Is it possible that I actually grew up when I was about 17, and have been fighting it off and on ever since? Scary thought. Such deep levels of denial. And such a deep distrust of adulthood.
originally published on 3/13/09
Category Archives: reflections within
Ain’t No Mountain
Last night we did the dangerous duo of operas, giving me ample time to test out my electricity theories. They were effectual for a while, but eventually I needed other tricks up my sleeve to retain any sort of left hand comfort. What seems to always be the outcome of nights like that, if I’m lucky, is a funny Zen state where everything just falls together in its own rhythm. All the theories which could sometimes seem contradictory – electrical connection, tiny spasms, only tensing the playing finger, breathing through things, non-interference (allowing things to just happen), and any of my other dissections – they all fall into the background of the magic mental state which I cannot plan for. Of course it’s frustrating to think of why I can’t skip the middle man and go right to the dessert course. Maybe I would get bored. I would have no mountains to scale, then. I would be content.
Often the Zen feeling comes over me after I have tried a few of my tricks, and I sort of give up. It seems nearly impossible to get that given up feeling before having given something up. I have tried.
originally published on 3/24/09
Martyr
So who out there can handle real life? I want what you have. I strive to be near people who appear to handle it. It calms me. Too bad it’s nothing but a temporary balm.
I try to keep things on an even keel. I try to stay free from vices. I try to be wise in my decision-making. I try to learn from my mistakes. I seek out wisdom from those who seem to possess it.
It is my instability and my neediness which are the problems. But why do I feel like they are a natural reaction to the world around me? I have never blamed my sensitiveness for my problems, because I only see it as an asset. I would like to retain that supposition.
That leaves something else as the culprit. Is it society? Yes. Is it my history? Yes. Is it karma from previous existences? Perhaps. Is it my lack of judgment? No, I do not want to blame that. I don’t think blaming a part of myself is helpful or deeply true. Hating myself is a reaction to something else that is going on, not a cause.
I used to like to say that the only place I felt right was onstage during a performance. That realization came later on, in college. Before then I didn’t even comprehend the ridiculousness of my emotional situation. I can handle the unhandlable much better than normalcy. It’s ludicrous. Or is it? Is what people call normal life really so straightforward and simple? And is getting up in front of hundreds or thousands of people to perform and express something unique so daunting? What if that’s the only time you feel like you are yourself? Like you are unencumbered and free. Why is it I feel that time stops when I am performing, but the rest of the time, time is a weight on my head, taunting me not to fuck up this minute, this second, this year, this life, not to make the same mistakes I’ve made innumerable times before, ones that cause me to not sleep most of a night, or regret what I’ve said or didn’t say, or wonder what in the world I’ve been doing for the last three hours.
originally published on 5/20/09
Anti
Judging from the last entry, it seems that jumping from quick fix to quick fix has been a failed system of living. But it’s also no surprise that I would be trying it. When you need relief from life as badly as I sometimes do, you will attempt many far-from-center approaches. You will readily refuse to see any truths that may be comfortably sitting on a bench beside you, wondering when you will simply turn your head and see.
originally published on 5/20/09
Pennies
I’ve always wanted to give 110%. It’s interesting that I think I can turn that off. It is my nature. I look for ways to express intensity. I can’t convince myself that it is unstable and therefore undesirable. If I have managed to curb my appetite for unbridled-ness somewhat, I’m a little afraid to imagine how I used to be.
I will suffer amazing amounts of pain in efforts to succeed and to drink in life experiences. I have two ways of behaving: 150% or 15%. All or nothing, basically. Somehow my brain and my soul are not tuned to those middle percentages; I don’t even notice life at that wattage. Is that why cats like me?
originally published on 1/28/10
Diorama
It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head. They’re all in my head. Now who they are exactly is something of a question mark.
There are a lot of them. They are hard to discern, so it often sounds like one loud voice. But it makes more sense that it is a combined effort. It’s interesting, because I give people a pass, assuming there’s no bad intention. They didn’t intend to become a nightmarish mantra in my head. So that absolves them. Not that I’m really interested in blaming anyone. But fact from fiction is important here. One must accurately identify the culprits in the course of history, regardless of intention. You can only surmise intention. Even the party in question may not know their own intent. Intent comes partly from the gut, rather than the mind.
