February 3, 2013

• 2011 Time Capsule Status: Open

   

   

  These Blades of Measure

   

   

  Oh, how your eyes do pierce,

  Like stinging, stabbing, cutting

   

   

  Things

  Sharp things

  And I?  I do weep,

  For your eyes do be heavy

  Weight, a burden of measure

  And I?  I am beat with this stick

  Broken by this stick, (on the inside)

  Inside...  broken on the inside

  Battered on the inside

  And I?  I stare daggers back

  These eyes, these disapproving eyes

  They do swing, this ruler like a sword

  And I?  I cut, we cut.

  We cut each other

  With our sticks of measure (our rulers, our swords)

  And we bleed

  And we hurt

  Each other

  Our eyes

  (eternally, perpetually, and forever)

  Daggers

   

   

  Reflections in a Mirror:  Acceptance...  A powerful word...

  Acceptance...  Such a simple word too; its concepts are not difficult at all to grasp, or wrap your head around.

  For most, Acceptance may take the role of a goal, such as seeking acceptance; the desire to “fit in,” to harmonize with your peers; because let’s face it, we are all social animals at heart.  Most of us seek acceptance, to some degree or another.  It is an intrinsic experience most humans go through: that desire to belong, to be a part of something greater, to not feel alone, be alone.

  Yes, acceptance is a powerful word, an important word.  One many of us are not conscious of most of the time.  We seek the comfort of groups, and yet we remember what it was like not being part of a group, part of anything; and it makes us feel... special, to finally be a part of something instead of apart, separated, different.  Yet, we also remember those sticks of measure, we remember not being thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, something enough, to belong; to feel like we belonged.  And our eyes, whether consciously, or unconsciously; they too become daggers,  judging eyes, disapproving eyes.  For we remember, what it was like to be on the outside, and now that we feel “special”, now that we belong, we feel the right to pass judgment, to weigh and to measure others, those who are not of the group, those who have not conformed; and we measure, we measure against the group, against our beliefs, our sense of “should be”.  That is the basic nature of humankind.  That is our legacy.

  It doesn’t even have to be malicious in nature, though it frequently is.  We judge, and we compare all the time.  We note the differences, and even a passing phrase can be cutting, even if that wasn’t the way it was intended.  For on the receiving end, we see through the filter of our insecurities, our imperfections that plague us, the ruler we use on ourselves to see if we measure up.

  It is our judgments, our decisions that things “should” be a certain way, or that certain way is ideal, that trap us in this pattern.  “I should be pretty, I should be thin, I should be just like the model I see on TV,  I should be...”  I should be... a very damaging statement, or at least it has that potential.  It is the source of many woes, as people strive to live up to ideals that society has placed.  “I should be thin, but I am fat and I am ugly” We seem to drink in these judgments, these prejudices, from both our macrocosm (Society) and microcosm (local groups, local “in” crowd), and it is all to easy to turn “I should...” into “You should...”  In so doing, we not only fail to see the beauty within ourselves, but we fail to see the beauty in others, and we stare at them, with our disapproving looks thinking them separate.  Almost, like they are a different species, as if our physical attributes change what we are, human.

  We are all the same on the inside, we are all human, and it is only our “should” that separates us, that distances us from one another.  That makes us feel dissatisfied with who we are, so that we become unhappy, or obsessed.

  It all springs from Judgment and prejudice (pre judgment); and it is not limited to the physical, it is not limited to how we look, not limited to concepts of beauty.

  Judgment, and Non-Acceptance, take many forms and breed intolerances.  This, is what I mean when I say it is our Legacy; for our History is riddled with examples of intolerance.  Wars started because, one group of people didn’t meet up to the standard of another’s “should”.  Religion is a perfect example of this.  Intensely focused on how things “should” be, many wars, conflicts, and atrocities have been perpetrated in the name of Religion.  Does that mean that religion is bad?  No, for that in and of itself, is a declaration of how something “should” be, and I am not here to condemn Religion.  It is merely an example of how, placing so much focus on the way things “should” be, has led to difficulties in the past.  It exemplifies how, focusing on the way things “should” be, not only limits our ability to accept ourselves, and others; but also on how placing the focus on the way things “should” be has the potential to spark hate, to breed intolerances, and to enflame the heart to action, in the name of said hate.

   It is perhaps, intolerance, that is the enemy in this regard.  Intolerance, is definitely not acceptance; in truth it is a definitive lack of acceptance.  The idea that something offends so completely that action must be taken.  It is found in the lynch mob’s that would hunt down people of color when racism was predominate, it is found in the more radical forms of racism today.  It is found in the Religious wars of the past, and the terrorism they inspire today.  It is found in every judgment, every decision to Declare, with definitive and intrinsic qualities; that something is, was, and forever shall be this way, one way.  It is, lack of acceptance.

