whats worth keeping, suns still sinking.

sometimes you have to just love those terribly minor players in your life who make all the difference. it only takes one conversation for everything to come into light and for new perspectives to change everything you thought you knew. there's so much complexity in our lives sometimes the people most wrapped up in the same complexities can't even comprehend them better or as much as you. you just get swept up and you cant see anything for what it is and it all gets lost. but then there are the fringe people- the people gently swept up in your tornado but the centers of another tornado entirely- who can see the whole tornado of your life and tell you just whats going on. those people make all the difference. they're the people you see a few times a year, if that, who you're friends on facebook with, maybe, but you would never ever text a mass holiday greeting to, the people you know as someone elses friend who you kind of know but you couldnt say what his hands look like. they know about your life but they dont play a major role. they can say things so flippantly but that make all the difference as you sit back and process what theyve really said. they force you to look at your reality from theyre perspective and see the flaws and all the beautiful things youre missing.

i ran into one of those people at the beginning of this break. i was expecting to just say hey, maybe a hows school conversation, or maybe just eye contact and then mutually agreeing itd be better not to acknowledge the fact that we know each other at all. but we ended up saying hello. and then we wound up chatting for a half an hour about people we both used to know, music, roommates, city schools with co-ops and pressure to know what youre life is going to look like. and i realized that my mistakes are starting to outnumber my triumphs. im tired of making the wrong decision all the time. im tired of storming through doors and leaving this wake of drafts by all the doors i leave open and hanging from their hinges. i want to close doors behind me. the gaping lack of closure in my life is driving me mad and forcing me to constantly reel through my past bad decisions while i try and fall asleep at night. its what makes that tight, sickly ball in the pit of my stomach that drives my hand into my pocket to clasp that stupid little blue box with stupid little leaves wrapped up in a stupid little piece of paper and strike my calloused thumb against that stupid little piece of metal so a stupid little flame pops up and my stupid little tensions can get chemically erased.

sometimes people know things about you that will surprise you. they can tell you your next move, but not how the transition happens. so you forget they ever told you at all until all of a sudden you realize just how right they were. maybe thats growing up. everyone following in the same predictable patterns and just realizing at different rates where they are and who they are. everyone is a type. no one is original and everything we do someone has done before.

Time For a Change

It’s time for a change, I think. After a 5 minute sprint across campus for an exam left me winded and sore, I’ve decided I need to reevaluate my life and my attitude towards living. What is so great about poisoning myself every day with cigarettes? What is so stress relieving about something that causes me to have no money and to lack the ability to walk up stairs without breathing heavily? Why do I waste my time outside, freezing my ass off in this cold so I can get a quick nicotine buzz off of some cheap shitty Newport that I bummed from a friend who bummed it from a stranger? I want to quit smoking. I want to eat healthy. I want to get my allotted thirty minutes of physical activity a day. Am I selling out? I don’t think so. You can argue against conformity but you can’t argue against science. Sure we’ll all die someday, but why would I want to facilitate my death through unhealthy habits and make myself a burden to my family by being riddled with disease when I do grow old? I want to go back to the person who took cycling classes twice a week, did yoga and was a little bit obsessed with my antioxidant intake. As I sit here trying to force my limbs into the lotus position, sipping green tea, I think I’m starting to get back on track. Sure my joints are a little rusty, my lungs a little worse for the wear, but it’s a start. Time to start living for life again. It’s time for a change.

Expansion

I'm sitting in my friend's dorm room, and no one is talking because the T.V. is on. Only one person is actually watching it. I've noticed the T.V. isolates this individual and drives her to be alone here at school.  Maybe I'm just a bias jerk because I don't watch T.V. However, not until now have I realized, by watching someone glued to it, how gross it makes me feel. I feel sorry for her.

Get out. Experience life. Explore your mind. Socialize. Learn From Others.  The T.V. causes you not to think and closes off your mind from possibility.

Don't get stuck sitting in your filth staring a a screen.

Screen stops expansion.

I think this might be my last week at college...

What's going to happen to me?
What has happened to me?
What am I going to do?
What have I done?

I'm a fool for you

Last night a boy i was in love with for a very long time told me that he had just realized he was yet another link in my long chain of boys. it rattled me to the core and i cant shake the feeling that i was a fool for letting him in as much as i did. i dont open up to people on a real level very often and ive told him things ive never told anyone before. my attraction to him went far beyond one night of writhing in a bed. but i guess that was all he saw himself as.

he wasnt another link. besides the point that my list of boys isnt long enough to be classified the way he did, he wasnt a part of that rando chain. i didnt want to leave in the morning. i didnt turn to the wall to avoid facing him in the morning sobriety. he may have started off as just a guy, but there was more there than that and he became one of my best friends, albeit one with riddled with pangs of desire to be more than friends. but i guess to him i was just a girl who found comfort in sleeping with boys. which to an extent is true and is true about a lot of the guys that ive slept with over the years, but not him. not him at all. i dont think ive ever acknowledged in words that i was in love with him until right now, but i was. he meant so much to me and now that trust that id had in him is crumbling.

ive never felt like i misread a situation as badly as i misread this one. where do i go from here?

buzzing

Competing feelings of heaviness and lightness occupy my chest.

They have lived there for a few years now.

A buzzing feeling. Unable to sit, unable to stand, unable to express.

Unclassifiable anxiety of an unknown source.

There are decisions to make, but which is the right one? Easier to sit in a paralyzed haze, hoping for an easy way out.

Clarity seems distant, unreachable, as though it were taunting me.

I used to find my own thoughts intriguing.

Now they seem to be haunting me.

Studying for Finals?

I've been downloading music in the library for two hours because the internet connection is like a thousand times better than the one in my room.

I hate finals week. Usually I can easily ignore the fact that I'm supposed to be studying, but then finals week comes around. I wish I could take a class on downloading music. Or sleeping. Or playing chess. Which is all I have been doing while I'm supposed to be studying for finals.

