margaritas

I was going through my phone notes and found this entitled “Tipsy Rambling 04.10.20”:

There are things that I make that have a lot of hidden meaning and there are things that I make that you could just take for surface value and there are things that I make that could really go either way and because it’s art, it really is up to you and not up to me, to find meaning and value in it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?  There are things that humans tend to find innately beautiful and things we tend to find innately disgusting. But it can also be said that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. So is everything to some degree subjective? There are things that science agrees upon, as if science itself is a God and the maker and keeper of truth. And there are things that “science has agreed upon” that have been disproven. There are things that we thought we knew and believed, things we live by and fought for and died for. And some of those same things we now relegate to fairy tales and fiction books. So really who is to say what is true what is meaningful what is worthwhile what is right? Does it make you happy? Does it calm you down? Does it make you want to get out of the bed in the morning? Does it make life worth living? If yes, then does it matter if it is good or true based on the standards of the world? Everyone else can find something to be useless and ugly, but if you can see life and purpose, well then by god, perhaps that’s the reason that you’re here, the reason that you have been given life, the reason you are different than the person beside you. Every one of us has a different story, different things resonate with us. Different things repel us. Different things terrify us. And isn’t that fucking incredible?? We are all so unique, so different, so individual. Yet at the same time there are so many things that bind us, connect us. There are so many overlaps and similar stories. Nobody is ever alone, yet somehow we are all alone always. Being humans is crazy, it’s beautiful, it’s scary, it’s hard, and it’s better with margaritas. You still reading kiddo? Because this is just the ramblings of a 26 year old stuck in quarantine so you might as well give it up now, but thanks for playing! Love you all, here’s some art (if you can call it that.)

m y s e l f

I am feeling anxious, uncomfortable, unsettled, off.  And I can’t put my finger on why, or even really how. It’s like something has changed, shifted.
Or maybe it’s that nothing has really changed and that’s what I’m feeling.  Stuck, trapped, cornered, wary.  Not trusting myself, not trusting others.  Not trusting my own experiences.  Not trusting my ability to discern what is good for me.  Not trusting myself to take care of me, to stand up for me, to have my best interests in mind.
Or maybe it’s all of the gluten recently.
Or the loose ends.
The unsent email.
The crickets sneaking around my living room.
The nightmares to come.
The insecurities of old.
The relentless voices, the thoughts, the music, the screens.
The things and things and things.

Breathe.

How is it that I forget that?  How is it that I can forget an essential and automatic function? How am I so disconnected from my body?  How did I come to live so fully in my mind?

How do I learn to trust the journey? To enjoy the process?  How do I dig into things instead of running away? How do I ground myself in something that isn’t constantly shifting?  How do I find stability?

How can I trust myself when I betray myself again and again?  How do I heal from the wounds that define me?  Who am I without them?  How do I protect myself without being cynical and hardened?  How do I let people in without letting them destroy me?

How do I learn the things nobody has ever taught me?  How do I find the courage to do it all again and again and again? How do I believe that it’s worth it?

How do I find myself? Amidst everyone else, amidst the shoulds and the expectations, amidst the habits? How do I know what she likes, what she dreams, what she feels? How do I get her to know her when she keeps disappearing every time other people are around?  How will I recognize Myself?

Will I know her when I find her?

Breakdowns

I don’t know where they come from.  I haven’t figured out what triggers them.  Maybe it’s hormones.  Maybe it’s the weather.  Maybe it’s the food I am eating, the amount of time I’m spending with other people, the skipping of a yoga session, the waking up to a phone full of things that need tending to.  Maybe it’s the weird dreams or the social media comparison game. All I know is that I hate them.

They are why, for a long time, I stopped admitting to having good days. Or saying that “I’m enjoying this season” or “feeling so healthy.”  Because then when the hard days or moments inevitably hit again, I feel naïve, I feel like I lied. Or jinxed it.  Of course, nobody thinks that just because I am doing well in the moment, that I will not struggle any more.  Only I expect that of myself.  And then only I am shocked when another wave of anxiety-sadness-existential crisis washes over me.  Nobody thinks that my words are carved in stone, that everything I say is unchangeable, accurate, timeless. Only I expect that of myself.

“Yesterday you said how much you had grown, how much you were enjoying this season, how grateful you are for the ability to pursue your own artistic endeavors.  And now today you are crying because you feel directionless and unable to cope with your emotions. How fickle. How unstable.  What a liar.”

And the spiral begins.

I know I have grown.  I know I have coping mechanisms that I didn’t have four, three, or even two years ago.  I know these emotions are temporary (even when they don’t feel that way… when it feels like I will forever be in a cycle of normalcy-depression-breakdown-normalcy-hope-depression-breakdown…) But mind knowledge and heart knowledge are two completely different things.  And in the hard moments, my heart is so much more persuasive than my mind.

