Stream of consciousness

Sometimes I wonder if I should be worried by how much time I spend thinking about other people's problems and emotions. Is it a way to deflect attention from myself? Probably. But I think after doing it so long, it's become part of who I am, something soaked in and distributed throughout myself. Why are we? Countless philosophers have asked that question and produced nothing but, to my mind, frustrating pseudo-answers that simply raise more questions, each more complex and hard to respond to. Why? It's a simple thing to ask and an impossible thing to answer. Who are we is almost as hard...but not quite.

I want to know if there are other people who lie awake at night, contemplating fairy tales and life on the moon. I'm sure there are. But it's hard, when locked inside my own head, to acknowledge and believe that. We try so hard to take solace in any detail or observation that will convince us that we are not alone, that we do not have to worry that we will be sucked into our own thoughts and lost...and in the process so many become cynical. We stop asking why and instead just go with it. No questions asked means no tears cried, no pain uncovered, no secrets unburied. Are we truly living then? Sometimes when I'm driving, I glance around me and am swept up in this feeling of calm that comes not from myself, but from outside source. God, certainly. He is everywhere. But here, specifically, I feel his presence in the very earth. I do not doubt that long before we looked to the sky, our ancestors worshiped the earth. They worshiped life. A part of me wishes that that had never ceased, that we never looked up and wanted more but instead remained content. Foolish. Curiosity and greed will always win out in the end. Whether it is for the long or short term remains to be seen.

My thoughts are rambling, half-formed and vague, like my speech. Better that way, this time. Maybe later they'll decide to take form, perhaps even fly. For now, the past beckons even as the me of today stares steadily, fixedly forward...afraid to blink lest she lose focus and willpower. Still so unsure of myself in so many ways. I have changed, yes, but is it enough? I may never know and sometimes that is ok but other times it makes me want to scream and cry at the same time. Feeling...my gift and curse. It would be so much easier if it was just my brain that I communicated with and from. Cognitive psychologists would point out that that is the case. But humans know better. We rationalize and pontificate and strive for the most logical of deductions and observations, all the while influenced and driven by those formless but persistent and powerful irritants like emotions and dreams and faith. You have to see it to believe it...but we believe in so much that remains unseen. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to drown in all the feelings I provoke and am provoked by. Other times the submersion is peaceful, even joyous, like I am at one and connected to everyone else. The introvert and extrovert are always fighting for control inside me, never learning how to take control for good or, God forbid, compromise. Do I even want them to? Who the hell knows...not me at the moment.

My father wants to be a part of my life now that he's retiring. I'm not surprised...and what's more, what's surprising and yet at the same time expected, is the fact that I'm not all that upset about it. Strange how we come full circle. I was born loving that man, tried to hate him and now can only love. Wouldn't dare say I have learned the lesson Mother Teresa tried to give, that you must love until it hurts, for then only love will be left in the end...I try but I just can't make the hurt go all the way away. But that's ok, that's how it should be. If the hurt wasn't there, I wouldn't remember, wouldn't have learned and grown from what happened. Has he? Has he grown and learned from all that happened or has he stayed the same? I suspect it's more of the latter and maybe that's what makes it ok. A feeling of control, having the upper hand perhaps? Maybe. Not very, for there is pity as well. No man is an island and unhappiest of all is the one who sets out to be one.

No clue where the hell this is going.. Need sleep but the words are rushing from brain to fingertips. Haven't let lose like this in awhile. Guess I needed it. Maybe that's why I write so rarely now...everything takes practice before it becomes automatic. Don't think writing could ever be automatic, though, not for me. Cold and dry is not my style, though it does described me at times. Ah well...need sleep. Sticking to that for now. What comes next...we'll see.

Revolutions

There are questions that inspire, that make individuals strive to seek and attain knowledge and answers for the betterment of mankind. And then there are questions that hurt, that no one wants to ask because the answers don't exist or quite simply break your heart. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do bad things happen at all? How do people reach the point where they can injure and/or take another's life without feeling the slightest hint of remorse?

We are all the products of our environment. There is no escaping that truth, as much as I hate to side with the behaviorists, who have too limited and pessimistic an outlook for my tastes. It is hard to argue with results, however. Still, those products are not identical. Two people can be raised in similar circumstances but one decides to turn to crime while the other chooses not to. Human will can make a difference. Genetics are an even stickier issue and offer a far more grim and confining view of mankind. Do genes determine behavior? There are many who would say yes. The dividing line is drawn by the debate about consciousness; behaviorists, as well as proponents of biological theories all stress emphasis on an overt, observable science whereas others maintain that the hidden and formless consciousness plays a large role.