I'll study tomorrow.

we are very busy people

my best friend at school is leaving at the end of this semester. hes going off to Argentina for six months to work on farms where who knows how well i'll be able to contact him. then hes transferring schools. im really the only person hes talked to about this change, though hes told a few others that hes leaving. his reasons dont make sense, frankly. ive been walling myself off to avoid the fact that it upsets me that hes leaving and hes been walling himself off to prepare for the change. he wants me to be excited for him, but every time he brings it up, i shut down. im happy for him and i want him to be as happy as he can be, obviously, but i dont know what im going to do without him here. hes the only person who has crazy, deep conversations about life with me on a daily basis. hes the only person i feel totally comfortable with without any occasional pangs of awkwardness stemming from past mistakes. hes the only one on the same cultural page as i am. hes a big reason of why im happy here.

ive been feeling very disconnected. like my dreams are more real than my reality, more exciting, more tangible, more present. i feel things. i dont view whats happening through a haze of indifference. i have all these separate lives that never touch. i travel to different lives when i travel. home has nothing to do with school and school has nothing to do with home in the way that life should have nothing to do with dreams and dreams should have nothing to do with life. i feel like time is never passing yet passing so quickly. every time i leave and come back to a place, it feels both like eternity and no time at all has passed. i want something radical to happen to me. something earth shattering and challenging that i dont know if i'll make it out alright. but i also want stability. i want to stop walking this tightrope and go back to solid ground because ive been up in the air for far to long and its become normalcy. i feel like im wasting my youth drowning in trying to feel something.

the weight of my decisions is not yet falling on my shoulders. im holding nothing up but trying to pretend like its something heavy. i stress about nothing and everything because i know i can never fall so far i cant get back up. i want to fall apart just to see if i can pick up the pieces of my life again. can i be destroyed completely and bounce back? can i lose everything and still come out with something? what can i do completely on my own? what if that nets gone and when i fall from this rope, i fall straight to the ground, shattering into a million pieces and reassembling slowly in a newer, better form? who will i become?

My philosophy

For some reason I thought that once I got to college I would never use Spark Notes again...and yet here I am.

I never fail to find joy each and every day, because I am forever being presented with the one true fact I have ever known about life: every little aspect of it is hilarious, because if you really think about it, each moment is, in its own special way, utterly perfect.

And that's why I'm laughing as I copy and paste information from Sparknotes so I can write a paper about a book I didn't bother reading, a paper I'll probably get an A on. I'm laughing because I was doing this same thing three years ago. I'm laughing because it's moments like these, moments when I'm back home smoking a joint with old friends, moments of skipping class to sit at the river and talk about life, that reveal to me the beauty of the circle of life.

The circle of life always brings us back to ourselves, back to the past, back to the present, back to the future. It makes me feel like I'd love to live forever if it were possible. When I ride ferris wheels I pretend the wheel will never come to that inevitable halt signifying an end to the ride.

Because to be a part of eternity is to see the true beauty of life, even if it seems like it's just a trick of the light. When you see the never ending circle that is the path of your own life, you see the deceptive quality within the anticipation of death, and how it's kept you from seeing the eternity within each moment you're alive. It's made you live like you were dying all these years.

I think that's why I sometimes feel like nobody ever fully understands me. I choose to live as if I'll never die. Death only means something if it has fear to thrive on. I live without fear of death, without a single thought of death. I choose not to believe in death. I believe in forever. I frustrate those who don't realize I'm simply living as if I'll live forever. I do it because belief in my own eternity allows me to take my time. Life in slow motion is painted in higher detail, each brush stroke singing forgotten melodies; one may gaze intently at a painting, but do they ever think of listening to it just as closely? Isn't that how someone first discovered the roar of ocean waves inside a seemingly voiceless conch shell?

When you live forever you learn to speak the language of everything...from clouds to the arcs of a skipping rock.

If I were qualified to give out life advice I would say only this:

Take your time. Why else would it be given to you? Take it, it's yours. It's up to you and nobody else what you use it for. Take your time. It's a gift sent by eternity.

let me get a hold of this

what if we're all exactly the kind of person we hate. we have all those qualities we abhor in others and that's why we hate them. we hate ourselves and we take it out on others. those things we admire? we're none of them. we do things and think we're one way but we're absolutely nothing like who we think we are.

Nostalgic

I just found this old picture of me from junior year of high school that Dan constructed out of all the things that were said to me on a daily basis. People really drove me crazy. I had finally discovered how to free my spirit, and they didn't understand it so they had to break it. I'm still trying to put it back together. I miss those days, when I was carefree. Now I can't just get rid of them.

Windburn, or Seperate of Doors

Our fragile faces are our foes:
would we were in the wind
(the cold night air unfiltered
on our cheeks so chafeable),
and sun-squinting soreness
beckoned us back to the beginnings,
days--decades--desperate of doors,
could we live any longer?

To the People Who Call Me Lazy

At age 3 my musical training began with the piano. For five years I had weekly lessons with my father, who educated me mercilessly until I was 8 years old and I made the decision to receive private instruction in the Cello. I played the cello for eight years, trained by the best cellists in the Washington D.C. area. Everyone thought I would end up at a top music school and have a successful career as a cellist. Until I was 16 and quit the cello for double bass lessons...the pressure was just too much. They called me talented, they called me a genius, but I didn't know if I loved the cello or if people loved me because of the cello...so I quit. I played the bass for three years, then at 18 I decided I wanted to play the guitar...I had two lessons, my teacher told me I showed great promise...then I quit.

I started reading chapter books when I was 3 years old. At age 9 I decided I wanted to read every book that was ever written. Whenever I wasn't practicing the cello, or at my private art classes my dad arranged, I read. I read one book a day for a year, each one no shorter than 300 or 400 pages. I read three hundred and sixty five books that year. I wrote several unfinished novels of my own that year.

It was at that point, now in the 5th grade, that I realized I had no interest in school. It occurred to me that the assignments were mundane, stupid, standardized, and a complete waste of my time. I stopped doing school work. At home I steam rolled through books and studied the cello, sometimes tinkering on the piano. I quit my art classes, I just could never draw people's noses. I still can't.

In the sixth grade I took up martial arts. I started living at the Tae Kwon Do academy on top of my cello lessons, got one belt away from being a black belt, and quit.

Freshman year of high school I tried out ice skating lessons. The old lady in my class skated backwards faster than I could. I quit.

Freshman year of college I decided to teach myself how to play the guitar. Over the course of that semester I failed three classes but I'm now more advanced at the guitar than others who have played for as brief a time as me. You won't see that on my transcript.

Piano lessons, cello lessons, bass lessons, those two guitar lessons, chess club, art lessons, ice skating lessons, Tae Kwon Do, raging attempts to become a future class author, hundreds of books, hours mastering the strategy of the card game Hearts, scrabble fever, hundreds of hours trying to teach myself the guitar.

These days I hide from my talents. I rebel against my potential. Because I'm scared. People used to call me a genius, used to praise my talents, and my potential...and I disappointed them by leaving it all behind.

I want to be more than what I can do. I want to be good at something because it makes ME happy, not so that they can put me on stage again. Is that selfish?

