Overwhelming Thoughts

I haven't written in this blog for quite some time, ever since I started keeping my other, daily blog. But I felt it necessary to write something that's not in poetic or prose form.

What an odd month it has been for me. It doesn't feel like it should be nearing August; I remember ringing in the new year watching The Hang Over as though it had just happened. Sometimes it scares me, how fast time moves by. It seems to creep and slowly slink along when we want it to move the fastest, but as we go about our every day, we suddenly blink and we're another year older. The world has tacked on another 365 (and a quarter) days to the billions that have already been had.

I realize that I get overwhelmed, sometimes, contemplating the past and the future. Not in a personal regard - I've spent too much time analyzing my past and wondering about my future - but in a general sense. I think about all of the people who have lived on this earth, who never dreamed of what we have now. I usually start at more recent times and work my way backwards.

So, for instance, I'll often think about Hollywood in the 1930's and 1940's and how glamorous everyone was. The was a certain air of class and a real sense of posh that surrounded everyone in that time. I think of those glamour shots that are so famous now, with the soft lighting and ethereal glow that seemed to frame everyone's head like a halo. The women looked stoic, but with a hint of mischief in their eyes - or with a hint of sex behind half-closed lids, fanned by long, beautiful eyelashes. I can't quite fathom how the women got their hair to look that way, and I imagine that it's always going to be a mystery to me.

From there, I jump back to the turn of the century. I think about the sinking of the Titanic and how it wasn't just the movie that jumped Leonardo DiCaprio's career. There were real people who were on that real ship, screaming for help in the blackness of the Atlantic. Captain EJ Smith really went down with his ship, his last trip before he was to retire and spend time with his family. That honestly and truly happened.

I often think about the people I see in the old photographs that my grandma has in her hallway. They're mainly of her parents or siblings. Sometimes, I get caught up in just staring at them, wondering what was in their mind at the precise instant that moment was captured on paper. No one looks happy, but I know it was more because of the long exposure time in order to get a picture taken - smiling for six minutes would be ridiculous. And impossible. But still, I wonder if they were hopeful. I wonder if they were thinking about what they were going to cook for dinner, or what they were going to do for work, or whether some golden opportunity was going to find them as they made their new lives in America. I wonder if they were thinking about whether their children would survive - I know my grandma has told me that they lost a few to various diseases when they were very small. I try to imagine them talking, breathing, their voices heavy with an Italian accent they hadn't quite lost - and would never really lose. I try to imagine my grandma as a baby, sitting on her father's knee, smiling up at him as she cooed.

And then it just keeps going. I think about literary London in the 1800's, the time of Marie Antoinette in France, Henry VIII, Galileo and then Inquisition, the Crusades, the Black Plague, the time of Beowulf and Grendel, and then neanderthals. My brain often feels like it's going to explode once I've reached that point, but I like the feeling. I think it's important to remember the past. I think that human nature is to commit the same errors, over and over and over again, so we might as well learn about it so we can try and break the cycle.

I often wonder if anyone else has thoughts like these, or if I'm just the only crazy girl in the world who makes up stories for the people she sees in pictures.

Cumpleanos.

Birthdays are a wonderful thing. Not for the presents, but for the mere fact that it is a celebration of you being in this world. It is a time for you and everyone you know to rejoice in the fact that you have brought light and radiance to an otherwise dismal world. And while you share the day with thousands - perhaps millions - of other people in the world, it still feels like it is solely yours, and I think that's special.

For me, though, birthdays have always been bittersweet. As a child, I was most excited about getting presents. What kid wasn't? We're selfish and greedy (and some never grow out of that mindset), so all that we know is ourselves and what we want. But as I grew older, birthdays took on a different meaning for me. I don't know when it started, exactly, but at some point, it continually brought up thoughts of my birth mother. I used to ask my mom - and sometimes, I still do - whether or not my birth mother knew when my birthday was. Or if she thought of me at all. Or if she knew how old I was or was going to be. My mom always told me that there's no way for a woman to have a child and not know and remember all of these things. And while her words always brought solace to me, there was still this underlying twinge of doubt.

What if she really didn't remember? What if she didn't think of me at all? What if she had forced herself to forget giving birth to me or giving me up? What if she was dead? The last option gave me a sense of finality, at least, so I didn't have to wonder all of the time. If she's dead, she's dead - end of story. But all of those other thoughts? They tore me to the very core. The thought of being so thought-filled when it came to her, and to think of her not reciprocating that sort of emotion, ripped me apart. So while I smiled awkwardly as people sang "Happy Birthday" to me, I always had tears in my eyes at these swarming thoughts.

