Speech is of time

SILENCE IS OF ETERNITY.

Adding to the Noise

With nightfall comes silence that echoes into the deepest spaces inside my mind, when I sit still on my carpet Indian-style (I’ve yet to master the lotus posture while meditating. It’s hard!) listening to the sound of my inhales then exhales, the sound of my skin as it grazes over the neatly woven yet not-so-neatly kept flooring (sometimes my legs fall asleep and I have to shift around). Every so often I listen to the lone driver on his way home after a long day. This is all while trying to focus through my third eye, the brow chakra to achieve samadhi. Definitely a work in progress. With daylight my mind awakens, racing through to-do lists, dreams, and what-if scenarios.

I’m reading The Divine Matrix by Gregg  Braden, a book about the interconnectedness of all life and how to communicate through this holographic universe. He explains that our feelings directly influence our DNA, he touches on quantum theory and shares his experiences, his questions, and his findings. He expresses the things I seem to know deep within myself: we are not mere observers in this vast universe, we are participants, creators, orchestrators, and gods.

I wonder when I look outside my window, when I’m driving to the beach, when I’m walking in the park how anyone could forget this is paradise. Does no one else ever stop in awe at the perfectly straight line of the horizon? The beaming, glowing sun? The pale, cratered moon? The birds flowing freely, flowers with colors so bright, the trees that stretch out into our infinite backdrop! The celestial blue sky, the constantly moving clouds and the sweet wind that caresses us to remind us we are not alone? The fact that we are FLOATING IN SPACE, spinning and circling around in some kind of endless cosmic dance and that this force we call gravity is what’s keeping us all from just falling off?

Is everyone just adding to the noise, to the distractions of this material world, to the deceitful things that mere paper tainted green with photos of deceased men buys? Paper that we collectively seem to agree is worth more than our souls?

Instead of adding to the noise, I want to create music. Music with purpose that soothes and uplifts, that inspires and motivates. Noise serves only to confuse, to drown out, to distract, to suffocate and enrage. I want none of that. If we can all just pull our heads out of our constricting sphincters and come up for air, we’d realize there is so, so, so much more to life than dizzying routine. That we don’t have to leave it up to others to decide our fate and that the solutions to our problems lie within ourselves. That we could make our dreams come true if only we stopped dreaming through the filter of doubt.

I want to reach inside minds and pull the sludge from between the intricate folds of malleable brains, separate the shit from the beauty like those guys on that show that plays on the History Channel: “American Pickers,” where they dive and dig through seemingly endless piles of junk to find old, forgotten treasures to restore to their former glory. I want to find all the good stuff and pull it out, spill it back onto faces and laps and yell “Hello!? Look at all this beauty! Do something with it!” 

Ha, maybe that’s a little harsh. But something like that. Metaphorically, of course. :)

I want to break the rules and I want to reap the joy

(The title of this blog post is from the song "Empire" by Super8&Tab)

I’ve been experiencing some trouble when it comes to my writing. I call myself a creative writer but I have not been writing creatively. The dull, terse, and pale expectations from academic writing have sucked the life from my writing, leaving it bone dry and tasteless. I want to write in a way that shocks, that leaves me in awe of my talent, that is my blood spilled intricately into the shape of letters and words, in a way that holds my DNA – unmatched, incomparable to any other – me, solely me.

I’m studying again, on my own, away from the strict and cold cages of academic expectations with all the proper indentation and spacing, APA format, clean sentence structure, and to-the-point style. I want to linger on subjects, play with adjectives, and use alliteration and rhyme. I want to paint pictures with my words, use this medium of writing and paint like a free-spirited artist on the canvases of paper and little white blog boxes.

I want to create masterpieces.

Rules and boundaries have me stifled but only because I have let them. So I’m stepping out of these imaginary confines and seeking daylight once more. I am exercising the creative parts of my brain and I am making mistakes to learn more, to be better, and to reach my potential. Learning is about trial and error and though I can be my most cruel critic, I will just let it be. I will let whatever just be and I will let words fly from my brain, through my fingertips to find an outlet, to find freedom. I will use commas and semicolons incorrectly, I will probably create many run-on sentences but I will be creating and when I’m creating, I feel free. When I’m creating, I feel passion flowing like blood through my veins, pumped through my heart and directed outward in every direction to make me feel alive. To remind me I’m alive and there is so much left to discover, so much I think I know that I don’t really, so much I have yet to experience. It’s when my little fingers are flying across the keyboard like children on sugar rushes fly around through playgrounds: eager, ecstatic, unrestrained, and best of all happy, that I feel I am living my purpose.

