An Immediate Answer to an Immediate Question

Do you know what I'm scared of?
Settling.
Not in terms of down with a house – but in my mind.
I'm scared that my mind won't be flexible for experience.

That I won't be able to connect two thoughts together to make a conclusion or that I will be afraid to take risks.

I'm afraid that I will become a creature of habit. Not just predictable but on rotation. Put the pen away with the cap on in the correct bin as an example. It's an addictive distraction. Tidiness. When my house is clean, I feel unfulfilled.

I feel like I have plastic around me that makes it hard to breathe or to really let go to do what I need to do. So I stick to the tasks that can be negotiated while wrapped in plastic. I'm going to push soon.

It's almost like I live my life in theory. Or that I think my thoughts in theory. I was reading something I had written and I realized that my sentences - to me - sound like the drop. You have the idea, and then it jumps off a cliff and sits on the ground. They're like rocks that don't go anywhere. Just simply stated.

So what if you conclude something. Then it is concluded, you keep it or you share it and then you move on.

It's true that a person shouldn't get too attached, especially to their own ideas unless one idea hasn't yet been exhausted.

But then what - am I not allowed to want, am I not allowed to strive for something? And then even further am I not allowed to believe in something. Yes - I want to challenge my ideas, my morals even, or at least figure them out. I'm scared though that I will get caught up in theorizing my own personal beliefs to death. And then what? I'm afraid of being a walking enigma. Of having no foundation. Of being too free or of justifying everything and taking no responsibility.

I'm afraid of pushing people away, or losing people that I love and need because I'm lost in thoughts like these.

Do you think it's a creed adults only give to young people so that we aren't scared to "see" the world? But actually really see it for what it is? So that we don't sit down too soon and wonder when our infamous twenties will hit?

I'm scared of the game. I'm scared that I'll play the game. I'm scared that I'll play the game and think I'm happy but really it's only a bad form of "comfortable", but wake up at 45 with all of the game pieces in place and realize I've lost that sparkle that is my imagination. That I'll have dead eyes.

The world is getting older. We are so lost in the science of living that nobody really lives. It seems we have pseudo lives. We drown ourselves in the practice of manual distraction. Buy a new appliance, learn about the appliance, fix the appliance, reorganize the buttons on the appliance pain the appliance. Take a child to a soccer game. Pay someone to entertain you and call it “vacation”. I'm scared that I'm lost in the science of living.

On top of all of this - I'm worried that if I don't finally have a place of rest - where I can leave and come back - that I will be swallowed up by the world, having not shared anything, having wasted bits of information inside of myself, having loved no one at all, and having no final tangent that I can accept that has made me happy.

I am afraid of being buried meaninglessly.

I'm afraid that I will die alone or with someone who I am with only because I'm afraid of being alone. That is the one thing I want and I know that I want it and I don't want to be questioned about my independence because of it. I am not an incomplete person, but I am a better person when I am in love. I am more productive when I am in love. I am happier when I am in love. And I am challenged in a way that is good to me, that is fruitful and unique. In a way that I want to be. A history paper will not interact with me, will not love me, will not touch me physically, and its skin doesn't smell. I will love my own life and I will love my partner.

And I want to believe in what I feel and how I feel it. I am not afraid to trust my gut instinct. I'm afraid of the results of trusting my gut instinct, but I'm more afraid of the consequences of ignoring my gut instinct.

Apart from giant spiders and passionless ignorant humans in control of government offices, that's all that I've got.

The Human Experience.

It is the repetitive motions that will take a mind through a day of banality. The mind will acutely refocus itself on small details that upon repeating the original movement will make it a more efficient action. It has to do with muscle memory, memorization of visual patterns, and push of focus. Sometimes focus means opening your eyes wider so that you can grasp as much as possible, or so that your eyes are not diverted to some other direction. Opening your eyelids wider than normal usually negates extreme movement and it denotes a sense of concentration in many people. Other people close their eyes to concentrate – but this is only to internalize an action, not to execute it in a continual matter.