But then why do I get so mad when people doubt my intelligence, or call me lazy? Maybe I need to stop hiding from myself. I think I'm just scared because people used to call me a genius, used to praise my talents, my potential...and I disappointed myself by leaving it all behind.

I'm so fucking sick of my potential. But what if I do something with it and my worst fear comes true, the one that I've never told anyone of?

My worst fear is that I'll find out I'm ordinary...mediocre...normal. My worst fear is that I'll find out that they were wrong about me. My worst fear is that I'll always feel like I do today, knowing that I used to be a genius, that I used to be talented, and all I am now is potential that never turned into something beautiful.

I just feel so unevolved sometimes.

who would have ever thought that everything would be the way it is today a year ago? two years ago? three?

time is completely unpredictable. there's nothing you can do to stop it or reverse it. there's no reason to dwell on it. you can never go back or forward. you can plan for the future and learn from past mistakes, but when its all said and done, the only thing you really have is the moment. there's no such thing as permanent or temporary, just happening.

everyone's turning 20. we're no longer teenagers.

Wanted

There's an investigation going on in my residence hall concerning one of the adirondack chairs in front of the building. It would seem that over the course of two months, somebody burned a hole going across one of the armrests.

What some people call vandalism, I call art. If they want to catch me, they'd better be prepared for a long and grueling chase. I'll burn whatever I see along the way. It's all I know I suppose...I have mastered the art of destruction.


Plus the chair looks really funny now.

“Mamihlapinatapai: A look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that both desire but which neither one wants to start.”

let's grow old

Let’s not shave our body hair
and grow old together in an old farmhouse
where the petals blow across our porch in the spring
and leaves blow across it in the fall
we’ll sit on a swing
with an old quilt wrapped around us
and maybe we’ll be smoking cigarettes
and there will be a candle on a wicker table
I’d make our clothes myself
and you’d chop wood for the fire
and together we’d watch the seasons change
our hair will grow gray
and we’ll think of dying
and mourn for every beautiful moment that has already passed
but I’ll grab your hand
and we’ll stare at the vast emptiness before us
and from our front porch,
we’ll see into eternity.

It's not fair

Study, study, study,
meiosis, mitosis
then like lightning
it pervades my mind.
A flash of her
sweating
shaking
crying
vomiting
detoxing miles away
in a place my mind
just can't reach.

I keep myself from crying out
The second is over
I'm safe now.
study, study, study,
genes, chromosomes
diploid, haploid
fighting off the void--no.
can't think about that
study, study, study,
inheritance, parents, offspring
maternal chromosomes,
maternal ties,
maternal lies.

It only took having my mother taken away from me, and the knowledge that I can't see or hear from her, and the pure fear I feel for her...that's all it took for me to forgive her...for hate to turn back into love...I wish I could call her so I could tell her that. I guess she won't know until she gets out of wherever she is. If she can ever escape the darkness.

dash period exclamation

what a fucking restless generation we are so fucking tired so fucking awake so fucking ambivalent so fucking passionate so fucking ignorant so fucking informed so fucking self-righteous so fucking humble so fucking caring so fucking hateful so fucking misunderstood so fucking validated so fucking ironic so fucking stale so fucking electric so fucking quiet so fucking obsessed with fucking and ourselves and each other

The human body has so many contours,
it’s as if each were made for a lover’s hand to hold
I’ve never before appreciated the warm smoothness of skin,
I’ve never understood muscle tissue until now

I love that you don’t care that I don’t care
-we might as well have just crawled out from under a bridge,
looking like a homeless couple-
and that your eyelashes are longer than mine.
I love when you switch to walking on my other side
because you don’t like holding hands with your left hand,
and when you make us yerba mate in a gourd just like the Argentines do

We spend our time grocery shopping and lying in bed,
driving without any clear direction,
walking without any real destination.
I’ll never forget your face
as I held you
and our bodies said the sweetest goodbye
that was never spoken

You say the house is empty without me
sometimes I wonder
is it months or is it lifetimes that we’ve been together?

Sometimes I wish I could jump into someone else's body and look at myself and see what they see. What is it that others see of me? I try and notice my flaws, but sometimes it's impossible to see what's really there.

I am not Persian

I am not Persian,

My Turkish peers are not called, and do not refer to themselves as Ottoman,

nor do any Italians that I know of go by Roman.

Why then does much of the Iranian community go by Persian?

I am an Iranian-American.

ee cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new


Isn't it funny how sometimes things that were once familiar become so uncomfortable when you return to them after theyve gone sour?

Dear diary (publisher),

Recently, my history professor told us to read the diary of a woman who lived and died during the period we are currently studying.

So I read it.

I guess the assumption about reading these kinds of sources is that they offer a uniquely personal social perspective--a catalog of emotions and events recorded by a voice that needs to be heard, unfiltered--for once, an "honest" account of what was.

But something made me really uncomfortable reading it. It wasn't the translation that made it seem dishonest. It wasn't even the hundreds of arbitrary footnotes or the laudatory introduction by some random scholar. It was the writing itself.

Who says diaries are honest? The few times I have tried to journal, I have always felt so fake. I choose the events I want to record without really knowing which ones are important. And when I stray from the here's-what-happened style and decide to get philosophical about things, I always write as if someone is going to read it later. Never is it truly a secret document. And if there is one place I would rationalize, it would be a diary, not a conference with a living person that knows how to pick out my inconsistencies and failures.

So yes, a diary can be valuable (both for historiography and as a practice in our own lives). But let's not pretend that it is honest--that we are honest.

somewhere

Somewhere is the good life

Striving for contentment

Somewhere is inner peace

Somewhere unreachable

or too far away

Here are substitutes and distractions

Vices and friends to patch the wounds

And too much time in silence to brood

How to explain when nothing seems worthy of addressing?

How to write when nothing seems worthy of thinking?

How to love when everything is ephemeral?

Whatever the point is we are running out of time

Observations

Halloween weekend was fantastic, but also kind of crazy stressful at the same time. I hung out with my Quidditch team for the first time outside of the club and we bonded in a very positive way. I'm super excited to feel closer with so many new people. It's exciting to see a group of people whom aren't that close to choose to be together on a day that people typical choose to share with their closest friends.  This group of people wants to be friends with each other and I'm observing their friendships grow and form over just a couple of weeks.

But, with those I am close with, I've noticed some things I hadn't noticed before. I need to be more observant of what others are saying; about what they're feeling and what I'm feeling. Excitement isn't always a good thing.  We can get carried away with words and ideas and not truly know how our imagination can effect ourselves. We can imagine reality and get lost in what is not real. The feelings I thought were mine became someone else's because we weren't being observant but were too excited in the moment. Those feelings which were mine became hers, and she became confused, as so did I. Sometimes it's important observe what your actions are doing.  I've had to start over with some of my feelings and opinions because I wasn't observant enough on what my words were doing to another person. My enthusiasm was too strong and neither of us were observant enough to know if the thoughts being implanted in our minds were real or not.