Yes, sometimes I might make my readers uncomfortable, sometimes I might make them laugh or angry, or confused. Any kind of emotion elicited by my words is alright by me because at the end of the day I am writing simply because I love to write and my experiences and forms of expression won’t always be flattering and won’t always be pleasing to all. Part of what is making my writing blossom is the fact that I’m facing my fears, that I am unveiling myself in public, slowly peeling away the layers to uncover my core – to uncover the truth of my existence, the beauty that lies within, the light that shines so bright it’s blinding.

Yay! I’m excited.

Contaminating or Fascinating?

Everything is energy.

I am currently revisiting The L Word episodes – amazing show, I miss it much. A portrayal of raw human emotion: romantic, dramatic, transparent, and even simply sexual relationships. I am kept intrigued even on reruns. The episode I watched today included a beautiful deaf woman in a lesbian relationship who explained that sex with a deaf partner is amazing because they are attuned to one another on a different level.

This reminds me that our other senses are heightened when one fails or is subdued. I very much believe we all have a “sixth sense” and I’m not talking eerie ghost-sightings kind of sixth sense. Others may call it intuition. I know it as the feeling I get when someone makes me uncomfortable without speaking a word or when I say someone or some place has “bad energy.” On the other end, it’s the warm, comfortable, and confident feeling I get when I meet a soul-friend. I believe we all have the ability to tune into one another but sometimes our other senses need to be dimmed to be able to tap into that ability. It is easy to be distracted by words, scents, sights, tastes, and touches.

In a night club, for example, I can’t always hold an audible conversation so I become attuned to body language. Over the phone, I have no body language cues to rely on so I listen to subtle changes in tone. I wonder: what if I lost my senses? What if I lived without sight, the ability to hear, or ability to touch? How would I communicate with another? What would I feel? I wonder why loss always reminds us to appreciate what we have and why we can’t just be aware and thankful presently.

Everything is energy.

I read about a woman recently who, paralyzed in a hospital bed, could not speak or express what she was feeling. Coming out of the paralysis she recalled that every person who entered her room carried a specific type of energy. Some people were cold and distracted while others were warm and loving. This affected her greatly. Her experience brings me to the realization that I have to be persistently conscious of the energy I emanate, the energy I bring into another’s home, into another’s life. In the same way I would not disrespect someone with my words or body language, I must be cautious of disrespect through energy. I must also be cautious of those who remain ignorant, flailing their bad energy around, contaminating instead of fascinating.

I wonder how many of us actually assume this responsibility.

I know awareness is key. and action is the lively child born of awareness.

A Raver's Strobe Light

I know one thing for certain:

My purpose in life is to receive and emit Divine light and love; from a centered core to extend a helping hand.

Love is unconditional, all-encompassing, accepting, forgiving, and renewed each morning in the same way the sun shines for you no matter what you’ve done in the cover of nightfall, in the same way the ocean waves crash to greet you, to clean you, to touch and be with you, regardless of the filth you may reveal. In the same way the moon lights up your darkness, that is love. I am here to be light in the dark, to act as the moon does. Sometimes it is but a sliver, sometimes it shies away behind the clouds and other times, it is so present, wolves howl out to it, moods are changed and tides get higher. My light is not a flickering flame in a lantern and it is not anything predictable or detained. Perhaps it reflects each color of the rainbow or maybe it is a raver’s strobe light meant to keep you guessing, intrigued, and alert. Everything is interpretation. Things I thought I was sure of evade me, not wanting to be defined and that’s okay. 

The only consistent thing in life is change - unyielding fluctuation. It’s not about mutable circumstances, people, or all those damn fleeting feelings. It’s about the way we react to all the beauty and the bullshit. We can’t please everyone. There are always people judging you, engorged on lust and egocentricity, atop an imaginary pedestal, created by their own deceiving minds. A game? Okay, I’ll play and only with no rules. I let others live in their illusions while I seductively attempt to coax them out. I attract attention and may as well make it fruitful. There is no reward in playing for keeps yet there is much satisfaction in a game played fairly.