  And our fixation, on the inherent beauty of an object or person, is but a lesser form of these intolerances.  For, anytime we say something is beautiful, we define for ourselves something that is not; we pass judgment, even if we do not see it consciously.  It is just the way of things, it is the nature of man to define, and thus to define what is not.  We are Exclusionary, segregating by walls of our own fashion.

  Intolerance, touches us all on a personal level.  Be it something as simple, as the inability to accept ourselves, see ourselves, and see the beauty there; or perhaps expressing disapproval over someone’s actions.  Both of those are forms of intolerance, intolerance of the self, intolerance over others.  How often have we said to ourselves, “I hear your words, but I don’t believe them” when we receive compliments.  It could be of anything, compliments on our looks, personality, or perhaps even our writings.

  When it is in ourselves, intolerance breeds insecurity.  We find something within ourselves that we cannot tolerate, or accept; and it leaves us... Dissatisfied, perhaps even sad, or angry; anger that others judge us, and try as we may, try as we might, we judge ourselves on those same standards, and ask ourselves if they are really wrong.  *Smiles* Just before we stamp our foot down angrily to crush such thoughts, or not, and reaffirm that they are ignorant, intolerant buffoons.

  So what then is the counter?  Is it Tolerance?  I would say that it is not, for to me, tolerance is only two letters away from intolerance, and it is not acceptance.  It might be the closest many can come to acceptance, but in and of itself, it is still a judging thing, only with the capacity to govern our actions, and not let them bleed out into open hate, open intolerance.

  Acceptance... True Acceptance.  It is not a judging thing.  For the moment you judge, at most you can hope for is tolerance.  And tolerance is being at war with the self, it is holding back, it is governing, it is a struggle.  Acceptance is not these things, for if you do not judge something, you do not have to hold back, it does not spur you toward action in the first place.  It is not a fighting thing; if you find yourself struggling to accept, then you are not really accepting anything, you are merely tolerating it.  It is an ideal, something most will either strive for, or walk away from, and that choice is their own.  But it does not judge and it does not fight, it merely is, or it isn’t.

  “Lao Tzu says: “Accept yourself. Non-acceptance is the root of all the trouble.” None of us accept ourselves. The more a person doesn’t accept himself, the greater a mahatma he looks to others to be. We are our greatest enemy. If we had our way, we would cut ourselves to pieces in order to remove what was unacceptable.” - Osho

   

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  Wordsmith

   

  It’s Just for the sake of art

  That I bind words and twist form

  The selection a-la-carte

  Picture into words: transform

   

  Perhaps to paint a picture

  In your pretty little head

  While I receive your stricture

  Until I am beaten dead

   

  This is a four by seven rhyme

  Constricted, restricted, bound

  Words delivered on time

  Silently without a sound

   

  Myself bleeding on these pages

  The color a Sanguine Red

  Perhaps my word enrages

  Another heart that has bled

   

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  My Apathetic Heart

   

  This scaffolding has me in its grips

  and I am

  Cold

  Frozen...

   

   

  On the inside.

   

   

  Yet, like a drowning person on the eve of death

  I am coldly comforted

  In the peace of death's embrace

   

  Oh Mr Reaper Grim,

  This smile upon my face is for You, (because of You)

  And yet, even as I use you for support

  your fingers

  they clutch

  my

  heart

   

   

  And I am,

   Cold

  But

  I would rather your ivory hands, my heart hold

  Then your final kiss touch my lips.

   

  For now,

  Just for now

  We will walk through life partnered, so you can save me (from myself)

   

  And the glistening crimson drops that used to haunt my dreams?

  Shall be for Evermore............       another time, (a different time).

   

  For we play this eternal game

  And everyday

  we draw

  Stale

   

  "What a fine balance it is."

   

   

  Reflections in a Mirror:  This is a reflection on my past.  It is not something that occupies the forefront of my mind often; but on occasion, when someone brings up something that makes me think of it, I remember.

  I remember my journey, and how it came to be that I needed the scaffolding of Apathy, in order to even function in my world.  Through my life, there has only ever been one constant note playing its sickly sweet malady for me.

  Pain

  My first memories?  They are of stormy nights, screams, and crying.  I think I was 3 maybe 4 at the time, and the storm set the ambience of that night, framed it.  I am not sure, but I think that night my mother finally decided to leave my father.

