Poetic Influence

I really need to start writing happier things.

The only problem with that is that I feel like I am most inspired to write when things are miserable. And that really bothers me. It's the Tortured Soul thing, I think. Angst and sadness are ultimate equalizers -- no matter your status, no matter your place along life's timeline, everyone has felt it. Everyone knows it. And everyone, to some degree, fears it. And I think that's why it attracts us. It's why we watch horror movies with the lights off or go on death-defying roller coasters. We're intrigued by that which scares us most. (Except if you're me and one of your biggest fears is clowns. Then, you avoid them like the freaking plague).

Sadness doesn't scare me anymore, though.

Well, I suppose that's not true. It scares me in so much that I am afraid of it consuming me. A little shedding of tears every so often isn't a bad thing. In fact, I think it's healthy and a requirement for staying balanced. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing, as they say. Plus, without bad things, we would never have any sort of gratitude for the good. So, getting sad every once in a while is something to be promoted. But I fear, sometimes, that if I let myself feel the healthy dose of sadness, I won't be able to come back out of it.

I often wonder if that's a normal thought for people who've had their ankles chained by depression in the past. I guess it's like an alcoholic, always afraid that s/he is going to fall victim to the enticing allure of a beer or a glass of wine. And I don't think it's letting one's self feel those things as it is not being able to stop. Having a beer with dinner isn't a big deal, but it's the gluttonous consumption of beer after beer after beer that alcoholics fear, I think. At least, that's what I imagine. And that's how I feel with sadness. I'm not afraid of letting some angst out if it strikes, but I'm afraid of not being able to shake it once the poetic flow has finished.

That being said, it does make for some good creative juice.

When my dad was in the hospital a few weeks ago, I felt like all my senses were incredibly heightened. I was so detached from my body that I almost felt omniscient. Like I could be in all places at all times. It was one of the strangest feelings I've ever experienced, and not one I really ever want to have again, but it made for some interesting writing. Here's my favorite piece (which is weird to think, that I like something enough to call it a favorite) that I wrote over those few days:

--------------

021010

it seems ridiculous to think
that there is a whole
world outside of these
poorly decorated
(my god, who chose
these works of "art?")
walls. businessmen and
women go about their
days: "did i wear the right
tie?" "do these shoes
match my skirt?" "what
will i get for dinner
tonight?"

and i am confined. i
avoid eye contact, but
my other senses are
heightened. a young
girl chews the gummy
worms that her mother
bought her because she
wouldn't stop crying in
the drug store. i can
hear every movement of
her jaw and every snap
of her saliva as she consumes
those soured creatures.
a man, waiting for
his wife to be released
(he silently prays
for good news) taps
his empty water cup
against the wooden
arm rest of these worn
down benches. the
receptionist finds a
routine in filing his
paperwork: stamp, fold,
staple, rustle, file. his
routine is interrupted
with passing doctors;
interns trying their
hardest to look like
they know what they're
doing; visitors unsure of
where to go but knowing
they've got a lot of
paperwork to sign.

how does the world
carry on outside of these
walls? doesn't it know
that everything hangs
on a thread? that one
slip of the scalpel will
change it all?

everyone here, tied by
something that no one
else knows, yet we
all understand:

let him be okay.
let her live. let him
make it through another
night. please, we haven't
said goodbye.

yet the world keeps
spinning, the world
keeps moving
and, prisoners of this
god-forsaken space, we
are no longer in it.

--------------

On that note, I think I am going to make a conscious effort to write at least one happy thing a day. I used to keep a gratitude journal, if any of you (... hello? Anyone out there? *tap tap* This thing on?) remember. I used to write down at least one thing for which to be grateful, each and every day. I think I need to start that up again. I'm trying to get back into my healthier, spiritual habits. I've been feeling out of touch for a while, and I need to reconnect.

So, here are my resolutions for the rest of the year (three months late isn't too bad, right?):

1. Start up/restart the Gratitude Journal.
2. Do at least a 1/2 hour of yoga, every single day, even if I'm exhausted.
3. Under absolutely NO circumstances am I to eat fast food. Ever.
4. Look for healthy alternatives to the things I eat.
5. Get some raw food/vegetarian cookbooks and try to make at least one entree a week.
6. Meditate for 15 minutes every day. Repeat as necessary.
7. No more coffee! Tea is all right (it's the Brit in me).
8. Try to cut back on snacking. It has always been my downfall.
9. Find a Buddhist temple and actually attend some kind of gathering.
10. Pick a date, pick a destination, and save up for a trip I've always wanted to go on.

Ten things, but I think they're all doable.

It's never too late to start over, right?

- May (you be determined to live a happy life).