Sometimes excitement and enthusiasm can carry you away to an unknown place without a name that is lost, confused, and, dangerous.

Family Trees

I run from home,
Run from my home.
I run from home
To find my own.
I run away from the
Path laid down for me.
If I can't find my own,
I'll make my own.

Surrounded by all of these,
All of these, falling from the trees.
Guess that's why we
call them leafs.
I guess that's what
You could call me.

We leave our family trees.
We leave all we've ever known,
A place we once called our home.
Now we're on our own,
Now we're all alone,
Better then where we were before.
To find something better,
To find something more.

They're no good for us
We're no good for them.
Leave for good never see them again.
All is well, I've bid my farewells.
Fared them well, fared me go to hell.
A bit confused a bit upset
I said, "I've been there that's why I left.

I started fresh
I began a new.
Planted my own tree
And yes it grew
Tall and stong and
It wont branch out to you.
When I think of you
I'll think only who.

I ran from home,
Ran from my home.
I ran from home
To find my own.
I ran away from the
Path laid down for me.
Couldn't find my own
So I made my own.

We were once stuck
To our family trees.
But, now we're free
Now that we're leafs.

Sometimes I feel alone

Today I am alone.
It always comes back to this,
when I realize it's my fault that
I
have
nobody
left
to
talk
to,
and the only voice I hear
is the one in my head,
the one that I just don't trust.

So why should anybody else trust it either?

Moleskine musings

I'm sitting under a tree somewhere in New Jersey, on my way to New York for a day. I woke up at 5 am, somehow got myself to DC, and got on a bus. The fat gay man behind me has pulled my hair, kicked my seat and pushed his empty Gatorade bottle into my head. Why are you drinking Gatorade? Playing some secret competitive sport back there? There's a truck that once housed animals bound for slaughter over there. I wonder if any of them are still alive.

"You'd remind me I brought it all upon myself... but shrug off that middle-class chip on your shoulder and stick with me a little longer."

There's something calming about knowing that you've got regrets in your pocket. About knowing that youve already tackled a lot of issues and learned a lot about yourself through doing so. Everyone grows. Its inevitable. Youve just got to learn from everything that happens to you in life and make yourself better. Or much worse until you have no choice but to pick up all the shattered pieces. Maybe thats a view skewed by lifelong privilege.

failed lists. so much to do. so little drive. but always driven. always driven towards something more than oneself. what will we become? streaking hubs of knowledge set up by founding fathers. we have all this need for speed but we know not what we're rushing towards. closer to god is the thing. we travel through the world without ever really knowing how we arrive anywhere. we all feel lost because we dont know how we get anywhere. we live in bubbles, bubbles we know. but we know nothing of the outside world. we've created these hells we now love. innovation is destroying us.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye has always been a struggle for me; the bigger the moment the harder the cat squeezes my tongue and the less and less I vocalize the thoughts that seem to strangle my consciousness. Before any signs of separation appear I feel the strings pulling my friends from me and I feel the cords of depression tighten around my mind. Before any hints of separation show, I slowly sober up to the realization that our time together is limited. I realize this limitation and talk with a little more vigor, crack jokes with a little more edge and hug my girlfriend harder as the time nears, fully aware of the withdrawal I’ll face when they leave. Time slows down and my thoughts grind to a halt, centralizing on the goodbye that is approaching. As the conversation winds down and fate drags my friends their separate ways I stand in my spot, emotionally and physically sinking into quicksand.

I'm in it up to my knees when they talk about their upcoming plans, by the time they bring up their future obligations it’s risen to my chest. I stand there, devoting all my energy to verbalizing the millions of things I want to tell my friends. I stand listing and organizing those million thoughts, trying to find words that don’t exist that allow me to tell my friends what they really mean to me. When the time finally comes and they leave I stand there, caged in my own mind. My friends exchange cordials, slap hands and plan their nights and walk away with no weight on their shoulders while I stand there like a statue; deaf, dumb and weighted down. I mutter generic statements, wish them luck and slap hands-- my body knows what's expected and what to do-- but my heart refuses to play along. If my brain knows the words to say what my heart is shouting they get lost, searching for the courage to hatch. It’s like sticking a square peg into a round hole; anything forced just breaks and becomes useless.

I say goodbye, but goodbye is the last thing on my mind and in my heart. The same fate that blessed me with a school full of amazing friends cursed me with the inability to show how truly thankful I am for them. I stand by as my friend turns on his truck and drives out of the Marshall lot, and effectively my life. I stand there as if I had never known that person, like they had just been a neighbor or nuisance in my life, still in shock of what is happening and trying to put that into words. All of my friends, everyone I’ve been blessed with meeting has affected and improved my life. The cruelest fact I'll ever know is that I only have so many goodbyes with my friends before the last chance to show what they mean to you slips through your fingers into the cold earth. My deepest fear is that when the time comes for the final goodbyes, I'll say and show no more than I ever have.

My friends walk away to start their afternoons or the rest of their lives, but I stand there stuck in the moment and the past. My friends walk away and stay an important part of my life, but they never know more about that. I stand by and survive more goodbyes a day than I care to think about, and each one passes more painfully and less completely than before. Before the feelings of loss set in, I think about how I couldn't verbalize the feelings in my heart, and how deeply I wish I can make my next opportunity count. I sit there and think of things I’ll never say and of actions I’ll never do, searching in vain for the magical words than can even give a semblance of how I feel about the people in my life. My heart doesn't know that my friends have left but my brain does; bluntly aware of the loss. My heart still rings from the fun I've had while my brain slowly wraps around my sentencing of its sudden solitude.

It’s a sort of reverse shyness, the social equivalent to deer staring at headlights, an innate inability to come to terms with whose company I've just lost. I've stood by three of my best friends' come to terms with a worse hand than I've ever seen life deal anyone, failing three times to do the one thing on my mind. I have gained more respect for these three people than for anyone else I’ve ever met but I’ve been able to express less to them, I’ve tried to handle their goodbyes with the same calm that they so inherently have. I've stood there and seen three of my friends handle an incredibly unfair situation with more composure than I had ever seen. I've packed up three cars with three people's shattered college existences, ripped out of their day-to-day lives with unsettling quickness and acceptance. I've said three goodbyes and told three friends roughly three percent of what I really think about them. I’ve said goodbye to people I will very likely not see for months, but I can only muster a goodbye like I’m seeing them for dinner.

