Eh, Uh, Uhg: An Assemblage of Starts Because I Just Feel a Need to Publish Something

This space is a chamber,
adorned with silence, solitude.
For extraction from being,
into the mind we fall.
Focus, now, our eyes open;
the floor moves.
So focused on elimination we did not see.
We sat on the living,
breathing
bodies of the ones that carry
and
we fall.

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

Cease fire, plain sire,
the acoustics are unnerving.


Once swayed by the wind, she now sinks deep in the sands of comfort. Soft, warm, they suck her down moment by mindless moment. Focused on the possibility of losses rather than the inevitability of gains, fear erupts as torment no longer distracts. She stands within forever, watching it collapse.

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

Shit fuck potato mister miser.

Bring on the rain.
Bring on the dust that rises
like sun lit fog.
But you did it
with your kicks
to my shins,
fucker.

There was a dick that hit my face once.
He cackled.
And you ask why I run off,
into the distance?

First it's warm.
But just for a second.
My fingers freeze as you turn away,
your flesh turned cold
just as I began to unzip
and take a brick from my wall.

These young men
who think they know love
better than I.
Act as though adherence to the task
destroys the thing itself.

But I love you, but I love you!
The words froth forth from me and I cannot apologize
for such vomit in your ear. All I see are rose petals.
Your fears are not my own,
so let me be.
I will jump in headfirst
and you can't stop me.

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

On being a manic pixie dream girl:

I'm not a princess. I can take care of myself. I don't need to be put on a pedestal or have my every wish granted. Yeah, the world is gunna make me sad sometimes, and yeah, you are going to make me sad sometimes but that's just the way the world is! Don't deny me the world. I've learned to rely on the wholeness of things, the dualities of life and in treating me like a story book character, you stick me on a 2D page. But I am so much more and, sooner or later, I will reject what you do to me.

I am not your anything. I am me. And if you try to harness me I will run from you.

A Poem for the New World Order: Choppy, Like the Waters We Just Dove Into

Who shall admire the brilliant red trunks of the Madrones,
smooth as the soft new flesh of life,
wrapped in sun-warmed air?
The convergence of the senses–
perception–
lost in a moment,
with one flick of the wrist,
the swift crack of a bullet to the temple of a lifetime.

Who will spread the bird's humble song
cross continents, languages,
space and time;
extolling and sharing the beauty?

I will not bow to cynics
who find solace in the knowledge that it is all for naught.
If you scream love you must believe it.
Not for a while or for a few,
but forever and for all.
I cherish this body that enables life and encompasses soul!
And so, as the only truth I know,
I must cherish you, too.

My heart sits in your chest.
I listen to the beat and recognize my own.
Who gave us this blood?
Who gives us this drum?

I believe it was our mother.

She gave me life, born and bred from the depths of her oceans,
nursed on rain from her skies.
But here,
I present her no lanyard of gratitude.

Wrenching rock-flesh from her belly, I dive into her core,
searching for sustenance to fuel not my life, but my habits.
Mother does not scream.
She weeps acid.

Billy Collins captured her words:
"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered."
And here (I replied), I lay my follies at your feet:
I covered myself in oil and set myself aflame.
My heartbeats weaken, my legs collapse.
My bones whittle to dust and my teeth crack.
My eyes remain wide as the smoke rescinds,
revealing the world I misread.
But with no water to drink,
and no mother to heal,
my last good day ends
and the world goes blind.

I can't convince you to see.
I can't convince you to care.
So I will love while the ship is sinking,
grieve while I still hold life in my palm.
Watching it seep through trembling fingers is the final gift given.
And so, I will stand strong.



Written from the depths of a remembered and ongoing grief:

Mom's Memorial reading: The Lanyard by Billy Collins from Kelly Zenn on Vimeo.

Yesterday Carries Tomorrow

I've never felt true shame about who I was until I found this place. Every facet of my being feels wrong... hollow... obsolete?

Interesting how I felt those little negative thoughts begin to nest in my heart and yet still could do nothing to stop them.

Here, I feel crazy, weak. For here, if you have all you need why would you complain?

My skin is paper thin. Please teach it how to grow.

I want to cease this nonsense.