Sometimes I just need a good cry. To let the toddler in me throw a tantrum and wear herself out so that when she takes a nap, my adult self can actually get shit done.  But then if my teenage self is still awake and feeling angsty, there is still another hurdle to climb.

The conversation of the day is going something like this:

Adult self: What are we going to do today? What needs to get done? What goals are we trying to accomplish?

Teenage self: Does it matter? None of the things we did yesterday made any difference.

Adult self: Of course it matters! We have bills to pay, a household to run.  We need to be functioning members of society.  Adding value to the world.

Teenager: And you think we’re doing that by making dumb illustrations and shopping guides? Self published children’s books purchased by a handful of people?  Planting basil and rosemary on the windowsill?

Adult: Our impact doesn’t have to equal that of bestselling writers, celebrities, and activists.  Why can’t you be content with more modest goals? Plus, none of those people making big impacts got to that point in a day!  They had to build up to it.  Work for it.

Teenager: Okay sure, but what are we even working towards?  You’ve just been running around like a chicken with your head cut off trying to ‘produce content’ but what is that really doing?  Are you even having a small impact?  Are you bringing in enough to pay the bills? Are you happy?

Adult: …

Teenager: See! You don’t know what you’re doing either! You just pretend to, so that we think everything is under control! So we don’t freak out and just keep mindlessly chugging along.

Adult:  Well, maybe we need an entrepreneurship class or to reevaluate our business plan.

Teenager: We reevaluate our business plan every other day!  We’re losing the little credibility we have every time we say, ‘we’re revamping/rebranding/moving in a new direction.’

A: Well, maybe we need to find worth an purpose outside of our ‘day job.’ Let’s start volunteering or…

T: Volunteering doesn’t pay the bills!

A: Why does every conversation come back to money??

T: Because you’re always harping on making a living and paying the bills and being a functional member of society and retirement and saving for a house and future children and—

A: Okay, yes, money matters. But it isn’t everything!  There’s friendship and caring for the environment and creating beautiful things—

T: “Beautiful” things for people to consume, adding to the consumer culture that we so desperately despise, and destroying the environment that we claim to care about.

A: Well maybe we need to go work for an environmental agency then!

T: We have no skills pertaining to that.  We have a degree in architecture and design, remember. And not the type of design that lends well to infographics and marketing.

A: Well, maybe if you spent some time learning those things and actually committed to something for once…

T: This conversation is getting out of hand.

A: I wish I could write for a living.

T: See!! Neither of us know what we want or what we are doing…

A: Let’s go for a walk.

T: It’s like 18 degrees outside.

A: Indoor yoga then.

T: Fine.  …But that’s not going to make us any money.

A: But we’ll have toned thighs.

T: Ah, yes. Finally the meaning of life.

. . . t i m e . . .

Time is minutes, seconds, hours, days.

Time is duration.

Time is movement, time is change.

Time is the beating of my heart, the pulsing of blood through my veins.

Time is scars, wounds, scabs.

Time is mechanical, time is fluid.

Time is bodily.

Time is a subjective experience.  Time is an objective reality.

Time is measurable, quantifiable.

Time is incomprehensible.

Time is the rotation of the earth, the movement of the planets.

Time is the changing of the leaves, the wrinkles in skin.

Time is the holes worn in clothing, the decay of buildings.

Time is the space between moments.

Time is the fourth dimension.

Time is long and short.

Time is waiting, time is living, time is breathing.

Time is eternal. Time is temporary.

Time is t; time is a variable.

Tim e is the ticking of a clock.

Time is a human construct.

Time is a social agreement.

Time is cyclical. Time is linear.

Time is regret, hindsight, planning, anxiety, remembering, forgetting.

Time is felt.

Time is overlay, layering, building, destroying.

Time is a canvas.  Time is a stage.

Time is a song with many tempos.

Time is an abyss.

Time is energy. Time is chaos.

Time is god.

Self-talk

How do you talk to your inner child?
Do you treat him/her like you would treat someone you love?
What lies do you tell yourself?

this > that > the other thing

One of the things that most frustrates me about myself, and humanity at large, is our seemingly constant and often rash judgements (of situations, people, actions, ideas, beliefs). Sure, there are some things that most people will agree are bad… murder, rape, racism.  And I don’t disagree. But too many judgements are made based on ignorance, misunderstanding, a cultural norm, or excessive pride. So many people have been hurt in the name of “goodness”… But if it causes that much hurt, how good can it actually be?

Example:

When you think of the words ‘witchcraft’ or ‘wiccan’ what comes to mind?

Some people would say spells, potions, magic, evil, or Satan.  But where have you gotten these ideas from?  Do you know if they are accurate? Have you researched these things for yourself before making a judgment about them?