There are those who have inadvertently or purposefully drilled their poison into my brain and soul. That is the situation, and I am left here to pick up the pieces and put myself back together. I must retrieve my shattered soul from it’s little corner where it likes to hide from the nasties. It must supplant all the chaos and hopelessness. It’s kind of like the Tao Te Ching, right? The strongest force is watery. The quiet, flowing true soul (the Way) has the capacity to erode any behemoths. Love is akin to this, too. If I were more in touch with my loving self over the years, I could have had some protection from those nasties.
originally published on 2/3/10
Bowling Ball
Pandora’s box. Another one of those expressions I should look up. Quieting the mind has the capacity to open one. It’s a double-edged sword. You get a sense of what is really happening around you – it’s extraordinary all the stuff you’re missing out on in the cacophony. But, with the good comes the bad, eh? Why is it I don’t mind the rush of positive feelings, but am so scared of the painful ones? It’s logical in one way, but kooky in another. They should both be equally off-putting. Maybe they are. The good stuff is indeed fleeting, maybe for that reason. I am just as unable to handle it as the disturbing imagery which is hiding under the surface.
Is that why religions tell you to wait for heaven until after you croak? Are humans ill-equipped to handle the extraordinary highs and lows of nirvana? I was tempted tonight. Tempted to re-frame. Tempted to look at things a little differently. With a different perspective. And something bizarre happened. I ceased fretting over the minutia which often occupies me. I saw. I witnessed. There it was, life. There were people, and objects, and sights. And of course sound. It was a concert after all. And it was a lovelier concert than I’ve heard in a while. Because I heard it differently. With new ears and mind. And then I got a rush. A joyous thrill. That one that others seem to get. It’s the one gotten from just being alive. From just being, and being glad for it.
But then I got another kind of rush. A more sinister one. The floodgates opened, and everything was allowed in. So I guess my mind had to close up shop. It didn’t feel inclined to get to know those demons further. But it’s too late. I now know the difference between being alive and being stuck. I’ll be less easily duped from now on. With all the gradations and layers and nuances, it is really very simple. On or off. Open or closed. I don’t want to go so far as to say alive or dead. But it might be right, eh?
originally published on 3/24/10
Reading Lamp
So are my awkwardness, indecisiveness, stubbornness, closed-mouth-edness, and all the other questionable traits all a reflection of something awry, or something good and possessing of integrity? Is life supposed to be easy and smooth and overtly fulfilling, or is it the struggle that signifies a right path? If I am uncomfortable with much of the expected behavior and status quo, what does that mean exactly? Could it be that I have an inner wisdom that is higher than society’s? Higher than the societal norm? Maybe a bit like a Buddha. At least, this is the proposition for the evening.
originally published on 7/9/10
Cody
Is it my usual conundrum of finding little to say when I am feeling happy and/or content? Am I incapable of talking about happy things? I guess I have an internal obligation that drives me towards a balanced sort of sincerity. Not rose-colored. If I am going to open my heart, it feels pointless and even derailing to leave out the yuckier stuff. Or even if I don’t specify the details, my overall outlook must contain the mixture of the whole spectrum of experience and emotion. I have spent far too much of my life omitting. Either I omit the positive or the negative. Usually this is done to kowtow to someone nearby. Or maybe someone powerfully embedded inside me.
I recently Kowtowed to someone, in the more literal sense of a bow. I felt a deep urge to show my respect and gratitude, and as I had witnessed this sort of gesture in the past, I already suspected what a powerful effect it might have. In this country we don’t demonstrate this way to one another, but there is something inexpressibly connecting and rich about it, eliciting a sense of our humanity rarely achieved in other ways.
originally published on 12/5/10
Barnacle
I just realized a funny juxtaposition. I love to dream about the past, but I rarely allow myself to reconnect with it. I can hold it in my imagination but never hold it in my arms. That probably carries over to the present moment, too. It takes a lot to connect. There is this gap, some kind of vacuum wind tunnel barricading me. I end up being oddly choosy about whom I get intimate/close to.
originally published on 8/6/10