Excerpt from Tulips by: Sylvia Plath

"I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free -

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

Before they came the air was calm enough,

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health."

Undiluted... For Time We Never Have

I consumed three pieces of information this evening, each separately spurring deep emotional responses, and when it all came together I went into overdrive. It is 2 am. I don't have time to refine these thoughts any more (school is frustratingly restricting while also being necessary to the depth of my understanding). And because I want you to engage with them I decided to just let the whole thing loose. Don't expect cohesion. I am endlessly frustrated with how my words fall short, by miles. This is why I have reiterated my thoughts multiple ways (ah, a glimpse into my writing process).
 But perhaps you will process and create sharper words to share. This is my hope.

First Piece of Information
"America's farmer's had long been making political trouble for Wall Street and Washington; in the words of historian Walter Karp, 'since the Civil War at least, the most unruly, the most independent, the most republican of American citizens have been the small farmers.' Beginning with the populist revolt of the 1890s, farmers had made common cause with the labor movement, working together to check the power of corporations. Rising agricultural productivity [due to synthetic nitrogen fertilizers] handed a golden opportunity to the farmers' traditional adversaries. Since a smaller number of farmers could now feed America, the moment had come to 'rationalize' agriculture by letting the market force prices down and farmers off the land. So Wall Street and Washington sought changes in farm policies that would loose "a plague of cheap corn" on the nation, the effects of which are all around us–indeed in us."
–"The Omnivore's Dilemma," Micheal Pollan


... This quote, though, is the straw on the camel's back. It lays bare just how deep the meddling hands of the profiteers can reach, ripping the farmer from their land and replacing them with technology that rapes the land of its life-giving properties resulting in a complete dependence on a product that, financially, benefits the 1%.

Farming was necessarily unable to be hooked up to the capitalist system, for farming relies on various other natural forces for its survival. Therefore farmer's could represent interests more/less outside the capitalist structure. But those who profit found a way to plug it in and destroy the farmers in one fell swoop.

----

Second Piece of Information


Since when did we become so unrelentingly polarized that trying to find the "others'" truth is an unforgivable crime in the public's eye?

When attempting to navigate the undeniable fact of multiple opposing truths, how does one move forward?

Is maintaining ignorance of other peoples' truths, therefore bolstering your own convictions, necessary to getting things done in a timely manner? To what detriment?

How has it come to be that society moves so fast that listening is a waste of time? We need time to be careful (full of care) when approaching our (humanity's and the Earth's) future and yet we seem to have cornered ourselves into a space where there is practically no time at all. What do we do now?

----

Third Piece of Information



... We should mourn because sentimentality is what allows us to be affected. If we cannot be affected we experience nothing. Yet sentimentality has been vilified, defined as a form of weakness and cast out of societies' repertoire for tenacity.

What is that word? Weakness. Why are we so afraid of being weak? What does it mean to be weak? What detriment does being weak create for the individual, for society?

----

We humans have a population that exceeds the natural law of a carrying capacity. Our species' incredible ability to overcome that law must not be celebrated without a reminder of its cost. Our dependence on an ever-dwindling energy source now inextricably linked to our dependence on a system based on exploitation and oppression will destroy our descendants' future.

Is it too late? Are we doomed to rely on technology for our survival? Technology is not beautiful when it is our only choice... a 2D solution to our having destroyed the unfathomably intricate processes of life that sustained us. What is the point of human life if we can consolidate our entire existence into a few singular solutions?

I will not worship the drones that replace our bees. The drones did not kill the bees, they are the solution to the bees being killed. But if we did not have a solution to the bees being killed, would we have killed the bees? If we did not trust our own adaptability, our technological solutions, would we kill the coral reef? If we prioritized our connection to the Earth, would we seek solutions that move us ever farther from needing her?

My God is the intricate chaos that creates the ebb and flow of our universe. You can see it if you look closely at our cells, at our genetics, at the base of all life. For the first time I am realizing that we may have streamlined our lives to such an extent that we have removed ourselves from my God.

The bee is born of that intricate chaos and is connected to very many other forces than just the making of honey through pollination. The bee is beautiful. Each individual bee is unique. Within that diversity lies innumerable possibilities. That diversity is where beauty is born.