I use this example particularly because of my own experience.  Being raised in the Christian tradition, the primary information I had about witches, wiccans, and paganism was incredibly biased and vague. In general the sense that I got was that these practices were evil, dangerous, and from the devil. However, I recently was doing some of my own research (all the while feeling embarrassed for my curiosity, ashamed for my interest, and fearful of judgment if my husband, family, church members, or peers found out.)  But the things that I found were so incredibly different from what I expected.  Take this YouTube video for example (skip to 2:55 for the start of the list):

All this isn’t to say that I am now a practicing Wiccan or anything… it’s just showing a pretty stark example of my assumptions having been based on the views of other people/institutions.  How many of my other beliefs and assumptions have I just absorbed and integrated into my life without checking their validity?

Another example along the same vein is the practice of tarot card readings.  Have you ever participated in a tarot card reading?  Do you simply view them as erroneous attempts at “fortune telling”? Consider these quotes:

“Tarot cards do not tell the future; rather, tarot is a tool for spiritual guidance and enables the person receiving the reading to connect to his or her inner wisdom,” she told INSIDER. “Tarot readings help a person understand what he or she needs to know about a particular situation. Decks are best used as a tool of inner wisdom and guidance, as readings give a person insight to past, current and future events based on the person’s current path at the time of the reading. The cards do not necessarily reveal what will happen, but instead, allow a person to gain an understanding of a situation and determine the best course of action based on what is known and what the cards show.”  (source, emphasis added)

---

“Tarot is a divination method. It’s like a tool for your intuition; it doesn’t just say something on its own. It just helps you reframe a problem and see it from a new perspective.” (@1:56)

---

“Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, the meaning of divination cards changes over time, shaped by each era’s culture and the needs of individual users.” (source)

So based on these definitions, saying that tarot cards are dangerous is about the same as saying that listening to one’s own intuition and insight is dangerous.

---

So What?

So, let’s take another specific example: I hate when I see my own tendency to judge and yet I never feel better when I judge myself for how judgmental I am being.  In fact, even as I write this I am making a judgement. I am saying that one way of interacting with the world and people around me is better than another way. (An open-minded, intentional, grace-filled approach toward the world is, in my opinion, inherently better than a close-minded, rash, judgmental approach.)

And yet I am open to the idea that I may be wrong in this… and I would love to have a calm respectful conversation about it with anyone who is willing.

And I guess that’s my point.  At the end of the day, I think most of this comes down to a difference in values.  Something that is not going to be easily “fixed” or reconciled.  Something that takes time, honesty, and a willingness to journey into the uncomfortable.

Perhaps more empathy can be gained by thinking about the situation in terms of personal values:  If one person’s highest values are authenticity and personal freedom they are going to deem different things and ways of being as ‘good.’  (For example, freedom of speech, regardless of its potential impact on others.)  If someone else values interpersonal harmony above all else, they will be more likely to desire restrictions to personal freedom for the sake of getting along. Others may value commitment, patriotism, sacrifice, equality, efficiency, etc. And all of these impact their views of what is right, good, and desirable.  (Another post I wrote about a similar topic of ‘what is classified as a good reason?’ can be found here.)  Not to mention that all of these things are parts of a greater system running… You don’t just come out of the womb with these values.  There are so many things at play in every situation, that have brought us to where we are in this moment.  If you really understood all of those factors (from inborn temperament to family structure to childhood experiences to past relationships (see articles/books/podcasts on systems thinking for more info)) do you think there would still be room for judgment?  Or would we all be able to give each other (and ourselves) a little more grace?

And the thing is, I don’t see what harm could possibly come from this openness to conversation.  Especially given the fact that gentleness and acceptance and a desire to dig deeper don’t mean I am/you are necessarily condoning the behavior. What they do often point to is a preservation of humanity and a desire to understand. And it’s in these spaces of love, acceptance, grace, humility, and connection that we can move toward true goodness (whatever that may be).

---

Some Questions to Consider

🔸 What things are you judging because you don’t understand them? Or because they threaten your way of being? Or because someone else told you they are bad/wrong?

🔸Do you find yourself using the words ‘weird’ or ‘normal’?  What can that show you about the judgments you are making?

🔸What things in your life do you tend to feel judged about? Your way of parenting? Clothing choices? Career path? Aspects of your personality?

🔸Where are the spaces that you feel the least amount of judgment?  Are you cultivating those spaces in your own life and with the people around you?  

 

color & being

It was just an adjective.

Simple sounds
muffled amongst the layers of meaning
that wrap overlap and veil
Meant to convey
they confuse refusing to be as simple as they seem
Because we’ve imbued them all
Convoluted them all
And if they’re not in a dictionary yet, just you wait
And the words on the screen broken down
are just pixels perceived by your eyes
Any meaning perceived
all lies behind
where the lines are converted to sounds
wrapped around and around with meaning
A mean thing
created by the creatures determined to drown out the actual sounds and
Perhaps the magic of music is found
in the substance of sound without meaning,
sound just being

If I could only just be.