For example a person running a race will close their eyes perhaps before the race, or at the start line, or just at the finish line to exactly internalize and hone the energies they are soon to exert in order to negate the external factors. Think: the race itself.
Such as a musician will close his eyes for few seconds at a time, rooting the emotions of the piece, but will open their eyes to watch their fingers, or other movements of the body.

It is the repetitive motions that will take a mind through a day of banality. The mind will acutely refocus itself on a small detail that upon repeating the original movement will make its task more efficient. It is this refocusing and this repetition that will make the occurrence refreshing but not straining. Between the evolving detail, the mind will be allowed to wander between thoughts of its present task, and others of unrelated incidents. It is entirely dependant on the nature of the person or the nature of the thought that will make this “break time” desirable or detestable.

A girl named Jayne will sit and swing in the park playground. It is not exactly her dream to be here forever, but if needs be that time will pass before she can leave there are other things to discover like the tube slide, the monkey bars, the sand box, and a nice patch of grass suitable for naps. She can master the swing by slightly changing the position of her hands, by shifting the timing of her strength, and will eventually be able to pump the swing to a bigger velocity than before.

So she waits. By and by she pumps her arms and her legs. 3 seconds until the contraption shakes –though rooted in the ground. No one has come to fetch poor Jayne, and past dinner time she sleeps. Unfortunately, Jayne is in the middle of a faceless city so she cannot see the stars as she closes her eyes to the night, however no one will molest her or kill her. So do not worry about that.

In the morning, she returns to the task, but tires at it soon after, seeing as she has already set world records at speed and efficiency. So likewise she passes from task to task, over many days and becomes the proficient playground athlete. But Jayne does not smile. She does not imagine what one should be imagining while swinging upside down from monkey bars. She passes through frustration, a benign expectancy and determined indifference. She is thinking: when will he call; when will he come.

Do not think that Jayne is dependant upon this singular promised occurrence in order to consider herself a complete human being, or even able to leave the boundaries of the playground. But she does not want to leave because curiosity did once kill her cat, and she is afraid of letting interest rest at bay. She is also afraid that a war will start in two separate human hearts and that ignorance of such events is the reason that the Middle East is constantly at war. If everyone knew that they were loved as individuals, would it be enough to relinquish this hunt for power? Oh would it were so.
I myself am fearful that Jayne is only concerned for one heart presently – for she pictures the battles of someone who willfully fights without a director of cinematography.
So if this war does happen – it will all be in vain: for no one will love, and no one will learn.

So she waits.

It is the repetitive motions that will take a mind through a day of banality. The mind will acutely refocus itself on a small detail that upon repeating the original movement will make its task more efficient, and upon conquering that detail, conquer another until the mind is essentially a processing machine of action. This process is useful in circumventing loss, procrastinating, and instigating free roaming thought. In certain cases all three.

Oh Jayne, your playground has become a market factory. Do not forget that you too are to be loved.

-with thanks to Amy and love to Frank

The Not So Industrious Love Affair

I had one this weekend. It was me and boots. Maybe I should capitalize that first letter ‘B’.
I have a problem by becoming attached to my possessions. I don’t like having to many of them – so if I do, I wear them to their last threads and throw them out as soon as possible – like extra bottles of shampoo. But if I have the perfect amount I’ll treat them wonderfully, use them sparingly, and be jealous and irrational when other people look at them and attempt to “borrow” or “try” them – like jeans.

Two and half years exactly prior to this approximate day – I had a love affair with a pair of boots. I ogled them at every location (they were minions of a franchise). Beautiful, simple and not deadly pointy but flat footed with ridges on the bottom mostly for looks but oddly anchoring to icy grounds.

Three wonderful winters we lasted together. Luckily because of my unnecessarily small feet, I shared them with no one. Sometimes my toes froze in the improper linings, but they were only too happy to be frozen because I was in love. Especially because the lining was striped corduroy. They were beautiful both inside and out. They lasted through all bars – modern, rock, country. They lasted through ridiculous and serious dancing. Oh I loved them.