What if she had forgotten about me?

And now, I find myself six days away from my 23rd birthday. I can feel these thoughts tapping on my shoulder, beckoning me to turn around and weep at this hypothetical devastation. But I'm forcing myself to face forward. I've come to realize that if she has forgotten about me, then that's it. I cannot control her - I don't even know her. But even if I did, I wouldn't be able to control her thoughts or feelings or actions. They are hers, as mine are mine.

So, I'm taking five days off from work, starting on my birthday. I'm spending four of them with the one man who renews my faith in the world, in life, and in love, each and every day. I'm continuing to break out of my stage fright and singing a song of love and happiness at the store meeting on Sunday. I'm celebrating being alive. I'm celebrating having been born. I'm celebrating the fact that my birth mother, wherever she is, decided to give me up. I'm celebrating my life - what has come to pass and what will be in the future. I'm letting go of all of this pain and all of this fear and deciding that damn it - I'm worth it.

- May (you never forget to dance).

Parallels

There have been two days over the past seven that I've found myself passing the motorcade for a funeral. And each time that I have, I've always said a small prayer to the Universe to bring healing to the families, to give thanks for the fact that I am not a part of the sorrow at this present moment, and to give strength to those around the world who are dealing with death. The weird thing to me is that both times have been on incredibly beautiful days -- full of warmth and sunshine. I don't usually understand what's going on when I find myself behind the last car in the motorcade, getting annoyed at his slow pace and hazards on. With my music blasting, my windows down, and my hair a mess, I change lanes so that I can get around the tortoise-paced person in front of me, thinking that perhaps he has to go slow because he has a dresser in his trunk or something. And then I see the whole line of slow-moving cars, hazards on, and I understand. I turn my music down. I don't speak a word. And I say my prayers to the Universe.

It usually takes me time to even want to put my music back up. I feel -- disrespectful, I suppose, in not being somber when there are people who are mourning the loss of a loved one. And then I realize that it happens every second of every day, somewhere in the world. Over and over and over again. Rather than making me sad, though, I am all the more determined to live a good life. To enjoy the people in it. To love fully and on purpose. To be compassionate to someone I may not have been compassionate to otherwise. To smile every day. To laugh every day. To cherish every second that I have. Because someday, I will be in the first car of that funeral motorcade -- except that I will wante everyone to have the windows down and music up, laughing and smiling along the way.

- May (you live with purpose).

When There's Nothing Left to Burn ...

... You Must Set Yourself On Fire.

I've become obsessed with this song from the band Stars. It's called "Your Ex-Lover is Dead." It combines a myriad of instruments, which always makes me fall in love with a song. Always. They're introduced gradually, too, and there are lots of crescendos and decrescendos. It brings out my inner band geek.

Anyway, the song makes feel all kinds of -- melancholy. With twinges of something else. There may be a glimmer of happiness in there, for some strange reason or another, but generally, the tone of the song is one of longing, regret, and over-all sadness. I can't help it!: no matter how happy I am, I always love sad music. It reaches me on a different, deeper plane than any happy song ever could. I think it may be because sadness is one of life's ultimate equalizer. Not everyone becomes happy for the same reason; some people may find happiness when buying something, others when driving a fast sports car, while others find it in the company of others. Sadness, however, everyone feels, and for many of the same reasons. Losing love, death, falling out of touch with a friend, separation, and so on. Perhaps that's why I can't help but gravitate towards sad music. More than that, sad music that makes me think. Oh, what an intoxicating combination for me. Play a Death Cab For Cutie song, and you had me at "Love of mine ..."

God, that was strange to see you again.
Introduced by a friend of a friend,
Smiled and said, "Yes, I think we've met before."
In that instant, it started to pour.

Sometimes I wonder about the people who come into my life. Into everyone's lives. There's that very cheesy saying of how some people come in for a reason or a season, something something something. But I suppose that underneath all of that "Hallmark Fluff," there's some truth to it.

I try to stay in the present moment. I try very hard to do that. But sometimes, I get lost in my thoughts. It's a bad habit, but I like finding sanctuary there. It's like coming home after a long trip away and plopping down in your most favorite chair. You know you won't have the energy to get up and unpack your belongings, but it just feels so good to relax a moment. That's how it gets when I start thinking. I know that it will hinder me from doing other things, but sometimes, I just have to process the hodge podge of thoughts that are scattered about my cranial space. It's the only way I'll survive to the next day.