The drone is born of human's minute understanding of the forces of that intricate chaos that perpetuates life and is therefore connected only to our tiny thread of knowledge about the elaborate relationship between pollination and life. Each drone is identical. The possibilities of the drone end with its function. The drone will not evolve with its environment. It is not connected to the web of life, it has a singular strand that connects and depends on us. I do not view this as beautiful.

Perhaps it is time to cease our celebration for the solutions we devise and acknowledge that often these solutions arise from a problem we hastily and blindly created. Perhaps we should mourn.

We should mourn because we are limiting the possibilities of our future as it relates to our Earth's. If we remove diversity from our lives we disrupt and potentially destroy the possibility for evolution–one of the many results of that intricate chaos.

We should mourn because true beauty cannot be replicated as it is within variation that beauty is grown.

We should mourn because our free will is dwindling. We are plugged into a system others created for profit. If our farmer's are no longer feeding us then it must be a machine. That machine runs on profit, at any non-monetary expense.

We should mourn because no one seems to be listening.

Just Another Feminist Rant

While I recognize that there are other very important social justice demands that deserve attention, this particular piece arises from my personal struggles as a cis, white, middle-class woman and focuses on the singular issue of women's rights. If for any reason you believe I have unduly ignored the intersectionality of sexism and any other oppressive institutions, please feel free to express that to me in a clear manner in the comments or through email. 

This labor day weekend I visited a couple of wonderful old friends in DC and while I had a great time, entering city life also provided an unsettling look through the magnifying glass at humanity. Over the course of less-than four days I was catcalled and ridiculed, approached and reprimanded all by men I had never met. A man blocked my way in a liquor store simply because I refused to answer "how's your day going, honey?" At a bar many men attempted to compliment(?) me by gluing their penis to my butt without my even seeing them as I danced. A man walking past on the street mumbled, "girls look good enough to eat" while my friend and I walked along a crowded Chinatown street mid-day. I caught a man on the Metro clandestinely capturing images of me and other women on the train with his camera phone presumably for his future use. And even when not directly approached, the leers were uncountable, occurring perhaps most viciously in the seemingly safe establishment that is the grocery store. 

Over the years I have worked hard to maintain my girlish delight that allows me to continually play with the world that surrounds me. I cherish that part of me. But during these four days I had to sink deeper inside myself in order to avoid the psychological torment of the male gaze while ironically feeling safest in the presence of other men I trusted. I lost my quirk. I didn't want them to look at the child inside of me that way. I needed to hide her to protect her.

Then I re-entered the world of my nieces, these three young, silly, wonderful girls who will soon enter puberty and they, too, may learn that in order to protect themselves they'll have to hide from the world, make themselves smaller, disappear into self-hatred. And why?

Our world hates women. Our world tells us this both subliminally through unachievable beauty standards set alongside a narrative that our beauty is our most important asset; as well as outright, through songs declaring, "I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one," or, most glaringly, cases of sexual assault that are blamed on the victim. And yet as our girls grow into women, the best answer we can come up with for why they self-destruct–with eating disorders, self-mutilation, or the like–is hormones? Further yet, as we mature out of puberty and deal daily with our tumultuous relationship with this world that hates us, we are still dismissed as "crazy or emotional"? 

As a woman who fights for the girl inside myself and the girls I love in this world, I ask why? Why do you hate us so? Why do you love our bodies but not our beings? And why do you refuse to acknowledge the hatred?

I can't stand the debate any longer: the fighting simply to prove that something isn't right when those pubescent girls are screaming that everything is wrong in any way they can. When a woman on the beach is undressed by police officers against her will and people nod their heads and say, yes, I agree, undress her, how is it unclear? 

Just look at your daughters and feel the overwhelming love you have for them. Know it will never be enough to combat the insurmountable hatred the world at large feels toward women in general. They will not make it through unscathed, they will be battered even if they're strong. Unless you fucking fight with them to change the game and listen to them in order to learn how to make the world love them, too. And yes, I am speaking to all men (and women).

I'll even give you a hint on where to start: remove the phrase "who cares" from your vocabulary.