And so I sat outside after my last goodbye yesterday. Piling pity onto pity and cigarette butt onto cigarette butt I got a call from my father. My father, who is the epitome of my unsaid goodbyes, lost his friend Creighton to a sudden heart attack. Creighton had been my fathers best friend from the moment he met until last night; any interesting story my dad has ever told me has starred Creighton, normally as the lead role. My father, who is the rock of Gibraltar to me, was more shaken than I had ever seen him, and had called me looking both for consolation and to give advice. On a whim my father had decided to call his best friend for the first time in a few months, a friendship severed by different careers and locales. His friend had passed away mere minutes after he had talked to my father on the phone.

My father was overcome not by the incredible and unfathomable grief of losing his best friend, but by the gratitude that he felt for having called his friend one last time. After they had a standard conversation where they caught up with each others lives they said their goodbyes and prepared to go about their lives which had grown 4,000 miles apart. After the standard goodbye, my father thanked Creighton for what he had given and done for my father. He told me in a weaker voice than I had ever heard him use that he had realized how important Creighton had been to his life, how much he had impacted it and how much my father owed who he was and how he became that man to him. My father had no idea that Creighton was in poor health (he wasn’t), he had just decided to thank his friend for being his friend. I have never seen my father so affected as he was by these two feelings; of loss and of gratitude for that last chance.

After we had talked about Creighton my dad took a deep breath and gave me the only advice he has even given me regarding my friends; tell them that you care about them, tell them that you owe who and what you are to them, and do it often because you never know when you lose that chance. Every goodbye is a struggle for me, but now I understand that it is also a important chance to show how much you care for someone.

I write songs on the guitar instead of studying.

Repetition

I came to this town,
Didn’t think I would get high again
Every day’s the same,
Just another I scrape by again
Leaves are changing color,
I see them in my mind again

They’re so free, oh
To be free, oh
That would be me

Falling leaves,
Spinning, dancing, singing
In my head again
I don’t want to leave my bed again

Trees breathe,
Whisper, murmur, sighing
In my head again
They’re hoping that I won’t forget again

I won’t forget I’m free
I won’t forget to be

Standing in the river I light a cigarette again
Sitting side by side, you tried to hold my hand again
Reflections in the water, capturing my gaze again

I’m so free, oh
To be free, oh
That would be me

Memories,
Playing, looping, soaring
Through my head again
I can’t get that song out of my thoughts again
It plays, rewinds, repeats that day again

Back when we were so free
Back when we climbed trees

Sunsets,
Reflecting, shining, sinking
Through the leaves again
I can’t wait for them to turn green again

The spring always sets me free
The spring will let me be

Circle of chairs, where we’ll always sit again
Battling the cold, don’t want to go inside again
Bumming cigarettes, we’re always running out again

We’re so free, oh
To be free, oh
So free

The seasons,
Shifting, turning, burning
Across that sky again
I think I felt the earth turn again

When the birds return I’ll set them free
I remember the cage that once held me

The reasons,
Chasing, holding, changing
My own mind again
Déjà vu decisions that I make again

One day I’ll decide to be free
A shooting star will come for me

I’ll be free, oh
To be free, oh
That would be me

I grasp the dry paper with withered lips and inhale
a hot dry breath
held in
then released into the night
everything is quiet
and blank
in that cloud of smoke drifting to join the constellations
leaves skitter across the ground
and in the rustling of the trees
I hear the voices of those
who are gone.

I found an iPod.

I'm selling it for a record player.

This just happened.

Lean back in your ch--no, lean back even more.
Farther than that. No.
Further than that. Yes.
Lean back so far you can feel your shoulderblades
cut into the upholstery.
Pop rip pop! The seams tear apart now.
Now, on a part of your face, it seems two tears
have appeared.
We can name them Payne and Payne,
twins that share a name
it's got a 'y' and an 'e' and a capital 'P' but
sounds sometimes sacrifice spellings.
SSSS! The air squeezes out of the cushion now.
Now, the blood rushes to your head, it's so far back,
down and looking up;
up at the escaping poly-blend clouds--that's what was inside,
besides air,
floating around your neck,
whimsical but kind of itchy.
What will it feel like when you fall? you think
only a few more inches now, a few degrees
till your knees will be straight
and the Paynes will have packed up
and you'll be in the ground trying to remember
if there was a tipping point.

The Gunk

Everyone has those days when they just feel alone, helpless, stressed, and it seems like no one understands. They just need that one friend to give them a hug, and to say they care. They need that one person to just talk to, to listen to them. But what if you can't find that friend? What if you have absolutely no one to talk to? It happens sometimes.  Sometimes you just have to get through the gunk by yourself.

But... I want that friend.

"Life Story" by Tennessee Williams

This is a poem that has been hitting me hard this week, so I thought I'd share:


After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all
along,

and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

Fear

I'm scared. I feel so unable to control anything that's happening around me, and it terrifies me. I want to be able to help, to heal the wounds of the people I love, but I can't. All I can do is sit here and cry. I'm scared. Tonight is one of those nights. I know that because of tonight nothing will be the same. Too much happened tonight. Too much was remembered tonight. I started out sad, then angry, and now I"m just scared. I'm scared because I know that everything that happened tonight calls for me to be stronger than I've ever been before. I have to be strong for them. I'm scared because I can't help thinking...who's going to be strong for me? I'm so scared.

Gorp

“Gorp”

By: Jake Roberts

The planet of Gorp is your standard, three-dimensional, life bearing planet. An atmosphere composed primarily of nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon dioxide. Water, major landmasses, trees, and all that jazz. In fact, Gorp was very similar to Earth in the fact that the dominant life forms were intelligent, and had active and vivid imaginations.

However, there was one key difference: on the planet of Gorp, the use of one’s imagination was severely restricted by the domineering government. Every dwelling was equipped with a number of devices that monitored the brain activity and patterns of every inhabitant. Anyone caught using their imagination was severely punished, by one of two means - a transorbital lobotomy, or death. The choice of punishment was entirely based on the enforcing officers mood, so needless to say, death was the primary means of enforcement.

Now, the primary reason for this punishment is due to the fact that a great scientist of the planet Gorp, known as Gopter Galazuk, theorized and later proved that all things created within one’s imagination came to be a reality at the center of the universe. Gopter explained that this was the reason for the universe’s exponential rate of expansion. With each new product of someone’s imagination, the added mass made it necessary for the universe to “make room”. Gopter later came to the conclusion, that unless the planet of Gorp put a stop to the use of imagination, the universe would stretch beyond it’s limits and implode. A frightful tragedy indeed…

200 years after this discovery, and 178 years after the Imagination Prevention Acts (IPA) were put in place, the planet of Gorp was a monotonous, but functioning society. People had come to terms with their place in life, and had been taught from an early age how to repress their vivid imaginations.