But anyway, despite my attempt at honest Buddhism and staying ever present in the moment, I think about the people in my life. I wonder who's going to be here for years, who's going to be here for days, for months, perhaps always. I wonder what purpose each person has in my life -- and truly, they all have some kind of purpose. Whether it's a friend who makes me smile at exactly the right moment, or someone who redeems my faith in others, or someone who shows me kinds of love that I've not yet known or understood or thought existed, they all have a purpose. Perhaps this is a selfish way of thinking, that everyone has a reason in my life. But how else can I relate things if not to myself?

Captured a taxi despite all the rain.
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain.
And all of the time you thought I was sad;
I was trying to remember your name.

I think about the people who've come and gone out of my daily life. I had to let go of some unwillingly. Others left when it was their time to leave. Some were in between. I wonder what it would be like to run into some of these people again, especially the ones who left some kind of imprint on me -- whether good or bad. I wonder how I would handle a run-in situation, how my compassion and love would hold up against, say, someone who hurt me in the past. I wonder if I would be reminded of distant memories that have been only collecting dust in the archives of my mind. I wonder if I would remember that person's story. Or if I would recognize him/her at all.

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin.
Tried to reach deep, but you couldn't get in.
Now you're outside me, you see all the beauty,
Repent all your sin.

Not surprisingly, I think about the last person I gave my heart to. I think about the last person I trusted so fully -- perhaps too fully -- who crushed whatever hope I may have had. I harbored a lot of anger and a lot of resentment for a very long time. Seven years, in fact. The anger and resentment would start off the emotional playlist, until I eventually wound up feeling worthless, wondering what I could have done to have made him stay or made him change his mind. Anything.

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose.
I chose to feel it, and you couldn't choose.
I'll write you a postcard,
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love.

But then I realize -- he lived out his purpose in my life. He brought many good things to me, and I'll keep many of those fond memories with me as I go through life. He brought bad things to me, as well, but I've come to see them in a positive light. He hurt me, but I learned how to heal. I learned how to stand on my own two feet, to figure out who I am before attempting to give myself to another. I learned what I wanted in someone else and what I most definitely didn't want. I suppose he ended up giving me more good things than I realized, though it took me a long time to come to that realization.

And, without all of these things and all of this growth that he inadvertently made happen, I wouldn't be where I am today. I wouldn't be as happy as I am today, relationship-wise. I don't think I would have ever been open to a relationship had it not been for the pain that I had to wade through years ago. I wouldn't be able to appreciate all of the wonderful things about who I'm with now if I hadn't lamented over all of the bad things about the other. Because of that sadness, I fully understand and am grateful for every second of happiness that I have now in my relationship. It is a rare day that I do not wake up and immediately thank the Universe for all that I am blessed with -- for who I am, for who I am with, for who he makes me, every day. I don't think I would be able to understand all of this if I had no frame of pained reference.

Live through this, and you won't look back.
Live through this, and you won't look back.
Live through this, and you won't look back.

I guess the whole point of it all is that we don't know why people are in our lives. We don't know if they'll bring us immense joy or immense sadness. We don't know if we will have to let them go. We don't know if we will even remember them at all in years to come. All we can do is be thankful that we can experience them, that we can know them. We can experience people in ways that animals can't. We must relish every second that we have with another person, whether good or bad, for what else is life but a string of a few, scattered, important moments? We can choose to be angry. We can choose to be sad. But in the end, it doesn't really matter.

In the end, all you can do is love. All you can do is let go.

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave:
You were what I wanted,
I gave what I gave.
I'm not sorry I met you,
I'm not sorry it's over,
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save,
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save.

- May (you love, unconditionally).

Bolded sections are lyrics to the song, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead," by Stars.

Brainwashing.

My brain is dead, after having written about 10 pages about the links between democracy and the media. I feel like I ended up going on a rant towards the end, about how the media is more or less making us all mindless, gray blobs. No one questions things. No one asks "why?" or "how?" anymore. People take things as fact, at face value, and are too lazy (and/or too apathetic) to do any more research.

I was watching videos about Shirley Phelps-Roper. I'm pretty sure I've talked about her before. But in case you don't know who she is, she's this insane, insane woman who is a part of the Westboro Baptist Church. The Church has about 100 members, mostly made up of her family. They protest and picket the funeral marches of soldiers who are killed in Iraq. They carry signs that say, "God Hates Fags" and "God Loves Dead Soldiers." They promote hatred and malice under God's name. They say that we sin by accepting homosexuality, and that's why people are killed. She believes that the young Amish girls who were shot to death last summer deserved to die -- not because they did anything wrong, necessarily, but because of Adam's Original Sin. And yet, she and her family are untouchable, because they're spreading this message and "enlightening" the world.