Last winter however – as I cried tears of sorrow and remembrance, I cut one off my leg as the zipper was broken – sealed shut by age and zipperly arthritis. Only the left boot – but I didn’t keep the right as I know I would never find its match again, and they should both be retired at once – like related salt and pepper shakers.

I have lamented the coming winter – without a pair of sexy understated friends to keep me company – and to make sure I know I’m alive when I freeze. But yes – in the deep heart of summer I walked past a designer shoe store. And they were there in modified form. Flat footed to be sure, a shade of darker caramel, with the added flair of shine and strapped buckles. Three sassy, saucy shackles. What could be more glorious but a modified love affair? I want to know. I saw them, and immediately considered the adoption process complete – it was only to be a matter of time.

As the store was closed because I discovered them at 1 am after a jolly cup of tea I dreamt sweet dreams of the fields we would roam with nice skirts and pants – except short pants so as to show off the aesthetic bits to curious onlookers.

The next morning, I biked to the store as I was too impatient to walk. Wishing and hoping and praying they would be under 200 dollars as that is all I could consciously spend, all that needs to be spent by a petty girl like me on frivolous décor.
I walked into the store, touched the luxurious, waterproof leather and flipped it over.
As Boot was turning I imagined the love affair. The rain that would never hit the skin of my legs, nor snow bits. I prayed that the price was right – I hadn’t even tried them on in case it was not to be.

I gasped, my eyes widened. Oh Boots!
400. PLUS taxes.
I bit my lip hard, gazed blindly at other stilettos and shoes with nasty ass glitter, smiled, teared and left the shop and its keeper to their unnecessarily expensive foot wear. It wasn’t even lined with striped corduroy. How heinous.

Then I nursed the pain with my most comforting solace (or addiction). Dried fruit pieces and a gander at the movie Pride and Prejudice. If I couldn’t dream about Boots without being charged a nominal fee then a Mister Darcy would have to do.
He causes sheer joy and Boots – momentarily forgotten. Until the sale season that is.

Not very much an apology.

Quite Honestly:

Have been camping.

Out on an adventure to rediscover the world.

HOLD THAT:
I’m not rediscovering crap. I knew it was there. I hadn’t really discovered it in the first place. I just went to live in a photo for awhile.

But photos are quite unexpectedly exactly as you see them. Add in a few leeches, a torrential down pour, the honeymoon tent from the 1970s, a saucy chipmunk dubbed Roget (that’s French) and a cheeky butterfly labeled Egglatina and perhaps a few good looking lads overseeing a young teenage girls out tripping camp (I don’t know what tank top they could possibly wear the next day) – add this all in and it’s exactly the same photo you saw in the book.

Except it smells better.
Except that it’s all you see – no borders, no gloss.
Except that there isn’t a computer beside the magazine.
Except trees don’t care about the news..especially if they were blown over by that tornado I never saw or cared about. (I lie, I cared, but it was never true until someone recited the news)
Except that you can’t hide in a building that doesn’t exist and so one drinks wine and muses about the possible flight pattern when said tornado does find you.
Except you express rage to a mosquito by insisting he find an appropriately sized water droplet and drown.
Except that you paddle to old native American folk songs otherwise the winds of Lake Louisa will shoot you back to the start point – 2 hours back in time.
Except that life slows down after the second day when you are more worried about lugging your few, but oddly adequate worldly possessions up a rock cliff face than about how someone feels about something you can’t remember what it was anymore.

Paddle, lift, walk and breathe.

I didn’t rediscover anything that I had already experienced. Life has never been that slow or that honest or that fulfilling. Anger has never been so forward, or happiness so pointed. Conversations have never been that fresh. My mind has never been that still. Natural thought. Beautiful dreams. Screw the morning monologue – it is the canoeing monologue that I want back. Two Words: Fully Aware.

So that is where I have been. And I will not apologize for one week of my life being unaware of the weather, the crisis, the wars, the disease, the shooting, the best brand to buy, the sale, or that concert and movie. I’m not sorry I missed it. But maybe I’ll understand it a little bit better.