However, at the household of Gerky and Glema, the planet of Gorp suffered its first major tragedy. The story goes like this:

At the youthful age of 173 and 145 years, Gerky and Glema conceived their first child, and this child was named God. God was an unusual child, bearing only 3 eyes instead of the common 4, and having only two arms and two legs, instead of four. Needless to say, poor God suffered in his formative years. Constant ridicule and snide comments made this boy very withdrawn. And on the planet of Gorp, being withdrawn was practically a mark of death. Without the constant distraction of meaningless gossip, fitful arguments, and childhood love, repressing your imagination was as difficult as pulling a hippopotamus out of your ass.

So needless to say, Gerky and Glema were very concerned about their son. God often ran home crying out of his three eyes ‘Why can’t we use our imaginations? Why are we stuck in these primitive cages of reality?”.

Gerky scolded “repressing your imagination is for the good of all Gorpians! It’s for the good of the entire universe! Stop being so fucking selfish, grow a quad (because male Gorpians had four testicles instead of two) and deal with it!”.

God ran out of the tube (equivalent of a earthling house) and into the woods. Gerky leaned over and kissed Glema’s head, sighing “He better get his head on straight, or we have to spend another two years conceiving a son…”

God sat in the woods, crying away, sitting in the fetal position, and actively struggling to repress his imagination. God finally gave up. After seeing this terrible thing that had happened to his planet, he did the unthinkable. In just two hours, God unleashed his imagination! He thought of a world, very similar to his own, where the dominant creatures had two arms and two legs, just like him. However, he only gave them two eyes, so that God, with his three eyes, would be the “normal” one, and all those creatures would be freaks. God imagined that all these people worshipped him, creating an entire religion that revolved around himself. God wanted to be in control, so he imagined a planet in which it was so. God even created something he called “the Holy Trinity”, which dedicated specifically to the triangular shape of his eyes.

And then God did the one thing that would end his world, and in time the entire universe. God gave his creations unlimited use of “imagination”…

Just as God added that finishing touch to his masterpiece, a narrow spike entered his back and exited through his neck. But, I can tell you one thing dear reader; that poor bastard died with a smile on his face.

God was killed because the sensors at Gerky and Glema’s household caught a whiff of the imagination use, and authorities promptly arrived, killing Gerky and Glema on the spot without hesitation. However, it wasn’t until after the couple was killed that the authorities realized the use of imagination was continuing. Woops. Using two portable sensors, the authorities triangulated the source, found God, and disposed of him just as they did his parents. However, the damage was done…

At Gopter’s Lab, he noticed the universe was expanding faster than ever before. At this alarming rate, the universe would collapse in exactly 2,012 years. Even after the source of the imagination boom was located, efforts to reach and neutralize the planet were fruitless. Because of the unlimited use of imagination that God’s “humans” had, the efforts to traverse the universe were like swimming up a river with a hateful current: slow and tedious, and usually ending in failure. The few ships that did manage to make it were identified by the humans as “UFO’s” and secretly destroyed by the human governments. All efforts to destroy the planet were abandoned after hundreds of attempts, and the Gorpians were resigned to their fate.

The imagination of one young Gorpian, known as God, gave me life, put these words on this page, and in two years, will promptly take them away forever.

Sustenance at College

Just ate an entire chocolate bar.
Feel sick, sub par.
Is it normal to dream about that RCA
In inappropriate terms
then worry about burns
from your friends that said he was hot TOO,
I mean, come on.
Yeah sure, let's study.
Let's watch the clocks melt like in that
painting
a place with less air
more to breathe, less to care.
Come over, let's eat
and then fall asleep.

I miss the summer
I miss the freedom
of sitting in a haze of smoke
with my closest friends
sometimes we went where our feet took us
sometimes we took to the open road
but wherever we were
it was perfect

together we became
something more than ourselves
sure we ate too much shitty gas station food
but we walked for miles and talked for hours
about everything that mattered and some things that didn’t
listened to music and sang ourselves into the songs
laughed and cried and kissed and slept
and though it was never said
we loved each other more than we loved living

summer is gone but
someday there will be a place for us
don’t tell us to change
as long as there is love we will
be

I am spending September in UK. I was visiting my friends in Northern Ireland in Belfast and had good time with them. Also I was a little bit in London and now I am back in 'my' city in Oxford. This weekend, very good friend of mine was getting married so I went to his wedding and I had great time. English wedding? Hm.... Lots of fun but also pretty boring in comparison to Bosnian weddings. :)

Two more weeks and I am back in my beautiful country, my dear Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Have a great day all of you at the Blog. :)

What if my flesh is suburban sprawl?

Bought a bike today. Can't ride it, but it looks pretty cool in my living room. Sometimes things that are useful are beautiful when unused.

solitude

solitude, once craved now avoided

running driving sleeping

smoking going and going

books, once a vice now forgotten

glances thinking staring

gathering dust and toppling

hollow feeling beaten out by womp

hunched sitting smoking

rain and going and going

anxiety like a collar too tight

heartbeat twitching shaking

always cold and dozing

desire like a fork in the heart

obvious unavoidable inevitable

beaten down for now

hope like sun in the city

elusive peeking teasing

have to keep going and going

Music in the Night

It’s 2 in the morning in Fredericksburg right now. It’s kind of cold out, I guess Fall is finally making its move. I’m sitting outside the apartments with Derek, Megan, John, Sarah and Caroine. It’s a Sunday night, we should probably be in bed, but instead we’re sitting here. We’re talking, smoking cigarettes, listening to music, sometimes putting it on pause to play the guitar. Nights like this are what I live for. I’m most alive when I’m with my friends. I’ve met so many awesome people at Mary Washington. It’s unbelievable. Just a year ago we were all strangers, but now I can’t imagine my life without the nights when we all come together. It’s beautiful. It’s contentment. It’s just…friendship.

What is a Friendship?

Friendships are strange things.

This weekend I went and visited my friend and roommate I met this summer, while I was studying in Mexico for five weeks. I had a great time visiting her at her school, and it was fun to see her again. However, although I'm sure we'll keep talking throughout the year, I probably will lose this friendship eventually. It may sound pessimistic to say that, but to me it's the truth, and it's not a bad thing to stop being "friends" with someone.