  The past is a blur.  Snatches of cognizance here and there, memory working in leaps and bounds, who knows the rhyme and reason of things, who knows why one memory stands out more than the next.

  Another memory; the next earliest having the sharpness of clarity, when so much of my past is unclear; and the scene?  Being taking away from my mother, reasons:  Unknown.  The ground seems so shaky under my feet, so unsteady.  At least I still have my brother and my sister, or wait, I don’t.  We come together but for only a brief instant, before being split up.  Alone.

  It is such a sad joke, when the fondest memory of your childhood, is that of living with strangers, ones who use ridicule, embarrassment, and humiliation as tools for change.  Such a sad Joke, and yet I was happiest there.  At least, there was this bright spot, still bathed in memories fuzzy.

  Six years old, my father, a stranger to me, more than these strangers I lived with, someone I have no memories of.  “It is time to go home Son.” Confusion, why is everything so Transitory?

  My father, it turns out, was a drunk and a drug addict; so while I might have been reunited with “family”, once again able to see my brother and sister; my stay in his care, was . . .   Painful.

  A board, an inch thick, hearts carved into its center; custom made to show your “love”.  Swung... frequently, and with such force that it eventually splintered and broke; disintegrating across my ass, or perhaps my lower back, who knows your aim was never good.  Oh, your anger that time, and your belt?  Metal that day, not leather.  The provocation that started it all?  Who knows, who cares.  I was always the good son, so ready to please, and yet you seemed to resent me personally.  My siblings never seemed to anger you so, in fact I took their turns as well.  Boots thrown at my head.

  I remember... that our “family outings” was raiding the dumpsters for can’s to support your habit.

  I remember... that we could never stay in one place, because you were always on the run, from something, anything.  I remember the consequences, the children who exhibit the cruelty of man all too well.  Yet, I was a sensitive soul, a pacifist, so I took their punishments on myself, and I never fought back; and it would die down, only to start anew ever year.  Always, perpetually, the new kid.  They beat me almost as much as you did.

  Something broke in me, and I have been picking up the pieces ever since.

  I turned...  Twisted, demented, masochistic, sadistic.  I had to turn the pain into a loving thing, a comforting thing, something had to love me.  My patron saint: Suffering.

  13 years of age, the city shook, and it seemed to herald change.  My mother... stranger to me, then even you.  She finally caught you, you were running from her, so you could keep the food stamps (so we could use them to buy 5 cent candies, so you could use the change to buy your sweet nectars.  Oh, I remember the time I spent too much, the time I purchased something for 50 cents.  Set me straight you did.)

  For my mother, I have thanks.  For providing me with stability, if not freedom from the Pain.  The men who drifted in and out of your life, that your silence subjected us to.  I forgive you, my soul forged in sweet agony.  I wouldn’t be who I am without that sick symphony continuing to play its tune for me.  But at least I was no longer the New Kid after a time.  It was just as bad as anywhere I moved, worse being a small town.  But they lost interest, instead content with their disdainful looks, harsh whispers, and practical jokes.

  But your silence, as the men in your life inflicted their desires on us.  With your eyes blind, you still don’t know the half of it.  And you never will, the part you do know troubles you now.  My soul forged in those fires of agony are enough to bare those burdens.

  But oh, how broken I had become, the slap of leather across my back, inflicted by my own hand, to know that pain still loved me.  And, the blades call, and crimson nightmares?  So many times, so close.

  But you saved me, your hands never struck me; so your slap was all the louder to wake me from those nightmares.  My nightmares.  And for that I thank you.

   

  And it was then that me and Apathy learned to be friends, and when I let the Reaper Grim hold my heart, because sometimes it is a burden to feel things so intensely.

   

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  Expectations

   

  Held by chains, I did not see

  Unseen battles, abstract lands

  ‘Ware, of nothing holding me

  Leashed, in someone’s hands

   

  “I was hunger,

       And you my meal.

   I was thirst,

      And you my drink.”

   

  Lost, in Sorrow’s soft caress

  And in Anger’s heated bite

  My spirits, you did depress

  I was blinded without sight

   

  “I was leashed,

      And you my keeper.

   I was pained,

     And your hands bloodied.”

  This leash digs upon my soul

  Burdened of my own devise

   Oh how this load takes its toll

  I am lost in my own lies

  “I was dreams,

     And you could have saved me.

   I was hope,

     And you my death.”