July

We're fragmenting,
A statue, once whole, now blows to dust in the wind and the rain.
What remains?
The pieces others hold.
Crumbling to bits around lovers' fingers;
they're keeping safe the parts they've always known.
The parts they need.
Regrowth cannot occur while they remain there, saving.
We must chop off their arms.

Oh, summer wind, breathe your faith of life into me.

As a toast to the closing of this chapter, I have decided to begin posting my many jumbled, unedited pieces that I've written and hoarded during the past year. I learned long ago to stop imagining the future, so it's an understatement to say I could have never imagined how this year of my life would turn out. There is pain and there is joy and there is oh so much growth.

August!

20, 2016

The unrelenting onslaught of water's power removes the rocks' rough edges, revealing a sleek, smooth surface. Many may call this true beauty- but it is the rock's only defense. Relent, become soft, and the water will move more quickly over your surface. The walls we put up to defend ourselves are not always rough-hewn. For many, they are the soft edges of our character--letting all things pass over us with as little resistance as is possible.



6, 2016

A child's grief extends outwards, as they have not yet been taught to turn inwards.
An adult's grief is limited by the skin; having forgotten how to unabashedly bare his soul, the fire in an adult's grieving eyes slowly ebbs and flows.
In the realm between child and adult, when we know the world cannot bare our sorrows and yet we have not yet learned how to keep that fire locked in our eyes, grief implodes within, creating a shockwave to those surrounding us. Our whole world is grief, and yet there is no space for such as we walk along the remains of our long lives.
So, we tear out a space, with claws or teeth–not because we are needy or are using our grief for attention. It is survival.
Locked in a cage of smiles, we break our bones on the bars and lay there bloody, hoping someone will notice and release us (into a world where everything is not okay).

Universal Morality, an Ethnocentric Theory?

This mini essay is a little rough. I wrote it in a spurt last night as it just sort of came out of me like vomit (the majority of my writing comes to me that way). Anyway, it has since been sparsely edited and is simply some food for thought. This particular chain of thought was spurred by a short debate I had about universal morality based around a specific example of violence against women in other cultures. Mt stance as feminist may take a hit from this, but I'm always willing to calmly discuss other points of view. I know it's a tricky topic.

I believe that we have no ground to stand on when judging the moralities of other cultures. Am I against the stoning of women? Yes, of course. But that arises from my own world, my own beliefs and my own culture. Judging the stoning of women in other cultures from this point of view does nothing but reassure my sense of personal "goodness". If, say, I wanted to eradicate the stoning of women from a certain culture, I'd have to learn the how and why and for what. I'd have to learn the desire to stone or the acceptance of such a fate in order to eradicate the action. To do any less would simply be attacking a symptom, and just like a disease, you must kill its heart in order to stop it from spreading. The issue is that if you immediately label anything as morally wrong, you hinder your ability to create a space where you could conceive how it would be the right course of action. It is in this space that you learn the truth of what needs to be eradicated. And from where I'm standing, to say I am against the stoning of women is inconsequential and does nothing but close my mind and bolster my sense of moral righteousness. So I do believe that, when appraising the moral standards of other cultures, I have no ground upon which to stand. I cannot pick and choose what is right and wrong in the lives of those I know nothing about. I will help to bring less suffering and more joy to anyone, always, if a path to do so ever becomes apparent. But I will not lay my own moral framework upon another's culture and use it to build myself up. The trouble with, maybe everyone, but I can say, for sure, the educated westerners, is we think we've got it figured out. We still view ourselves as enlightened even when our own culture is flummoxed at itself. Perhaps we can still view ourselves this way because we're so good at pointing our fingers at some other group of us, saying, "it's not us that's fucked up, we know better. We know the way, but it's them who are stopping us and fucking everything up. The trumps, the Clintons, the racists, the NRA, the Christians, the conservatives... They're the fuckups" Or the opposite quote from a different camp, "... the liberals, the atheists, the Sanders..."
We love to prescribe pity, moral frameworks, and heroic guidance to cultures that we view as more troubled than our own. We believe we're doing a favor in these acts, but the simple notion of any of these prescriptions proves our self-aggrandizing stance. We believe it is our education that gives us this ability to see the true lines drawn between right and wrong. But it isn't. It's our nation's power and money that keeps us from falling into the pit with the rest, as many may see it. It is our western culture's history of domination that today gives us the ability to believe in a universal morality to judge the faltering nations of those we abuse(d). You may feel in your human heart the connection to the suffering in other cultures because suffering crosses through borders unchanged. Human suffering is universal. But the motives to cause suffering are bred by very particular environments and sequences of events. The motives are not universal. And just as a child of abuse is more likely to grow up to abuse, our dominion of control and greed raised and bred a world fraught with hatred. How asinine an abusive father would look calling his abusive son out for his heinous actions. Sure, I'd agree with him that the abuse is wrong, but my hope and respect for the abuser who judges his abusive son would plummet to a depth I do not wish to fathom. Hypocrisy adds a layer of evil to anyone. So in an effort to save face and soul, just rid yourself of your moral high ground. It does little but make you look a fool.