Sometimes it's just seems odd to me, how some friendships are so temporary, yet they make a big impact on your life. I may talk with my roommate from Mexico for awhile, but I have no idea how long we'll be friends.  We might not make the effort to visit each other again, or we could persevere and become long-life friends.

I had a friend in middle school who I was literally wasn't even friends with for two full years, but we hit it off great. Three and four years later she came back to the D.C. area and I visited with her again.  We were very different people, from very different backgrounds. She had a military life-style, constantly on the move, and grew up in a catholic setting. I always lived in Fairfax county, with a mother who told me hell wasn't real and spoke about reincarnation and communication with "the spiritual world." And regardless, we had strong similarities that made our friendship meaningful and significant; both of us were father-less, and we had the same since of imagination and playfulness about us. We discussed concepts and philosophy (or what we thought of philosophy, at only being 12 years old). For some reason she made an impact on my life, and she's just one of those people who I will always remember, and I don't know why.

My roommate from Mexico, who I visited this weekend, may also be of the same sort.  I think of how now I hardly talk to anyone who went to my high school, and it's only been a little over a year. It's interesting how friendships fade, and we meet new people. It's also interesting how some friendships never seem to falter, even if you only see the person once or twice a year.  I think either way these friendships are important. Whether or not it's someone who screamed and yelled at you and stopped being your friend, to whether it's that girl who's stood by you since you first met.

Either way, it's important not to regret relationships.  Even if it ends badly, every person who you interact with impacts you, and their relationship to you is significant. I still care about my friends from the past, and although I may not talk to them now, I wish them the best in life.

What I learned in High School Spanish

“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”
- Thoreau

All my life people have told me that I should be a writer. They’ve always expected me to be an English major. I’ve decided there’s a lot these people don’t know about me.

I write every moment I’m alive. But not with pen and paper, not with my computer, not with a type writer...instead I write by living each moment in my life as a moment worth writing about.

I skipped Spanish class one day when I was 16. The first day of Spring made my forehead hot. Every time I closed my eyes I felt the sun on my face, leaping from arm to arm. Dan felt it too, so we fled the school's hallways into the sun’s arms. We escaped to the field.

We call it Narnia, the field next to Woodson High School. A secret path off the trail leads to sprawling fields of green, a rare sight in Fairfax, Virginia. In the Spring, the sun dances across the fields. Finally content, we sat down and pointed out cloud shapes to each other. Sometimes we saw the same thing.

Then I saw it, a baby deer asleep in the grass. Its fur shone because it was so bright outside. I stood next to it, counting the white spots on its back, wanting so badly to pet it. Instead, I stood there with my hand over my mouth. Dan took a picture with his phone. Sometimes later on we remembered the deer and looked at the picture.

I think in that moment, when time froze and words failed me, my life changed forever. Ever since then, I’ve done everything I can to make sure every moment in my life is one I’ll remember forever. One day, I’ll sit down and all of the sudden know that I’ve lived my life to the fullest. I’ll have each day fresh in my mind, think over each thought, and just know. I don’t know what I’ll know on that day. Whatever it is, I’ll smile, sit down, and finally st write.

One day I skipped Spanish class. I forgot about reality for an hour and loved the sun with my best friend. Nature made me feel safer than the thick walls of Woodson. And when I saw the baby deer, I felt awe for the first time.

When I grow old and look over my shoulder, I won’t remember a single Spanish class from my junior year of high school. I’ll always remember the sun though. I’ll remember the fields. I’ll remember standing speechless over a baby deer on that Tuesday morning in April.

And this is how I write my life. I live it. I live it as a story I might tell one day.

Because in the end, I really don't care that I can't say 'deer' in Spanish.

Slip Slide

I find myself surrounded by negativity. Or huge voids of thought. Smashing repeating laughing. Crying sleeping vomiting. All I want is happy people. Happy people happy to be here. Because I'm not and its a lot harder to act that way when no one else is. But here I am, alone in my room, writing, because I can't handle either world right now and I have no other choices. I've closed myself into a box where I have to act and the act is getting to difficult to maintain. The act is requiring more props. Props that are destroying the act, holding it up unsteadily and dangerously, holding in on these pillars of sand. It looks stable. It looks like something to be desire but underneath its all drinks and drugs and cigarettes. It's a constant fucked up moment. It's red bull and aristocrap and american spirits. It isn't happiness. Hollow smiles and hollow laughs. I don't think I'm alone.

Tears

Sometimes it just feels good to cry, even if you don't know why. Many people frown upon tears and say they're a sign of weakness; that whatever it is, it's been long enough, and there's no reason to cry.  But whatever you're crying about, whether it's something that happened yesterday, or whether it happen fifteen years ago, or whether your just crying for no apparent reason at all, it's all the same thing, and no one has the right to judge. It's important to reflect, and think, and feel.

When someone says to you "don't cry, everything will be alright." I say, "Do cry, let it out, it's alright if you don't know why you're crying. It hurts, let out your sorrow, let out your happiness, let out whatever emotion it may be."

When we bottle up our emotions, we are asking for trouble. Speak to yourself, talk to yourself, get to know who you are. When I ask myself who am I? Sometimes I don't know the answer, and other times I have an idea. But it's important to get to know yourself, to let yourself in, and understand. Sometimes it's nice to talk to someone else, and sometimes it's nice to keep things to yourself. But don't keep them from yourself. Everything we do is apart of who we are. It's okay to make mistakes, to make achievements, to make nothing. For nothing is something, in its on way. Tears can mean a lot of things, and it's okay to sulk. It's okay to want to be alone, to be upset, to be angry. Don't suppress your emotions, because by suppressing it only makes the emotion harder to express. Go ahead and let it out.
Cry. Laugh. Shout. Hug. Scream. Love. Vent. Smile.

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love." -Washington Irving

Meditation

Stop whatever you’re doing and open your eyes. You might not think they’re closed, but trust me. They are. Stop whatever you’re doing, open your eyes, look out your bedroom window, and breathe. Breathe in the trees you forgot to notice yesterday. Breathe in the birdsong floating through the windowpanes until you can hum along. Now, step outside and breathe in the earth beneath your feet. You may find yourself short of breath, so take off your shoes. Take off your socks. Breathe in, and you may find yourself making up for lost time. Breathe in, and you may find yourself gazing at the trees for hours. Breathe in, and you may even find yourself. Just take a deep breath. Meditate.