   

   

  Reflections in a Mirror:  Expectations...  They are the chains that we bind to ourselves, unknowing that we are handing this "leash" to others, so that we might be but a slave to them.  Not in the traditional use of the word of course, one would still have one's free will; but slaves to those around us in a different way.  Instead, as we move through our story we are...  Reactive.  Reactive, to those around us, freely giving up control of our happiness, our peace, and our enjoyment of life.  As the poem above suggest though, most of us are not aware of any such thing; and yet, any time you place expectations, or picture how something should be,  you are no longer free to enjoy the journey; instead, you are focused on the results, on what you would like to happen.  Perhaps you may be rewarded for your efforts, and things will go as expected, as hoped, or as planned.  Yet, things could just as easily go awry, and you left... Disappointed.

  It is that uncertainty, that dependency on the outcome, that places chains on us.  Just as it is placing those expectations on the actions of another, that dependency on an outcome, that places your "leash" in their hands.  For, the actions of another? They are uncertain, at best.  Everyone has their own agendas, their own goals; and moving through life, dependent on them for your happiness, is going to lead to more heartache and sorrow then some can bare.

  There is another way however.  When one shifts the focus, off of expectations, off of outcomes, off of supposed too's and should's; one is then, no longer "leashed" to outcomes, or expectations.  One is then free to choose, free to simply enjoy the journey, the story, the moment, this moment!

  Lets put this in a perspective that most can probably relate to.  A parable, or story perhaps, about John and Jane:

  John, has liked Jane for sometime now, and he is excited that they are finally going to go on a date.  He plans everything out, and idealizes everything in his head.  He has waited so long for a chance, and wants everything to go perfect.   He is placing a lot of expectations on tonight's events, and how he would like them to go.  When Jane shows up, John is nervous, because he has so much invested in the outcome, and he is never able to fully relax.  Jane feels this nervousness and it makes the night... kinda awkward; and despite the fact that neither had a horrible time, they didn't exactly have a great time either.  John, with so much investment in the outcome, was too worried to actually cut loose, and fully enjoy himself.  The night didn't go as he expected, it wasn't his ideal, and he is left... disappointed, and beating himself up about it.

  The above story illustrates the power of something as simple as expectation, can have on our lives.  Lets run this story back, and look at it from a different perspective.

  John, has liked Jane for sometime now, and he is excited that they are finally going to go on a date.  He plans a few activities, to build a little momentum, but they are really there for just in case, and ice breakers.  He is actually just looking forward to spending time with Jane, and is willing to let the night take him where ever it goes.  Jane shows up, and John is not nervous, because he is enjoying just being with Jane, they have been friends for a while now so he feels comfortable around her.  Jane picks up on John's relaxed attitude, and it calms her own nerves; she ends up really enjoying herself, and they talk late into the night.  When Jane finally goes home, John feels on top of the world.

  The above shows the difference how just eliminating a little expectation and focusing on the journey, and not the end, can really change things.  He hasn't release all expectation of course,  I am pretty sure John would have been bummed if Jane couldn't make it last minute; but, he is much freer then the earlier example.

  When someone is focused so intently on what they want to happen, or how it should happen, they drift away from actually enjoying the experience as it unfolds.  I am not saying that people that focus on outcomes, on the end product, are not happy,  just that they experience many more ups and downs, many more hits and misses, and that their happiness, it isn't within their own control.

  *Smiles*

  Enjoy the present, for it is a Gift.

   

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  Memories

  I am left Wandering,

  Searching. . .          For memories,

  Where did you go?

  This map. . .    it leads me. . .     Nowhere!

  These memories are all I have (Dust)

  Scattered on a breeze.

  Where did you go?

  Am I lost?

  No, not lost.

  Maybe. . .               Just alone?

  Where did you go?

  This loneliness . . .     it fills me with. . .              Sadness.

  These memories not lost, but loss remembered (Ash)

  Fluttering on the harsh wind

  Where did you go?

  Alone then?

  No, not alone

  I see. . .               Smiling faces.

  Where did you go?

  Your smiles. . .   they brings me. . .       Warmth

  I shall look fondly on these smiling memories (Smoke)

  Floating like a dreamy haze in a gentle breeze

  Where did you go?

  You're with me.

   

   

  Reflections in a Mirror:  I was re-reading many of my old posts from 2003 and 2004, and when I went to check on my old friends;  I found they had all scattered, like dust on a breeze.  Each and every single one of them, gone; most even shut down their accounts.

  What is it about Xanga that makes so many people come here with such high hopes, only to crash and burn amongst its pages.  It seems to be popping up even now with regularity.  Xangans suddenly deciding that they have out grown Xanga.  I find it sad actually, this is one of the few places that makes keeping tabs on your thoughts, easy, painting your pages with your history, your experiences; each shaded differently by colorful, vibrant personalities.

