m sorry. Maybe if we were normal there would be chance, but we are far from normal and I am done taking chances. I am the one left watching you walk away every time. I am the one still standing every time you look back and contemplate whether or not you’ve made the right decision and when you return, and you always do, it is validated. I am there through the wind. I am there through the rain. I am there always.
So yes, the answer is yes. I am inconsolable. I know you pretend not to understand that. I’ve notice the pattern in your behavior; how quickly you are to respond when something I feel bothers you, because you well know that your actions are the cause. You pretend that it’s not possible for someone to have the power to make you feel a certain way. So, you belittle those feelings instead of putting yourself through the distress that you in fact are their cause. You make it a point to remind me how amazing I am, but you forgot to remind me that I’m not amazing enough for you. The thing is that, I didn’t forget either of those things. Don’t try to make me feel better. Inconsolable, remember? That means there is no need for you to try.
Sometimes when I’m driving in traffic, I look out the window and I tell myself that I’m doing well and managing adequately. But instantaneously, I hear the distant laughter of that voice in my mind. I try to dispel the nauseating reality that I am living and I say epigrammatically to myself: How quickly things can change, how I wish that I could fix myself to what you find is perfect for you. If you would only bite your tongue and let me love you. Just then the voice whispers “Why”.
And when traffic is suddenly at a stand still I lower my window and I stick my hand out with my palm facing upward and as my hand divides the cold dry wind that hits it, I close my eyes for just a second and I imagine my beating heart on the palm of my very hand amidst all the chaos that surrounds it and I can see it clearly and it feels just like my hand does. I want to pull it inside and make it warm again, the thing is that it’s already inside where the cold, dry air permanently resides. I wish I could just take it out, but since I can’t, I have no choice but to allow it to beat, to pump the blood that rushes through my veins feeding my desires, weakening my resistance, sustaining my unfulfilled aspirations, allowing me to stumble unstably and I haven’t a say. I cannot force my mind to fulfill its request to resist from loving you.
I think of you throughout the day. Come to think of it, there are always sporadic moments when your physique appears in my thoughts and they scatter everywhere, everywhere but where they are suppose to be, and just before I can confine them back to my painful and unpleasant reality I pause and tell myself, “I wish it was bittersweet, like it used to be,” and I remember the old us. We have never been fun and free like you’ve wanted us to be, but we have always “been." Always, except now.
“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere." I should know by know that we are a false pretense that I have created by hanging on to your words; words like those. I’m losing myself. I toss and turn at night and I wonder if you think of me and what this is doing to my insides. How can we balance if we are always at this oddly pointed knife? It is inevitable we are bound to fall off. It isn’t real, we aren’t real. It is some fictional love story that I have created for sake of the hopeless romantic that lives imprisoned within my soul with orders to love just you. It’s sick and fictitious and that I am aware of, you are not Shakespeare and this is not some rendition of 15th century love story where we spin viciously until we are at some point rescued and rewarded with a life of “happily ever after.”
I’m sleep waking through life. It’s lucid, nonetheless. It’s catatonic and echo-less. I have to wake at some point and look up to see the edge of the knife we were standing on. The worse part is standing up and dusting myself off only to be reprimanded by that distant voice that whispers so unkindly, “Come on, you’ve know this all along. I told you so,” and I have to swallow my pride without being prejudice and wallow in the conviction of my indecision. I hate it.
As I sit and listen to “The Scientist,” the tangible truth is slowly resurfacing. Resurfacing: I don’t like that word. When things resurface it means that they where once peripheral and somehow, they were submerged and lost for some time; even if for a moment. Something has to be lost to all of a sudden resurface. When things are on the edge, they always run the risk of being unstable, falling off, or being lost. Yes, they can resurface, but why can’t they just remain on the outer boundaries of the circle consistently, instead of balancing on the extremities leaving room for the uninviting surrender and for the plummet of the breakdown? It would be so uncomplicated if it were all up to me. We would always be evidently secure on the apparent exterior surface. Never having to resurface, meaning always and consistently present. After all, isn’t that how we are supposed to live, always consistently present?
We are temporary and at this point, my vision has become blurry. I’m not sure what the end result of this will be, if it will even be at all. Nature sure played a deceitful trick on me, if this is it, after I religiously followed the course; not minding the forecast, weathering the storm, carrying my backpack, feeling unwavering while staring at my vision clearly despite the unfamiliar and unfriendly surrounding and against all odds.
As irrational as it seems, this is deeply liberating. The very act frees me from the tyranny of my internal critic, from the uneasiness that likes to dress itself up and parade around like a circus of rational hesitation. You remove my inner critic, the barrier to my life, and inside all the mystification, I become able to watch you walk away time and time again; fearless, undoubted, worry free without regrets, focused, ready, and without me and it hurts so madly to watch the beginning of our end.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Perhaps
*Time is the best story teller of all time-
Perhaps my uncanny ability to hear the smallest stir of you is what drives me running into your arms. I lay and wait most mornings, half asleep half awake, taking pleasure in the stillness, wanting to stretch out and touch you with my toes, to feel your warmth with me. I wonder if you know your own propensity. I am wanting and waiting- I close my eyes and this feeling creates a soft song in my soul. I see you facing my side, your right arm outstretched beneath my pillow. I have never felt safer than when I'm lying in that warm space you've made just for me against your chest, the soft rushing of your breath against my ear.