And feel

(The wind of the word
a i r
and the Teeth
(Are you feeling your Tongue Touch the Tip of your Teeth
and your breath breath breath)
the swish and the swash of the grass and
the buzz of the bugs
and the squish and the squash of the marsh
and the gal-lop gal-lop gal-lop)

When did sounds become words
and words become meaning
and meaning become so abstract
that I can’t even grasp what it is to mean.

Referential Existence

Words are so remarkably frustrating. They never fully encapsulate what I am trying to convey… the swirl of thoughts and logical strands, the elegant images and buzz of emotions tingling in my veins… they never flow out of my mouth, instead they tumble and crash like the waves on a beach trying to reach the dunes but failing because their shoes have been tied together and so they fall on their face and are dragged back to the sea of confused meaninglessness by the moon, which doesn’t even make any sense because the moon is so far away so how can its influence reach us.  These things, these letters and words are so limiting so constraining so endless so infinite so definable so utterly incomprehensible…

I took a poetry class in my final year of college.  I sat in a desk,
watching our professor try to pull the strands
just enough to let the light come through the impressions painted with pens,
just enough to get a glimpse of the supple curves and delicate skin,
without shedding the fullness of the harsh light that would shatter the seduction.
Just enough to convince us that we are not alone in our aloneness,
that others, too, are thwarted in their attempted sharing of the solitary oneness of self,
looking to the tilted mirrors of those around them, disappointed.¹
Yes, and²
That others, too, recognize words as an elegy to what they signify,³
wavering between being and loss, awash in an incommunicable sea of existing.
That others, too, have sensed the strangeness of holding an unusable, yet somehow beautiful, broken tile of memory ⁴ in hand with a gentle wondering of what to do
that others, too, feel themselves at the center of a powerful and baffled will,⁵
Yes, and that others, too, are desperately avoiding erasure⁶
Aware of oblivion’s inevitability⁷
And the feeling or fact that
what has been done will be done again
and that there is nothing new under the sun⁸
And that originality is a myth
And that why is ultimately unanswerable

And so,

Vladimir:             What do we do now?
Estragon:             Wait.
Vladimir:             Yes, but while waiting.⁹

 

---

¹ Hass, Robert. “The Apple Trees at Olema.” The Apple Trees at Olema. Harper Collins, 2010.
² Rankine, Claudia. Citizen: An American Lyric. Graywolf Press, 2014.
³ Hass, Robert. “Meditation at Lagunitas.” The Apple Trees at Olema. Harper Collins, 2010.
⁴ Hass, Robert. “Novella.” The Apple Trees at Olema. Harper Collins, 2010.
⁵ Hass, Robert. “Misery and Splendor.” The Apple Trees at Olema. Harper Collins, 2010.
⁶ See footnote 2.
⁷ Reference to John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars
⁸ Ecclesiastes 1:9
⁹ Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. Grove Press, 1954.

Systems Thinking // effects of effects

The innumerous nodes of the system shift infinitely, are shifting. In spite of their untangleable entanglement we, perhaps unconsciously, persevere in our belief, our obsession with one directional cause and effect. But the cause of the causes of effects were (a/e)ffected by other causes in the same way infinitely unless there was one first cause, which isn’t that the big mystery, so please no more reductions of the irreducible and solutions to the insolvable. We and me and you.
Let’s revel in the complexity, our understanding complete in its incompleteness.
But I preach

To her
Because she has an undying obsession with answers. Trust me, we know. We tried.
Dying that is. That year. that year is the one that haunts, that demands, that is eternally unentangled. Because him and him and her and them make too many trails to follow; they loop and swerve and intertwine like necklaces thrown in a bag and left for years because that was all an act and the curtain was drawn and the scene changed and now even if she wanted to separate them she couldn’t.
But she does want to separate those chains of days, to complete the autopsy, for what died was her hope and perhaps the black box of her heart could hint at the happenings causing the crash. She may not be able to reconstruct but perhaps she could aid someone else’s avoidance.

But time disperses all nodes which feels more like the continual ripping of stitches rather than the healing of wounds. And she awakes again from the dream of a memory of an idea, who was once flesh. But her reinvigorated desire to detangle is thwarted by the dispersion.
And so platitudes fill her, pumped by the society obsessed with succintness. Forgive and forget to keep calm and carry the dark days tucked away where nobody can see them because they’re over now, over your head, that is. Today is a new day, because we say so even though all the days are the same spinning spherical ballet connected only by the thin strand of memory and the untangleable web of effects of effects of effects of effects of effects…