I See the Folly of My Thinking Now

At home it is easy to believe a change of scenery will bring about a change of self. It is harder to convince yourself of that when the change of scenery has already happened, and continues to happen on an almost daily basis, and yet the change of self has failed to appear.

If anything can be said to be disappointing about travel, it is that, indeed, wherever you go there you are.

If the ‘rebirth’ has not happened by now, will it ever? Or more to the point, is it folly to think that location has the power to transform us into the people we want to be, with out any effort on our part?

Of course it is.

And here is where I am at.

My travels have failed to turn my percieved toady existence into the sparkling adventure filled love-fest that I hoped it would be.

Why? It’s all starting to make sense…

Tolle says we have to be as friendly towards life as we want life to be towards us; that we have to take the first step and offer up our friendly inclinations before friendly inclinations can be offered back.

There in lies the answer. It was never about the travel in the first place, though travel is the best platform I have found to live the life I have imagined. The place with the most opportunity to be friendly, and eventually, get friendly back ten fold.

So what is the next step? What does this elusive, mythical unicorn of an idea actually look like in reality? Where do platitudes end and actions begin?

The decision to think differently has to be made once, a thousand times over again. The decision for non judgment and non resistance has to be made once….a moment, every moment until it becomes habit.

The old way of defining myself is not working anymore. That is what this trip has shown me in spades. It’s the puzzle piece that does not fit the puzzle I am in anymore, so it’s time to find a new one. Time to broaden, time to let go of my old labels, my old ‘ground’ as Pema says. I need to stop defining what my life is supposed to look like; what I  am supposed to look like, what my interactions and outcomes are supposed to be.

This comfort zone of judgment and definition is what is really holding me back. If I stay within its confines, I ended up with a very small existence, and absolutely no adventure, because adventure is the opposite of definitions, it’s an opening up to life instead of a categorizing and thus shutting down of it.

So I let go of that voice, once, a thousand times once. That alienating voice that seeks to define and control. I place no more stock in control, and I open my arms to the unknown, hoping I have a big enough heart to take it all in, whatever is coming.

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What sparks…

Humans have such electricity in them!

Such beautiful, dizzying colors, all colors like a sun beam in a prism, so full of flash and dazzle, so much life, so much, billions of moments that all come together in one second to make a person who they are. Every second added to, every second remade. Added to and remade, added to and remade….

So much stuff, fluff and stardust goes into a being, so many specks of genius, of love, of heartbreak; of lessons hard and lessons beautiful. 

Breath. So much breath. Air is really what we are made of; it is air that sustains us and air that we model ourselves after. 

Lighter than air. Thicker than blood. More free than water. Older than time, and infinitely younger than it as well.

So much goes into a face when it’s examined: eyes like the sharpest shards of glass, what are they looking for? How much can they see? A mouth so ready to spill open, it’s every morsel of thought extruded.

So much goes into a beautiful face. A smile, it explodes into life, beauty shooting out of every angle and slope and pore; so much beauty it would take a whole other lifetime to know all its secrets, to understand that look it carries as it’s calling card or its armor. 

So much enengy in every single person, so much that needs to be acknowledged, that needs to see itself reflected in the world or else it fades, looses it’s stamina, it’s sparkle, it’s hunger. Looses faith in it’s magnetism. 

How visable, too, when that electricity stops believing in itself.  How visable it is in the face, the body. That body that is tired of carrying itself, ready to set down it’s burden, somewhere, in a sympathetic smile, an open heart that says: Here, I see you, sit down next to me and rest awhile, I will be here when your ready. 

How much a human needs a connection, a friend.

How much electricity needs to find itself in other electrified beings.

And what sparks are caused when it does!

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No Holds

In the deafening noise, there you are; in the crushing migration of people to and fro, there you are.

In the dizzying blinding light, there is you, you defenseless, stripped, naked.

In the frenzy, the fear, there is your foundation, your peace.

Where you have no hold, there is your path; where you have no ground to stand on, then you have found the truth.

When you have lost yourself, when you have lost your dimensions, your stories, your definitions, then you have found the way.

Let the noise take you, it will take you only good places. Let the crush take you, it is leading you someplace beautiful.

Be blinded by the light, it will bring you true sight, sight to see across time and cultures and differences, into the true sameness we all are.

Be defenseless. Be frenzied, your world is falling apart anyway, embrace it. Be fearful, you were never in control to begin with, give up the illusion.

Have no holds, have no ground, existence is groundless, you have just not accepted it,  yet.

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Let Go Of The Past

Let go of the ghosts of unrequited loves. Let go of the ghosts of missed opportunity; ghosts of failed ventures, ghosts of defeat.

Let them go.

They do not exist any more, and reminding yourself of them is hurting you more than you comprehend.

Let go of the ghosts of ‘bad’ decisions, the ghosts of ‘what could have been’, the ghosts of confusing childhoods, adulthoods, familyhoods.

Holding onto them is holding you back. Do not let them define you, because they will, oh, they will, and then your past becomes your present, and then your future, and that is the greatest sadness of all.

Let go of the past.

Stop reminding yourself of failure, years ago failure, that you pull out as a kind of sad consolation, in hard times,  a hateful ‘I told you so’.