To My Friends

This week has been a roller coaster. Perhaps it sounds pretentious to say so, but I feel older than I’ve ever felt in my life, and wiser and more aware than my 19 years of experience should merit. But something has remained constant that has made all the difference: the selfless, supportive, and simply amazing people I call my friends. Sometimes we take our friends for granted. But if we take the time to look at our real friends, those who will remain our friends forever, we see what an amazing gift they are. My friends are the most beautiful people, inside and out. They have ideas that will change the world and they are not afraid of sharing them. When something is wrong they are capable of channeling all the love in the universe to make things better. I love that I can cry with them just as easily as laugh; just as easily make plans to get dinner together as make plans about how we are going to leave our mark on this earth. We have been through so much together that when one of them says “I love you” to me, the phrase is more powerful than when it is uttered in the most romantic love story. They hear about anything and everything, but never complain or say that they don’t have time. They recognize that even if there is nothing they can do or say to immediately help or comfort, the simple fact that they are there listening makes all the difference in the world. To all my friends: I love you more than you can possibly imagine, and I am so thankful to have the privilege of walking this earth with you every day.

The Lining of the Streamlining of the Stream

I have always been an editor.

Other people's words have always been my element, the river water that I can sieve for hidden particles of gold. But in the depths of my own writing, I have been worn down into a restless miner. The same quality that makes me an exacting editor for others makes it a daily challenge for me to compose things fluently and honestly from and for myself. I edit as I write--for every half a sentence ahead, I delete two clauses behind. Confidence shifts like the shoreline.

Though I cannot believe in an easy external fix (the problem starts and ends in my own head) I have decided to purchase an old manual typewriter as a way to encourage writing first, editing later. My instincts will be inked and I will have to press the keys forcefully, with conviction.

Thoughts like these have recently altered my conceptions of quality and patience.

It took way to long to write this.

The Egg

A story by Jack Sharp

Found through You Might Find Yourself

I would not call myself a very religious person at all, and I don't believe that this is actually what happens, but it's a nice thought and definitely has something nice for everyone to take away from reading this piece. I hope you enjoy it for what it is.

________________________________________________

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off. Trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words.

“There was a…a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup.” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies.” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked.

“Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup.” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said. “What about them? Will they be alright?”

“That what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure. More of a grammar school teacher then the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way.

They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah, so the Hindus were right.”

“All the religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.” You followed along as we strolled in the void.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So whats the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic then you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part or yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been a human for the last 34 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of you immense consciousness. If we hung out here for longer, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You pondered.

“Oh sure!” I explained. “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there’s others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there but you honestly wont understand.”

“Oh.” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own time span you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question.” you persisted.

I looked in your eyes. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No. Just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you. And me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now your getting it.” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too.” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” you said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “You were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa.” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said. “It’s just…”

“An egg of sorts.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way

____________________

Rejoice!

I am very joyful person and I explain it as it is a gift from God. People keep asking me how can I be so happy and joyful in every situation? Even in bad situation where it seems that there is no way out of it?

Sometimes I really do not how to explain people, but my heart wants to share with others what I have and what I feel.

So I just want to write few suggestions, for those who wants to be joyful and to really feel it. One question that each one of us can ask ourselves would be:" What does life have in store for you?"

A world full of possibilites and God's promise of peace and joy. So as you embark upon the next phase of your journey, remember to celebrate the life God has given you.
Honor Him with your prayers, your words, your deeds and your JOY.

Henri Nouwmen - " The spiritual life is a life beyond moods. It is a life in which we CHOOSE JOY and do not allow ourselves to become victims of passing feelings of happiness or depression. "

Nothing else to fear

I have started reading a book called "Nothing else to fear!" The reason why I have started reading it, is because all of a sudden I got this strange feeling inside of me how I am going to die soon and I started imagining different accidents. I know it sounds strange and scary, but I knew it is nothing possitive to have in your mind. So as I read this book, I am so encouraged.

It is amazing how we can find answer and encouragemet simply from reading a book. What I found really helpful was that we should only fear Him (God) and then we will have nothing else to fear!

So I do not know have you ever felt like I had, but I know that all of us have some kind of fears. So I would like to encourage you to trust God, because He has a purpose for your life and He loves you so much. He didn't give us fear but He gave us a spirit of faith.

Faith and fear are oppose one another, and for faith to overcome fear we need to know more of the One in whom our faith is placed.

Encouraging verses from the Bible:
Romans 8:31
Proverbs 14:26
Proverbs 1:7
Psalm 34:1-4, 7-9

A Hike for a Mountain

Today I scrambled up a rocky meadow
I felt my heartbeat rapid
I felt the sweatsoak through
Was it the altitude, kid?
Or was it my climbing view

Freud and the Void

So I generally think that Freud is shit, but when it comes to dreams I can’t deny the truth of his psychoanalytical ideas. It hit me in one of those 4 AM epiphanies when finally, after being disturbed for some indefinite period of time, my body finally elicited a physical response to the dream, or perhaps nightmare, I had been having: I woke with a start, glazed in cold sweat, and laid for a few moments staring at the ceiling, trying to recall yet at the same time erase what I had just seen. I had wandered through a wasteland of blackened trees and oil-slicked ponds rank with the stench of decay. In between these physical landmarks there were dilapidated houses, some burning, some sliding down the muddy banks into the darkened bodies of water. In each of the houses were women, men, children, all resolutely refusing to leave. I ran to one house where a woman was standing in a window with her little boy while around them flames raged and pieces of the house blew off in fiery torrents. “Run out!” I screamed. “I can save you!” but she just stared back at me expressionlessly until finally I was forced to turn away in horror as they burned. I ran to another house that was folding upon itself, half submerged in one of the deathly bodies of water. There a woman was clinging to her porch railing as the house was steadily sucked down. I ran over and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her to safety, but the hold just dragged me along with her towards certain death. “What are you doing? You still have a chance!” I yelled, but I was not heeded. At the last moment I pulled my arm away and she sank into the abyss before my eyes. I continued to run among the houses, mad with grief as I saw all of the occupants fatalistically refusing to relinquish their positions. Finally I realized that I couldn’t save any of them unless they let me. There was nothing more I could do.

At that moment at 4 AM, I realized how this metaphor related to my own life beyond the world of my dreams. It is honestly the first time that my dreams have had a clear meaning in the Freudian sense of the dreamworld, but I know the meaning with such clarity as cannot be doubted. There is nothing I can do to help him, as much as it kills me to know it. He must make the choice to run from the fire, to save himself from falling into the void. I can’t do that for him; I never can. Last night made me realize that we can never separate dreams from life, they are intrinsically bound together in ways that are sometimes made manifest, yet oftentimes not. If we listen long enough our dreams will speak to us, revealing truths about lives we never knew.