The liberal in me says that everyone is allowed to have his/her own opinion. And I believe that, though I don't agree with many of them. But there is such an extreme amount of variance in the human race that to say that everyone should think the same way is ridiculous. The Buddhist in me says to detach myself from what she says and to disassociate myself from such negative energy. The human in me becomes angry every time I hear her talk in such a way. It's a weird threeway tug-of-war that goes on inside of me at listening to this manic woman.

And then it makes me turn inward. What sort of things do I promote, and do I promote anything to such extreme levels? I examine myself and my life and my message. I can't imagine I've ever promoted hatred of any kind - and if I ever have, my Universe, I am sorry for it. I like to think that I would never intentionally do such a thing. And all of this introspection reminds me that I must live a life for love. For peace. For happiness. For energy. For balance. For myself. For others.

I try to channel the positive forces within me that tell me stay true to my Lo(ve)-Fi and Om tattoos. Receive love from other people (and do not be afraid of it) and send the signal back out, stronger. Even when forces against me are trying to steal it away. Stay balanced and in tune with myself and the rest of the Universe. Turn negatives into positives.

Be happy.

If I could somehow get this tattooed on my body, I would. The following excerpt, from Carl Sagan (1994), is one of my all-time favorites. It is based upon the picture below, a picture of earth taken from the edge of our galaxy.

Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

-- Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, 1994

- May (you never be afraid of what's inside).

Renewal.

There's something that the very wise and very profound Jason Mraz said in a blog post a while back. He said something about how you have to look through the eyes of a hypothetical tourist - always seeing something as though it's for the first time. It keeps life interesting and keeps you in gratitude for being where you are at that particular moment in time. It keeps you IN that particular moment in time, period. Things look new. Things are exciting. Things are worthy of attention. There's no skimming through a town, letting the scenery around you blur into an obscure oblivion. You are there, and no where else.

It was such a simple, yet powerful suggestion for me. I've kept it in the back of my mind since I read it however many months ago. But it wasn't until recently that I started trying to put it into practice.

Every time I come home, I try to notice something different about my house, or my street, or my neighborhood. At least one thing, every time. Some of the thoughts I've had over the past few days have been the way the hedges by the kitchen window never really grow in quite right, or the hole that still remains from when my first dog, Freckles, ripped the soil out of the ground (I was about three at the time), or the little web a spider made on the lamp post by the driveway, or the way the houses around me have changed and morphed over time. And I try to make them insignificant things -- the types of things I would be looking for if I were in an alien place.

I've been trying to do it at work, too. I noticed the clicking of the doors as they open and close, the particular smell of computers and ipods and air conditioning that I remember from when I walked in for my first day back in September, the sound my Converse no-lace-ups make on the hardwood floor, the beeping of locker combinations and restricted-access rooms' key pads, sounds of laughter and of frustration, the random pictures that are scattered around.

Jason Mraz was onto something when he suggested this. Not only am I ever mindful in every moment that comes my way, I am grateful for every single one of them. Even the frustrating ones. Even the ones where my brain fizzles, and I swear I am on my last bit of hope for the human race. I am still grateful because I am still here. I am breathing. I can smile and I can love and I can laugh and I can hug.

I am alive.

Are you?

- May (you not only walk a mile in a stranger's shoes, but live a lifetime through his eyes).

Where Are You Going?

Soon, in the very near future, I will be getting my third tattoo. I've gone back and forth and back again in trying to decide what it is that I want. I was fairly certain that I wanted "Go make your next choice be your best choice," and perhaps I'll get it somewhere down the line. I still think it's an important and potent quotation that I always need to remember - but I've found something better.

I don't know if I read it or came up with it or (most likely) stole it from someone else, but I'm going to get:

"You are where you are meant to be."

It will be written in another language, most like Persian or Arabic, and it will run the length of the bottom of my right forearm.

In keeping with the idea of what I originally wanted, it is a reminder to stay mindful. To be happy. To be content. And most of all, to be grateful. Every decision that I have made in my life thus far has brought me to this very point in time. Friends I've lost, friends I've made, love I've forgotten, love I've created, losses, births, rebirths, changes, spiritual decisions, all of it - everything has been a step towards my position on this finite timeline of life. And every step that I take from here on out will bring me to my next destination.