Stop reminding yourself of your regrets. They are only getting bigger and more hurtful in your mind, and don’t deserve to be there, anyway.

Let go of the past.

And in letting go, open up a clear vista of possibility for the future.

Let go of the past.

And in letting go, lay down your negative emotional burdens.

Let go of the past.

Life is too short to live there, and you are too full of goodness to be crushed under its weight.

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This Is Life, We Are Told

Why does anything happen in life? Why do some events occur but not others? And on who’s timing?

How did we end up in this moment, and not another? Or was there even another? Was there any other logical outcome than this one, every moment leading us to the next, this moment  giving birth to the next, so on, forever?

Or does the person we become dictate what moments we encounter; form the eyes with which we see, the ears with which we hear, the mind with which we process every event, which further influences our future moments?

Was there a plan all along, some kind of path, trajectory, or idea of how it would al turn out?

How  does it all turn out?

Is it that we are living a life of these moments, or is it that these ideas are put into our minds, a frame of reference: this is how it SHOULD look? This is how it should sound, this is how it should smell, taste, feel.

THIS is life, we are told. If it does not fit the criteria then what we have is not life. It is some other thing, an abomination, unnatural, not ment for this world. Not agreed upon.  If it does not fit, than you can not call it life. It may be living, but it’s not LIFE.

But… Who’s definition is?  Who’s parameters are they? And when did we all agree to abide?

When we agree, then we close our eyes to the whole universe, to a literally unlimited amount of possibilities. When we follow those parameters we narrow our sights so much, squinting to see that which makes everyone collectively comfortable in their existence; when we help everyone else to define the terms, so as not be confused, or god forbid, unsure,  then we narrow out all that matters: endless adventure. Endless amounts of beauty and benevolence. Endless insight.

All so we can fit in the box. So we can exist inside the agreed upon dimensions. So we don’t make the other humans uncomfortable. Giving up our ingrained strength,  our power. With our realizing, giving up our own self-worth.

It is a scary an uncomfortable thing to come face to face with this fact; the fact that there are no facts. The fact that there is only what we believe to be true. It is a crazy-feeling thing to fess up to the notion that it is all in our minds. Every one will be against us. Our conditioning will be against us. Our education will be against us.

But when the panic sets in, we will know we are getting close to the edge, we are getting close to the boundary between imposed limits and freedom.

When the anxiety and self-doubt besiege us, then we will know  we are dangerously close to breaking free; dangerously close to that infinite other side.

Dangerously, and deliciously, close to limitless possibility.

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Writing Makes It

Worth while.

Writing gives it purpose. And who doesn’t want a little purpose.

Writing shows the world love. And who doesn’t need a little love right now.

Writing answers all those unanswerable questions, the ones we can’t or won’t or don’t want to ask,  about the meaning of it all, if there is any.  About the connectivity of this planet, and eachother. About the intrinsic value of this experence, collective and singular.

Writing is the answer. What was the question?

The only time writing falls short of itself is when there is no self confidence behind it. After all, we can’t give something we do not have.

Or can we?

How much easier is it to show  honest and unfailing confidence in others, than it is in ourselves, how much more blind faith we can show in others’ talent,  such amazing talent and honesty, than in our own week, failing, and  unimportant voice.

Where do we find the self-love to bring our own voice to the table? Where do we  find  the self- value to throw our lot in, too? Where, if we have been so short on it for so long, do we find the courage to believe in ourselves, and our enough-ness, our love-ability, our uniquness and our worth? 
Why is it so hard to give ourselves what we so readily and with such conviction, give everyone else?

So we write. In secret, in the silence, we write and hope.In  empty rooms, we write and process. We write till the demon of enough-ness is subdued, pacified, put to bed, if only temporarily.

And then, for a moment, we can see what others see;  for a fleeting glimpse we can see possibilities, a world of stunning, multi-colored possibilities, a world in which we matter, a kind world in which we have a voice.


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​There is such a thin line between solitude and lonliness, it’s as thin as one thought, one flimsy, fleeting feeling, one beautiful moment unwitnessed by anyone but you, one flaming sunset, then you look around and no one else is paying attention wrappped up in themselves, or worse, some one else. 

Someone else more interesting than you, probably more attractive, though it is hard to see in the post sunset dusk, the sunset no one else saw. But your almost sure of it. You sit by yourself, moment of beauty lost to the land beyond, who is getting a beautiful dawn, no doubt. 

Pretend like you dont care. Pretend you are used to sitting unaffected by yourself (it is easy, you do all the time anyway). Pretend you can’t understand the very loud conversation going on behind you, don’t speak the language. Pretend to be lost in contemplating the utmost philosophical thoughts. Cover the insecurtity with… what? A faraway look? A high nose? A book to pretend to read? A phone to pretend you have people to talk to? Very Important People. 

Or maybe this is the problem. You look like a stuck up loner. High nosed know it all. Too good for the masses. Too good for the insignificant but communal conversation. Too good to slap a happy face sticker over the insecuruites and self doubts, and just jump in there like everyone else. Because that’s all anyone is doing , just to survive. 

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