What is your stance? In your universal morality is it right for us to speak for the systematically oppressed?

I have been told that for further reading on the topic: "Can the Subaltern Speak?"–Gayatri Spivak

fuente de la juventud

When people ask me if I'm excited about Evergreen I never know how to answer.

I am, of course. It is my safety net... the portal that shoots me back into a realm where youthful chaos is so easily harnessed. That beautiful inconsistency of life keeps me not just awake, but alive.

I can't help but fear the day when I lose that safety net for good. I've learned I can't harness that chaos on my own; so when I fall back into the routine of nights that bleed into one another, with pints of ice cream slowly building on my small frame, is that where I stay? I cannot end up here. It's okay for now, but I swear this is not living.

So, yeah, I'm excited about heading back to college. But shaky and desperate as well, cuz I'm playing the last card I've got. I don't know what happens after.

A sentiment from a wise movie character: I've already gone to college, gotten married, divorced, had a baby and that baby is grown. So now what's left for me? What do I have to look forward to? Being a grandmother and then that's it. Then it's death, that's my next benchmark. Life moves unforgivingly fast.

I don't want my life to turn into benchmarks. Somehow it already has. I will be saved from it this time. But the next?

Outer Peace, Inner Turmoil

The tumult is over–
walking along for twenty years
on fraying tight rope.
I've made it to the other side
and the rope is broken, gone.
Now I must get down from the platform,
and fall from the clouds.
Never knew the joy of that fear
until there was nothing left to be afraid of.

In a twister, I was spinning,
wishing for peace,
waiting for calm.
In the end I was dropped where I began.
The birds now sing of calm air,
a gentle breeze rustles my hair.
The sunlight exposes
the damage.
I sit on the ruins of my house.
The foundation is all that's left.
I meditate on the peace I once wished for.
I feel it surround me.
I wish for something new.
I wait to spin again.

"Riptide" Ukulele Cover

Or watch it here!

Pick Me Up

Sometimes I feel as though I do nothing with my life. That I'm utterly lazy and my life is just a void.

This is to remind myself of my week:

Worked a full work week, even after a debilitating depression stole my weekend.

Went on two runs this week, so far.

Realized I was flexible... from stretching so much over the past month.

Was sick, then still went to work later that day when I felt better.

Fixed Ruby's headlight myself.

Ignore fuzzy finger!

Changed my own car's oil.

Harvested, processed, and packed mustard greens, kale, swiss chard, strawberries, lettuce, arugula, spinach, collard greens, radishes, bokchoi for the market I'm going to tomorrow (i.e. managed a farm).

Fed, ate, bathed, stayed alive myself--good job!

So, don't worry about it, okay?

Speak Candidly for All to Hear

Today, for the first time in my life, I got drunk.

Unfortunately, the circumstances were less than superb. I began drinking at 10 am because I had already been awake for two hours, lying in bed, wishing for the sweet relief of death, shaking and sobbing alone and [feeling] deserted. I decided that if I were to kill myself, I would quit my job so they did not worry when I didn't show up and then just drive nowhere, put a pillowcase over my head and shoot myself in the head. I clung to that image like a wet dream, allowing it to build angst within me. Angst at its mere existence and angst that it could not be, not now and likely not ever. But here, let me examine my thoughts:

[Sudden nihilism is a massive bummer. Where does the world go when you realize your reality was made of delusions to keep you going?]