I must be grateful that I've had the opportunity to take these steps. That I can continue to take steps. That I can plan for steps in the future - even if I never take them. There are times that I am reminded of what a beautiful, humbling, undeserving gift Life is. It is truly astonishing that we are given the chance to experience it - even the bad. It reminds us that we are alive and helps us to appreciate the wonderful. I've come to understand that, and so I must be as grateful for the negative experiences as I am for the positive.

Who else will live my life if not me?

The tattoo will serve as another reminder: make sure you're headed in the right direction!

- May (you be unafraid to change your mind).

Melodious Percussion.

Something about the rainy weather does something odd to me, I've found. I don't know if it always existed or if it's been a more recent construct of this ridiculous life. Perhaps it always lingered, but I've only just noticed? I don't know what it does, but it turns me inside, into some kind of hypothetical, mental hermit. Thoughts I've not pondered in quite some time, or ever, suddenly take center stage in my cerebral jungle. I need a machete to often cut through the brush or to make a path to whatever lies at the other end.

On the surface, I'm very much the same as I always am. Years of hiding deeper thoughts, deeper fears, deeper everything has taught me well. I've been trained (by no one other than myself) to consistently contain two, distinct personalities: the introvert and the extrovert, the melancholy and the joyful, the emotional and apathetic, the little girl and the woman.

The introverted, melancholy, emotional little girl is withdrawn - she always meanders about my insides, but is happy in simply existing. She need not bring attention to herself often, only when she feels she needs attention to satiate her until the next outburst.

The extroverted, joyful albeit sometimes apathetic woman is the one people see the most often. She smiles as though nothing could possibly contain her. Her laughs know no decibel boundary; they escape from her mouth as though their very lives depended upon it. Her cheeks flush with wonder at the beautiful things that are always surrounding her. This can sometimes cause her to become apathetic to it all; but she puts on a good show. She always puts on a good show.

Today was a day for the little girl to come out and play for a little while. Not that I wanted her to, mind you, but like I said: there's something about the rain that does something weird. The first pitter-patters of rainfall call to the little girl like a siren to a sailor. She can't help but peek her head from above the hedges to see what else is there, what she can touch and turn to dust.

Impulsively, I decided to watch some of my arrival and christening video. It's odd. Obviously, I don't remember any of it as I was only seven months old when it was all taking place. Parts of me wishes I could remember what it was like from a first-person perspective. It almost makes me feel separated, detached from that part of my life - like someone else was living it and told me about it, but I was never given the actual experience of living through it. It's odd, indeed.

It was also odd to see relatives that are no longer around. Not in a bad way, of course. But I sometimes struggle to reconcile the past and the present. These people once existed. They once breathed the air I breathed. They once laughed the way I laugh, cried the way I cry, yelled the way I yell (perhaps in a different language), and loved the way I love. I'm thankful for the fact that my dad was pretty consistent in filming for these few days so that we've got some kind of digital proof of their existence, but it's weird to think that they're no longer around. Especially when seeing Mia, who my heart will always miss, and my Aunt Mary, who only recently passed away.

I wish I remembered my Aunt Mary more. I wish I visited with her more. I wish I spoke with her about her life. I wish I heard her stories and asked her questions. I wish I didn't become annoyed when Mia asked me to help her to bed late one night. I wish I had sat at the foot of her bed more often, telling her of the day's events. I wish I saved her Christmas cards and birthday cards - or at least remembered what I did with them. I wish I had been older while she was around so that I could have really appreciated her filthy, dirty, obscene humor properly. I wish I told her that I loved her more often. I wish I told my Aunt Mary that I loved her more often. I wish that I had told my Aunt Francis that I loved her the last time I saw her before she died.

I wish for a lot of things.

But I suppose sitting and wishing for things that can't be changed or altered is merely a waste of my time. It only makes the little girl more upset, ultimately. She cries harder when I think of things like these. She stomps her feet and throws her tantrums and refuses to budge. It really doesn't benefit anyone in the end.

I really need to stop wishing.

I need to start doing.

There's nothing stopping me from making sure I am as kind as I can possibly be. I can still be as compassionate as I can be, especially to those I dislike. I can tell people that I love them when I see them, and make sure they know it - and believe it. I can ask more questions about people's lives. I can sit with my parents and talk to them about what it was like growing up. I can listen to the stories that are always floating around me, the ones I will want to remember for the rest of my life.

I can, and more importantly must!, cherish every moment that I possibly have on this revolving earth in this fleeting, fleeting life.

I've learned from my past mistakes.

I really need to stop wishing.

I need to start doing.

- May (you live with purpose).