I seek to see your soul, the underlying motives that provoke your words and actions. I am curious, endlessly curious. I want to know more. About everything and everyone, it all stems back to one. What I understand is there are no absolutes, only perceptions, judgments, and interpretations. There are only different colored, different shaped lenses we all look at each other through.

But I see you. Little mirrors everywhere. Lady Gaga called her fans little mirrors in a big disco ball. While I may not agree with that flesh-wearing, eccentric, and beautiful woman at all times, I could never deny truth imparted.   

Beauty, so much beauty everywhere. My big brown eyes are open and searching.

Not What You Think

I lay face down on my white sheets, my faux-fur blanket wrapped around my body. It’s hot outside and I feel beads of sweat trickle from the small of my back. My legs spread to the cooler parts of the bed sheets as I keep my eyes closed and my mind becomes restless. I pour over this new endeavor, this new effort to blog my life away, to write and express and share and create and inspire. My perfectionist nature has gotten the best of me yet again. 

What is a blog, anyway? A public broadcast, a ranting place, an online journal of sorts?

In my effort to keep my words impeccable, I lose the oddities and the spontaneity of all life really is. I treat my blog as an operating room, meticulously dipping each word in sanitizer, scrubbing away the grime from my thoughts to release a product clean enough for a baby to consume. Please. My heart is not this pure and my thoughts not that clean. To express myself with raw intent, with the controversial, experimental, even questionable personality seeping through – that’s what this should be. I am not perfect. And there is much, much beauty in all my imperfections.

I suppose I’m just a bit tired of wanting to fit a mold, a persona that appeals to all, that is pleasing to all. I love all and I sure want all to love me but fuck that. Life does not work that way. To suppress parts of my being goes against everything I stand for. So I have decided to keep this raw and inexorable as was my original intent. To talk about the things that sicken me, that thrill me, that inspire me. This blog will not be so squeaky clean and I will not be apologetic.

My writing style has never been clean cut yet online I have made my best effort to keep it all neatly sealed, away from words of criticism. But what is criticism but a bold opinion? I have those too. So, bring it on. I’m ready. I’m ready to just be free and irie, to just be me. Anyone who knows me well knows my alternative style of thinking. No more hiding out. 

This is me, exposed and I have a lot to say.

The Dualistic Nature of Man

Yin and yang. The sun and moon. Light and darkness. Serenity and sorrow. Love and hate. There are two sides to every coin, to every story, to every heartache and heartbreak. Man’s nature is dualistic: capable of loving to such an extent he feels his heart may explode and capable of hating so much, he himself severs the veins that connect his entire being. He may turn to his wife and children each night, with warmth and affection, and then go out to brave the world with self-defeating pride and intentions drenched in vengeance. He may speak of love and acceptance, unity and family and in the same breath condemn another who differs from him.

But we are all inherently the same.

All actions stem from one of two places: love or fear. Love is innate (spiritual, from the soul); fear is learned (mechanical, from this flawed mortal manifestation). Each thought, each word, and action stem from a place of love or the dreaded place of fear. We all speak with one another through the language of our emotions. Emotions are universal: pain, sadness, happiness, laughter. In this individualistic society, we separate ourselves from one another. We create cultures and subcultures. We decide nobody will understand us unless they have lived the life we have.

Nonsense.

Consciousness is the key to better understanding ourselves, our friends, family, society, and our conception of God.  I am realizing this more and more. Awareness of my experiences, my belief systems, and my emotions is bringing me much clarity. Bob Marley said “Before you point your finger, make sure your hands are clean.” His truth resonates.

Truth takes on a different dimension as I clear the illusions from my mind, the veil from my eyes, and the ice from my heart. Things I thought I understood make much more sense when applied to real life. Beautiful theoretical concepts without practical application are absolutely useless.

Intention without action is useless and action without love is irrelevant.

I am intending out of love and I am acting. Finally.

