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).

Bright.

Even in the somewhat dreary sunshine (seems like a contradiction, doesn't it?) of the outside world, I find myself renewed. It is as though I've molted the bruised, battered, and scarred casing of before to reveal a pink (or perhaps, in my case, yellow) and fleshy undercoat.

The bully, Depression, has scurried away -- though his return is always a looming threat. But I've come to realize that I can't always be planning, or expecting, his arrival. If all of my time and all of my energy goes to dead-bolting the door and boarding up my windows, how will I ever let the sunlight in? How will I ever feel safe enough to venture into the world around me? It does me no good to act like that or to think like that. If he has to come back, and I think he may have to at some point in the future, wouldn't it be great if I were laying on a beach somewhere, warming myself in the sun's rays, so that he would barge into an empty home? What a disappointment!

There have been a few things leading to this mental change, I think. One would be, of course, the wonderful, glorious change in the weather. The brighter the sun shines, the happier I become. There's no hiding that -- and I know that I'm not the only one. The release of those endorphins is no joke. Another reason would be the compass necklace I received as a gift. A simple gesture, really, but one that meant (and still means) the world to me; a constant reminder that, even when I feel as though I can never find my way back home, I am never truly lost. All I have to do is open the necklace's latch to reveal the working compass and retrace my steps. Plus, the person from whence it came matters more to me than I could have ever imagined, and he fills my heart in ways I never dreamed. He has also helped me find hope in even the darkest of days, simply by being a major part of my life, and for that, I will always be grateful.

A third reason would be the active steps I have taken into being healthier. Cutting out fast food and coffee (again) has already made a difference. I've also been sticking with my "at least 1/2 hour of yoga, every day" routine. I attempted to do the P90X yoga video today, which is an hour and a half long, and only made it through the first hour before my body rebelled. I think that I will have to work my way up to that, as it is more intense than any yoga I've done before. But that is a goal -- to be able to complete that video without any sort of hesitation. And having goals, especially healthy ones, are uplifting.

Plus, I have found my hope. I do not know where I found it or where it had gone in the first place, but we have been reunited again. I am becoming more involved with my job, even though I am still unsure of where to go from here (and I've come to know that that's all right). I have decided that, within the next year, I will travel. I will, of course, take smaller trips -- maybe to the likes of DC to visit friends or back to New England to do the same -- but I have decided that I will take at least one big trip within the next year. It could be across the country or across the ocean. It really matters not. All I know is that I will.

I have found my peace with the Unknown (and it does deserve a capitalization here). I do not know where I am headed. I do not know how much longer I will stay with Apple. I do not know where I will go in my Graduate Studies. But what I do know is that I have been provided a gift -- and that gift is my not knowing. Others have their lives planned out before they can even protest. They are told that they will be doctors, they will be housewives, they will be lawyers. And while all of those things are wonderful and needed in their own right, there is no freedom there. They cannot say, "I find my joy in something else, so I will pursue that something else to make me happy." They must do what has been decided for them.

I don't have that. Those restrictions don't touch me. They never have.

What a beautiful, magnificent gift.

How could I waste it?

- May (you never lose hope).

Double? Madness! (Cue 300 jokes)

It has been an introspective day for me. And I think it has been a long time coming.

My brain is constantly searching and thinking. It is rare that it is simply resting. In fact, I can't remember a time where it's been at rest, even while the other parts of my body fall into their natural comatose states every evening. I'm almost tempted, sometimes, to enter myself into a sleep study so that a very serious-looking scientist (wearing glasses and a lab coat, I imagine) can hook up electrical wires to my skull and monitor my brain waves. I want to know what goes on when I'm unconscious to this world and exploring the nightly, alternate universe. Even when I'm sleeping, I want to continue learning.

I don't quite know what I'm feeling. My initial reaction is to say that I'm numb, but then after some serious consideration, I don't think that's it. "Numb" implies some kind of sadness. An overwhelmed feeling. It's not a foreign feeling to me, not by any means. I used to use the analogy of standing underneath the shower head for long periods of time. You start off feeling every drop of water, then it spreads out until you feel one, cohesive stream and those droplets are no longer individual, and then there's nothing. Eventually, your skin goes numb to the feeling, and it's only when you hear the sound of the water swirling down the drain that you remember it's pouring over you.

But that's not what this feeling is.

I suppose I could call it apathy, but that, too, holds a negative connotation, and I really don't think this is a negative feeling. Part of me thinks that, perhaps, after an emotionally charged day, maybe this "flat-lining" is a kind of mental defense mechanism so that I don't short circuit.

Well, thank you, seemingly pragmatic part of me -- but I think you're wrong.

Underneath this -- we'll call it "acceptance" -- there is a general sense of hope. Of wonder. Of happiness. Which is why I know it's not feeling "numb" or "apathetic." I want more hours in the day so that I can spend them stretching my body and expanding my bones. I want more hours in the day so that I can spend them meditating and channeling the Universe. I want more hours in the day so that I have more reasons for which to be thankful for life.

That hardly sounds like numbness or apathy, right?

Somewhat unrelated, yet still tied in, I've decided what I want my third tattoo to be, to serve as a reminder of the lessons I've learned over the past few days. The lessons I've always known, deep down, but only realized and understood at this moment in time. It's a simple statement. It isn't especially poetic and, upon first listen or glance, it seems as obvious as a red light (or, in my case, a yellow one, reminding me to take life in the slow lane). But give it a moment to sink in. Let it infiltrate your mind. After you understand the clout of it, you'll understand why it's important.

Go make your next choice be your best choice.

Yes, it's taken from a song. And most would find that foolish. But I've been toying with the idea of getting this quote etched into my skin for a few months now. I've debated and wondered and scratched my head raw over it. But I know, now, that it's what I want. It's what I need.

I promise myself and the Universe that, from now on, every choice I make will be my best. Every time I'm presented with a choice, I have the opportunity to make my life a little more wonderful. To make this world a little happier. To spread light into someone else's life. To encourage someone else to search for their true happiness. Why on earth wouldn't I want to do that?

- May (you choose the right path).

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).