Self-Pity: Nearly all of the pain I felt was due to self pity and the recognition of such made it worse. It's particularly annoying when you get stuck wanting to die, knowing that your only reason for angst is because you're lonely and life isn't living up to your expectations. You don't have any actual challenges... you're just stuck in your own dumb head. Amazingly, thinking this way doesn't help relieve the crushing feeling of self-loathing.

The Key: I kept picturing myself looking at other peoples' lives thinking "the only way to get yourself out of that hole you're in is if you pull yourself out, I can't do a damn thing to help you." So, of course, I know I have my own key. I am the only one who holds to the key to my freedom. Knowing this made my self-loathing EVEN worse because of course, all the blame is then on me and I'm the only one who can solve it. I know if I went outside or joined a frisbee team or ran around I could get out of the funk but the funk is self-hatred and it makes you feel like the only way to be true to yourself is to stay where you are. Plus, you simply can't comprehend interacting with the world in such ways. It sounds so simple, to get yourself out of it, but I promise it isn't easy.

Abandonment: I love people. I love people so much I try to own them, which isn't really a great quality. But they keep moving and I keep moving and eventually I realize I'm standing here alone. I can't call my tried and true loves over to me, they are on different continents, different time zones.... the lives we lead are no longer wrapped together and they might be at work when I'm having a "crisis," leaving me to suffer alone, feeling isolated and abandoned.

Reach Out: Yeah, okay. So, when you're literally at your worst you really REALLY don't feel like reaching out to people who haven't earned your trust in that way, and sometimes you don't even feel like reaching out to the ones who HAVE earned your trust. It doesn't help that you KNOW you are at your worst and most vulnerable and you don't want to be a burden to others. Who wants people around when they are at their worst? I mean, really. Not to mention, most of us have been burned by folks who recoil when we have "episodes" so it's hard to trust that people will just accept our neuroses.

The Dark: It is dark. It's very very dark. It feels like every day you don't want to be alive while simultaneously you can't stand not living life to the fullest. It is being constantly disappointed in yourself. For me, it's wondering where my despair comes from... is it grief? Is it loneliness? Is it perfectionism? Regardless, I end up not respecting myself for feeling such self-pity. I know my privileges, they are many, and my depression makes me feel even more like a loser for feeling bad living in a world where despair runs rampant and I am so fortunate.

The Mask: People probably wouldn't know I struggle with depression. They wouldn't know that I wake up every day feeling a sad realization that a new day has begun and I have to figure out how the fuck to deal with it. I'm generally a pretty up-beat person. I feel highs so fierce I'm sure I annoy some people I encounter. But with the highs come the lows and they are just as fierce. Sometimes when you are feeling low you pretend you aren't because it's easier for you to not have people worried all the time and easier on them to, because it isn't really their job to make sure you're okay. You never wanted that to be their job.


This isn't a cry for help. I cried for help earlier--not on the public world of the web. And now I am better. But I realize a fallout is imminent as that is simply how my family responds to my dark honesty. But despite my first ever drunken stupor, I'm doing okay. I have a blanket of wonderful people who allow me to be me, at all hours when I can reach them. I've made it through this one unscathed, so don't worry. Just rejoice.

But I post this for those who watch the flickering of the images of all those happy, successful lives and wonder why they are failing. You aren't failing, m'dear, you are living in a world made of varying energies and please know it's a blessing to delve into all of your vast emotions so fully. I'm trying to learn and teach that it is okay to not know anything for your whole life. Just experience the world, that is all we can do.

Everyone is talking about recovery. But I'm here to speak candidly about living the sorrows.

Depression is certainly not all I am. I do not exist within dichotomies and singular truths. But still I say, depression runs through my veins the same as my fierce joy about the worlds' infinity.

As I Stand Here, Waiting

Lay me bare, Keep me honest.

I stand here in front of you, naked. Flesh exposed but body still withholding dreams and fears and lies; truth and disguise. How do I begin the conversation of the brutality of life? If I splay my guts on the floor, still you will not see. How do I capture the invisible, untouchable truth of being human so as to present it to you? I want to hold it in my hand for you to see and touch, recoil, cry and begin again. Not that I hold the answers. I simply hold a sliver of the questions.