For me, the quiet comprehension of laying next you and the gentle affection expressed in your touch carries more love than my heart has ever known. I feel like a daffodil caught under your penumbra of gladness, drowned in your humble brilliance. "Love's a fool's dance" and thus I shall be dancing forever because of you. This love has again crept upon me with its velvety paws. I don't know why it is that I fall in love with you, but I do. I just see you and hear you and even the trifling irritations make me fall.
You came to me in a dream last night, again. It seems like every time we fall apart, my heart finds a way to bring you back to me- somehow. I was alone and lost somewhere strange and unknown. I felt broken and scared and the musical sounds of your voice lead me through the path of least resistance to find you there solid, confident, and waiting for me. A weight was lifted from within when I looked up and saw your perfectly chiseled face. Your expression was quite different this time. It was serene and spiritually sound, as where you. Your broad shoulders amaze me still and the way you look at me when excitement seeps into your veins creates an eminent passion deep within me and all I can think to myself is, “I never want this feeling to go away."
Some time has passed in this dream, since last we spoke or saw each other. Some time has passed since I felt close to you and close to us. Why is that we fall apart each time we do and why do you leave in this horribly messy way? I feel you in the rain, I hear you in my words, and I smell you in my sheets. How do you do this thing you do so well to me? How do you find your way into my soul and see that when you do, you had been there all along? Your touch has once again erased your lies from my wounded life and though I prayed for your return, I have become lucid and my insides are tired and sore.
The dark mists of the past leaves our separate souls standing together in a chill, clinging gray fog and in this grey fog our insides are blurry and unclear- just like our future and past. The walls of my imagination are playing tricks on me again and I’m not sure that I will make it out whole this time. The deep, fierce, aching, and rising fear and cries of needing you have dissolved into the air. Something slips from within without choice or question and wraps itself around me forever, like the breath of the moon.
My heart desires to see you again. My feelings for you are unbounded of any rules and laws and they have been for quite some time. I find myself in the deepest of thoughts these days. I've been praying to God to please arrange the circumstances in such a way that this would be easier this time around.
I realize that by even asking for such a thing is selfish and wrong in many ways. The uncertainty has me lost, confused, and apologizing for my thoughtless actions or inactions. You've seduced and captured my heart again and the window has closed now. I know what I did wrong- I love you. I always have and my heart is completely yours.
Perhaps my uncanny ability to hear the smallest stir of you is what drives me running into your arms. I lay and wait most mornings, half asleep half awake, taking pleasure in the stillness, wanting to stretch out and touch you with my toes, to feel your warmth with me. I wonder if you know your own propensity. I am wanting and waiting- I close my eyes and this feeling creates a soft song in my soul. I see you facing my side, your right arm outstretched beneath my pillow. I have never felt safer than when I'm lying in that warm space you've made just for me against your chest, the soft rushing of your breath against my ear.
For me, the quiet comprehension of laying next you and the gentle affection expressed in your touch carries more love than my heart has ever known. I feel like a daffodil caught under your penumbra of gladness, drowned in your humble brilliance. "Love's a fool's dance" and thus I shall be dancing forever because of you. This love has again crept upon me with its velvety paws. I don't know why it is that I fall in love with you, but I do. I just see you and hear you and even the trifling irritations make me fall.
You came to me in a dream last night, again. It seems like every time we fall apart, my heart finds a way to bring you back to me- somehow. I was alone and lost somewhere strange and unknown. I felt broken and scared and the musical sounds of your voice lead me through the path of least resistance to find you there solid, confident, and waiting for me. A weight was lifted from within when I looked up and saw your perfectly chiseled face. Your expression was quite different this time. It was serene and spiritually sound, as where you. Your broad shoulders amaze me still and the way you look at me when excitement seeps into your veins creates an eminent passion deep within me and all I can think to myself is, “I never want this feeling to go away."
Some time has passed in this dream, since last we spoke or saw each other. Some time has passed since I felt close to you and close to us. Why is that we fall apart each time we do and why do you leave in this horribly messy way? I feel you in the rain, I hear you in my words, and I smell you in my sheets. How do you do this thing you do so well to me? How do you find your way into my soul and see that when you do, you had been there all along? Your touch has once again erased your lies from my wounded life and though I prayed for your return, I have become lucid and my insides are tired and sore.
The dark mists of the past leaves our separate souls standing together in a chill, clinging gray fog and in this grey fog our insides are blurry and unclear- just like our future and past. The walls of my imagination are playing tricks on me again and I’m not sure that I will make it out whole this time. The deep, fierce, aching, and rising fear and cries of needing you have dissolved into the air. Something slips from within without choice or question and wraps itself around me forever, like the breath of the moon.
My heart desires to see you again. My feelings for you are unbounded of any rules and laws and they have been for quite some time. I find myself in the deepest of thoughts these days. I've been praying to God to please arrange the circumstances in such a way that this would be easier this time around.
I realize that by even asking for such a thing is selfish and wrong in many ways. The uncertainty has me lost, confused, and apologizing for my thoughtless actions or inactions. You've seduced and captured my heart again and the window has closed now. I know what I did wrong- I love you. I always have and my heart is completely yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)