Divine Inspiration (God's Knowing Smile)

I lay my head back on the smooth rocks and listen to the ocean waves crash as they creep closer to my already dampened feet. I curl my toes in anticipation of the icy cold water but it does not reach me, yet. My eyes close in awe and reverence as the sun begins its game of hide and seek. I would not know light if I did not know darkness. I pause and bring attention to my breath, the sweet and steady rise and fall of my lungs. I realize balance exists everywhere. Chills slither quickly up my spine as the water meets and greets me. Serenity wraps my being and I lay cuddled, like a child in her tender embrace. Ocean mist kisses spread eagerly on my skin: reminders of God's love for me. In stillness I find truth; in stillness, I find Divine Inspiration.

I have had many, many moments when I have had to pause in shock and acknowledge perfection. Moments when I have exclaimed "coincidence!" Carl Jung called this miraculous and immaculate concept of perfection epitomized and manifested "synchronicity." The psychological and physical realms are tied closely together and in stillness, in the quiet spaces deep within what we call our minds, the fine threads that hold us all together can be seen, appreciated, and harnessed. What we think and how we feel determine what we see and what we create. Our thoughts are carried through these threads like our voices through telephone lines. We perceive perfection all around us yet refuse to appreciate it. Egocentricity is the fall of man. The rise of man lies in selflessness. What are you radiating? What words stream through those telephone lines? What are you saying and who are you saying it to? Why?

They say curiosity killed the cat but they also say cats have nine lives. Be curious! Die and be reborn. Shed layers. Live fully.

Coincidences are defined as remarkable occurrences without apparent causal connection. For something to be apparent, it has to be seen. The inner workings of the mind are intangible and ethereal yet they express their presence through evident manifestations. Have you ever been thinking about someone and your phone rings - on the other line you hear the voice of the person in your thoughts? Have you ever been craving something and someone happens to bring it to you? Have you ever heard the same unusual story or word in the same day? These are what most express as coincidences. Through my clear eyes of joy I perceive these occurrences as God's knowing smile manifested. I am reminded I am not alone and that perfect order exists, independent of man's skewed beliefs - beliefs imposed on me through media and through subliminal distractions. I am reminded of the fine threads holding us all together. I am reminded to radiate only all of the beauty I wish to attract.

The connection between our thoughts and our reality is undeniable. We see because we believe. What do you believe? How does that shape what you see? Curiosity is a beautiful expression of life, of a growing mind.

Expand your consciousness. <3

A Multicultural Experience 

written in:

PSY/400 Social Psychology

2011

Professor:

Dr. Linda Johnson

            Snow flurried around our van twirling with gusts of wind and performing a welcoming dance as we drove through dark, winding roads into a new and strange land. We had arrived at our destination, a place I would have to call home. Subjected to such an unfamiliar way of living, I felt disoriented. This paper will describe my experience while analyzing the effect of group influence on me. Preconceived notions will be explained and reactions of individuals to my presence will be described. The effect these reactions had on my behavior will also be addressed.                                                