These words are all I have and I try so hard to enlighten with them. There is strength in the written word, my most powerful tool. But still, it all falls short. I must practice, endlessly, to touch you with my phrases.

Discuss with me, the truth of being human. Hold nothing back. Fire into oblivion and eventually we may light a fire that burns by the invisible energy of life. Some may call it love. I will call it capture.

...
(distill)

In case you do not understand, let me translate.

I don't want to stand here, alone, pondering the eternal intricacies of life. It makes me feel forgotten, unworthy... like I am spewing nonsense into a void and people stand around watching, scratching their heads wondering why I am so crazy.

I want to discuss life with everyone. But not the small talk of life. Not what you ate this morning or how your day was. I want to talk with you about the possibilities and how they are infinite. I want to go down rabbit holes of thought. I want to find temporary answers or truths and be validated by your reception and connection.  I want to create avenues with you. Avenues that we believe have never before been created.

I don't want answers or advice. I just want discussion.

...
(distill further)

Or... fuck, I think what I am saying is I am lonely and I'm having all these ideas and feelings and no one to bounce it off of. At least, no one who seems to want to engage with it as overwhelmingly as I. I guess that is the simplest way of saying what I mean.

Desire in/of/for motion, sweet one

Hello, Sweet Meat.

I'm standing on the precipice. Looking back makes me shudder, looking down is looking into the depths of my only next. What they tell you is a lie; it really is linear. Not the universe, but you. You can only create straight lines, a law of being human.
My inevitable fall will cause the cliff to rise between here and there--it is unstoppable. But standing here, at the edge of tomorrow, I know I can no longer walk the thin line of indecision. My fate is to follow the path as long as it leads, and then some. For what are we to do in life when our time moves interminably faster than our Earth's? The mountain cannot crawl forward at your speed. At some point you fall or you turn back. I vowed never to turn back the first day I felt freedom. So now, I'm looking for you.

The one who will push me so that I never have to blame myself for regret. You will lead me into my own future, telling me, "nothing is going to be alright. And that's okay."

It won't last, I know. As the impact will be disorienting enough that I will lose everything for awhile. The chaos will enter and all that I now hold will be dropped or shattered. But still...

I want your lips on my every particle to shake my soul, reminding my core of the forces from which it came--the Earth shattering, the cosmos erupting. Kiss me into submission, knowing I am born of an endless cycle of violent destruction. So don't fear it, little one.

I want you to leave me. I want you to run from me. I want you to know that forward is the only way to go. I want to feel like collapsing and push onward, after you, legs bursting with endless motion, feet curling into the ground, drawing up energy, like straws, from the Earth.

I want you to cut the ties of my balloons without asking and smile as I watch them rise away from me forever, cursing you with tears in my eyes, "they were all I ever had!"

You will spit in my face, calling me captor.

I want hot breath caressing my ear, whispering regrets and not caring. "I regret leaving her. I regret standing still. I regret trusting. I regret losing. I regret fucking. I regret that death. I regret the way I never said goodbye. I regret that I still try. I regret the motion of my emotions, how they never seem to be at the right place at the right time. But now I'm here, smelling the sweet fragrance of the residue on your hair, and none of that matters. Not because I love you. But because this is all there is and regret is just a fragment. Nothing you find will ever be whole long enough for our sweet, slow eyes to capture." You will tell me it is all part of the beauty, both for and because of.

Hyper speed, my dear. You know I'm entering the vortex from which I can never return. Load me like a slingshot, I'll never be ready so please, release me.


"Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends. "

-Shel Silverstein

The man in the Lobby/The Woman, Long Gone, in Glitter and Gloves to Dance or Fight.

There is a girl and she sits at the window of a fifth floor hotel room admiring the scene of a man in the lobby slowly playing a luxurious tune on his saxophone. She is transfixed–awash in appreciation. But of course, she only feels this peace due to her place in the world and the mother standing near. Now, her mother has gone and her place is lost; but a luxurious tune on a saxophone can, at least for a time, open the door to that same hotel room where her mother danced and the man played in the lobby.









---












Someone really must warn her not to spend her life as Gatsby did.

And The Adventures of... Depression?