  At least I will carry the fond memories I have with me.

  It seems that every few years there is a different Xanga community; its the same, but different, every time.  This is my third time coming back to Xanga after a long absence.  Absence by circumstance rather then choice.  I do miss this place, a place to capture my word, a snapshot in time; capturing, just a little bit of myself in these pages.

  I like to write, to see how I have grown, how I have changed, how I have evolved.  A place to keep a record of who I was, so that while memories may fade and dreams may change, I will know who I was.  I will know what my passions were, what dreams I had, what memories I cherished.  A picture, painted with my words.

  That is why I blog, that is why I write, to capture the my essence, distilled into words.  A puzzle piece imprinted with my soul, so that one day, when I have forgotten who I am; I can put myself back together.

  Perhaps I may touch a few lives during my journey, make a few friends, and enrich my life for the better, or worse  *Smiles*  But. . . I write for me, for the memories.

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  Your sticks and stones, may break my bones, but your words?  Cut just as deeply.

   

  You never took the time to get to know me.

  Instead, your arms high, your sticks menacing

  You chase, you hunt . . .  like hyenas, laughing

  A cruel, sinister, cutting sound, I run.

   

  Heart beats, pulse races

  Feet hit the ground

  Running

  Fear

   

  Fear of your sticks

  Fear of your stones

  But your laughter. . .

  Cuts just as deeply.

   

  That tree, so high, the fall I never saw

  Your sticks, your stones, pelting me

  Chanting full of mirth: fall, fall, fall

  A cruel, sinister, mocking sound; I tremble

   

  Mind screams, flesh heats

  Body trembles

  Adrenaline

  Rage

   

  Rage at your sticks

  Rage at your stones

  But your words . . .

  Cut just as deeply.

   

  My blood boils, Rage coursing in my veins

  Who are you to try and kill me?

  Who are you, with these sticks,

  These stones, and that laughter, that mocking laughter, I jump

   

  Feet land, you scatter

  Fear on your scent

  Laughing

  Mocking

   

  I have spurned your sticks

  I have spurned your stones

  But your laughter . . .

  It poisons me deeply.

   

  My soul is stained black with red, poisoned.

  Anger, chaotic, blinding, consuming me.

  Yet I am still the outsider, your numbers greater

  And your words still a mocking, biting, cutting sound; I hide

   

  The world passes, I am but a shadow

  Forced to meet you everyday

  Hunted

  Seething

   

  Your sticks and stones,

  May break my bones;

  But, your words . . .

  Cut just as deeply.

   

  Reflections in a Mirror:  Not my best of work (For one this is the rough draft, no refinement), *Smiles*, but it is adequate.  It captures as specific event, and a reoccurring theme found in most of my childhood.  That of being an outsider by virtue of just being the new kid.  I moved very frequently, and was the object of many bullies affections.  The above is about the time they almost went too far, the time I could have died.  It was a pretty far drop, and I am fairly sure the sharp, jagged rocks at the bottom wouldn't have helped much.  *Smiles*

  It was the same everywhere I went however.  I can't remember a single city I was in that was accepting of me, and I moved far too often for me to fit in.  It is a sad state of affairs that one needs to fit in at all, as a culture I don't think we do an adequate job cultivating open-mindedness, and acceptance (particularly in our young).

  It was this theme that I found everywhere, that eventually forged me into a very cruel, and sadistic individual.  I was predatory, taking my anger, and aggression out on anyone I had power and control over.  A vicious cycle, that my brother and sister paid for more then they probably should have.  I am not a person of regrets however, nor remorse.  It is part of my past, and shaped me to become who I am today.  It is not something I can change, nor would I wish to.

  The turning point, was when my mother threatened to have me placed in jail one night, after, I gave my brother a particular nasty thrashing, because he wouldn't be quite while I was trying to sleep.  Fear was the motivator, it can have its uses at times.  *Smiles*  After that incident, I spent the next few years studying my emotions; seeking to understand and master them, rather then be a slave, my actions reactionary.  I searched for anything, and everything, that I could use to shape myself to become something I wanted to be.  It worked to varying degrees of success.  The constant meditation, and mental reconditioning had their intended effects.  And, learning mastery over my emotions, helped me free myself from a reactive existence.  It was from this new place, a new me, that I started to discover and develop just who I actually was.  But, it was the cruelty of man (children really) that poisoned my soul to begin with, and it was that poison that I needed to come to terms with and cleanse before I could move on.

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