            At sixteen years old, in the middle of high school, my parents decided to move our family to Turner, a tiny rural town in Maine. Houses were miles from one another and the scenery was breathtaking at every turn. My father was doing business with his best friend, building homes and communities in the surrounding areas and we were blessed to move into one of the recent creations, an oversized and strikingly beautiful three-story home that lit up like it was decorated for Christmas every night. I had previously attended a high school in Irvine, California that was home to over 2,000 students – a diverse population that encompassed and embraced many different ethnicities and cultures. My best friend and I, undaunted by superficial teenage illusions, stuck together and managed to maneuver through the crowds unnoticed. We would eat lunch comfortably and quietly together in a tight corner tucked away from the sea of gossip, facades, and cliques. The new school, where I would spend my junior year, was indoors and housed fewer than 800 students. I immediately noticed the students were much less concerned with outer appearances, a complete contrast to the fashion shows I witnessed every day during my sophomore year. I had never been a fan of brand name clothing, expensive jewelry, excessive makeup, or even shopping but I still felt that I stood out in the mix of oversized hoodie sweaters, undone hair, and bare faces. It seemed the main concern at this new school was practicality. It was awfully cold and during winter, layers and shoes that could withstand snow and slush were a necessity. I started school a few days late which only aided in spotlighting my attendance. I quickly realized everyone already knew everyone else, having grown up together; they had attended all the same schools. I stood out immediately and could practically hear the murmurs traveling from mouths to ears, through hallways and classrooms. By the end of the day everyone knew I was the new girl from well-known and idolized Orange County, California.                     
           A few months prior to my departure from my hometown, I became heavily engrossed in a Christian youth group within Calvary Chapel Living Word, a small church I attended. My best friend and I went through the religious experience together, hand-in-hand we performed the rituals of accepting Christ and getting baptized. We only spoke of righteous living and “saving” others – perceptions shaped and embedded into our tender minds by the hands and words of the church’s elders. As a result of my strict adherence to prayer and acceptance of God’s plan for me, I sought and attained comfort in scripture, despite the life-changing move that loomed around the corner. My preconceived notions about the upcoming change were non-existent; with naivety I embraced the new experience and believed I was a tool for Christ’s hand to direct. I knew nothing of Maine or of the school I was to attend, knew nothing of the culture, or even the population of the town I was to live in – I was blind and enveloped in faith.  I went from having a readily accessible Christian support system, from operating within the safe walls of like-mindedness, and from being able to shy away from typical teenage drama easily to being the center of attention in this new pool of strangers – of prying eyes and curious minds. All I wanted was to remain unnoticed, to quietly complete necessary tasks before returning to the only place of comfort in this new environment – the confines of my new room which I decorated with memories of a sweeter, simpler, and warmer time. An introvert by nature, I fought the urge to run away and instead answered the many questions that came my way from both students and teachers. One of my teachers was a fellow Christian and that simple fact allowed me to feel safe in her presence. She directed the Christian club also, a much smaller, seemingly neglected version of the Christian club at my previous high school. My religion was my identity and I clung to it for safety. Always known for my boldness, I did not hesitate to share with new acquaintances my love for Jesus. The heavy armor of religion I wore was not what my peers expected.

             Shy and wishing to be invisible, I roamed the unfamiliar halls my first day, dreading lunch time when I would have to find a place to sit, where everyone would watch as I pulled out a single chair and sat alone. To my relief, a trio of cheerleaders waved me over to their table and proceeded to ask me about Orange County – if it was like the movie and reality shows and if I knew or had met any celebrities. They then walked me through the gossip of every group around us, pointing, laughing, sharing, over-sharing. I understood their intentions and I quickly realized I did not want to be a part of their world. I played nice but remained distant, a typical characteristic of mine, keeping all at arm’s length. I have always sought sincerity in others and within a week, the petty girls, with their superficial expectations, had fallen away from me. My personality remained the same: quiet, quirky, bold about my passions, and honest. Even at that age, I did not seek acceptance. I had already attempted and failed at being anything other than myself so I remained true to my ideals. Those girls weren’t the only ones to try to adopt me to their clique; a sought-after, known-for-his-wealth, admired boy approached me one day with a single question “Was that you this morning that got dropped off in an Escalade?” My response was terse. I felt as though I could see through everyone’s intentions, as though I had entered through a twilight zone portal into a familiar and cheesy movie plot. I was not the girl they wanted me to be: posh and superficial. The student population was predominantly white, there were only five Hispanic students, including me. I was appalled by the amount of ignorance that sat in my peers’ minds, ashamed that the first time I was stereotyped, it was from a fellow minority. “So which trailer park do you live in?” She asked, unaware her words were drenched in oversimplification, unaware they immediately changed my perception of her. “What?” I responded, unable to fathom the moment. “Well don’t your parents work at the chicken farms?” Again I was in awe, disappointed and deflated.                                                              

            For six months I pulled further into my shell, unable to understand the stark contrast from everything I had known. There was an underlying rebellion in my behavior, against the popular population because they wanted to mold me to their expectations instead of accept me as I was. Eventually, perceptions shifted and like a child does with a new toy, I was cast aside after the initial enthrallment and new distractions took my place. I felt much more comfortable when my pedestal was removed, as though I could breathe again. Back on solid ground, I attracted kinder souls and a few good friends emerged to greet me. I too emerged from my shell, feeling safe in the presence of sincerity. Perhaps I would have found those friends sooner if the other opportunistic individuals had not swarmed around me upon my arrival, clouding my essence from sight and clouding the clarity of my sight. All was well after I found genuine hearts to share love and joyful experiences with. The remaining six months of my stay in Turner, Maine became highly enjoyable and produced many fond memories.