Today at work I was practicing a Salmon in the Classroom presentation in which I used my hand to remember five salmon types. I looked down at my ring finger, which is used to remember silver salmon, as silver is often worn on that finger, and I noticed my mother's wedding ring. I then remembered that my mom was dead, somewhat suddenly, and began to cry until I heard the printer start up and immediately pretended to be on the phone so that the person who came to pick up their stuff wouldn't notice.

After work, in an effort to make my life less depressing, I found a meetup that looked pretty fun hosted at a brewery an hour away where you could choose between brews such as the campfire and peanut butter brew. I wrote a message to say I was new to the group, but was excited about coming and would be late and the response was: "okay." At this response I surmised that the organizer likely hated me, preferred I didn't come, and if I did go, everyone would just pretend to enjoy the fact that I was there. So, I didn't go.
...I think I have a problem.
And, I'm a master at self sabotage.

In an effort to drown my sorrows of crippling social anxiety, I opened, for the first time, a recipe book exclusively filled with chocolate recipes. As I flipped through it I realized that what I really wanted was the melting chocolate cake recipe that is my go-to in chocolate-craving times. Another flip revealed a notecard with that exact recipe written in my mother's hand.
I don't have enough eggs.

The End.

In other news, my nieces are hilarious:

Mini Memoir Spurred by College Application Prompt

Ironically, I was quite put off by Evergreen when I first toured the campus back in 2010, at the young age of 17. I didn't know yet any of my passions, who I would become, how much Evergreen's unique approach to learning would end up aligning with the way I pursued knowledge and change within myself. I only knew that I wanted to move to the Pacific Northwest and deep down I knew I wasn't really ready to go to college-the true reason for my lack of excitement while touring various colleges that fall. So, I took a gap year and fell in love with the ebbs and flows of agriculture, learning that I would not feel fulfilled unless I spent my life toiling in the dirt growing food for anyone I could. I learned I could fly to a country completely unknown to me with nothing but a backpack and a three-night reservation in a hostel and could thrive. Unfortunately, I also learned while working and traveling through New Zealand, that my mother was re-diagnosed with breast cancer and so I learned the terrifying yet liberating truth that plans and paths can drop and change in a second.

I had my heart set on a school in Florida, but with the news of my mother's cancer, I ultimately decided that Hendrix College, an easy seven-hour drive from home, was the best option. It was not the wrong choice–I met people who helped lead me toward who I would become, created ties with professors that would last a lifetime, and opened my mind to the possibility that learning in school did not have to hurt, but could in fact be truly enjoyed.  I was just getting into the groove of college the first semester of my sophomore year, having finally finished my four-year college plan when I got the call that my mom's health had plummeted. I left immediately to be with her and was blessed with three more weeks of her company before she passed on Oct. 27, 2013 at the age of 57. Despite knowing the inevitability of my mother's death, I was still taken off-guard. At 20, I entered a world of independence that was shrouded in grief. My friends, professors, and therapist helped me through and I finished another semester at Hendrix as a part time student, focusing my efforts on an anthropological study of grief in southern American culture, integrating my own personal experiences with data I was collecting.

I withdrew from Hendrix permanently in 2014, following my gut feeling that I would do better with some space to breath rather than forcing myself to stay on the path I had devised for myself before my mom's death. I knew if I was going to graduate college, it was going to be a conscious decision rather than an adherence to a path society created for me.  It didn't take long for me to start looking into Evergreen again, especially since my yearning to move to the PNW had never ceased. With more research, I was able to see how Evergreen has the ability to assist me the way I am, rather than my having to conform to an institutions' way of learning. I feel form-fitted for Evergreen in a way–knowing now that true feedback spurs me forward more so than grades ever could; knowing now that though my interests lie primarily in agriculture and environmental science, I must have room for those interests to grow and change and space enough to seek other opportunities seemingly unrelated to those disciplines to create a more holistic self; I know now that the costs of college are no joke, and since I provide for myself must choose a school that won't send me into the shackles of student debt for the rest of my life; I know now that a college degree is not an inevitable part of life, but learning is and more than anything right now, I desire to be in a space where people from all backgrounds can pursue their curiosities and I suspect I can find this at Evergreen.