Does it matter? When applied to real life, real problems, do any of the debates make a difference? Sometimes it feels like people spend so much time arguing about causal factors that they become immune to the actual results. Murder. Hatred. Jealousy. Greed. Anger. Violence. These are words that carry a wealth of emotional and cognitive connotations, both causal and responsive, but there seems to be an apathetic response from those whose business it is to study and use them. Statistics are both a curse and a blessing. The human mind can become deaf, dumb, and blind to numbers if constantly shown or presented with them. It seems like a catch 22 of sorts.

I'm just as guilty. The fact that I have thin skin when it comes to others' pain doesn't change that. What will it take, I wonder, to open people's eyes to what is going on around them. More importantly, what will it take to make them contemplate a future that extends beyond the next few weeks, to years down the road when the consequences of our actions will finally start to sink in? I do not want to live in or raise a family in a society, no, a world, that at best, ambivalent, but mostly uncaring about what will happen to future generations. What ever happened to Tom Paine in America? Has he died in the hearts of her citizens or just been silenced, ignored?

I want to stand for something. More importantly, I want to stand for those around me, those that I care for, as well as those who share this world with me and thus are also of importance. I admit to having a hero complex. But isn't it about time that we all started urging action rather than waiting for someone else to come to the rescue? It just takes a few people and the right atmosphere, and I say the time is ripe for change. Will it be me? I am sad to say I don't know. But I know this: I won't ever abide with being willingly and/or knowingly uninformed and I will always support and encourage those who are willing to try to make a difference. Revolutions don't start on the battlefield. They start in the hearts and minds of the people and are translated into poems and stories, as well as other media. If you want to know a people, read the stories they wrote, the poems they composed, the songs they sang. I am starting to know myself, to see where I fit in the grand scheme of things. My life makes all and none the difference. And I pray that everyone else realizes the same, so that we can wake up before it is too late.

Compartmentalizing

I've become an expert at compartmentalizing, so good at hiding away what I don't want, or am not ready, to face, that I am sometimes not aware when I do it. Scary, to not be in control of myself. But have I ever been? I'm not trying to argue whether or not there is such a thing as free will, though. That debate is for another day.

I am reminded of "Dream Catcher." If I looked into my mind, would I find rows upon rows of filing cabinets? I'm more partial to shelves myself. There's something soothing about organizing things in general. I can lose myself in the simple, almost mindless tasks. Sometimes I need that.

So many times I have wished I could freeze time and capture a particular moment, a particular emotion, a particular thought. I think one of the biggest reasons why I write, why I continually return to the past, is because I have a need, a compulsion, to somehow record and make permanent these tiny, meaningful fragments of my life. Even if it is only to myself, at least someone recognizes and appreciates them. One of the greatest tragedies is to let the meaningful moments not just pass by, but fade away. But is memory meaning?

Of late, I find pieces of memory and meaning shifting within their confines in my mind, causing all sorts of friction and uncomfortable aching. What I wouldn't give...but no, there is not much chance that I would part with these memories, pain or no. So now the cycle repeats...

What Is My Word?

I’ve been given the blissful opportunity to read Eat, Pray, and Love. And since I’ve started reading it, all the stressful, uneven places inside me have started easing and settling back into their proper place, be that within me or somewhere completely outside of me. It feels like God is with me, smiling in that way that fathers do as their children act like…children. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I loved every minute. I can’t wait to go back for more.

But as with all good things, too much, at one time, can be bad. What a shame it would be to let something so wonderful come to an end so quickly. I intend to savor this book, this glimpse of living life according to my sought-after motto: Carpe Diem. A character said that every country, ever city, has its own word. Rome is SEX. How…delightful. But I am with the author in agreeing that it is not my word. Again, a shame. I find Rome, from what I’ve read of her, to be someone I would absolutely love to meet. Someone I intend to meet.

What is my word, then? The one that is not sought after but rather is expressed in, through, me? I struggle to find one that encapsulates and defines, succinctly and perfectly, just who and what I am. I can guess, come close. WORRY. That seems accurate, but I can also be lazy and uncaring or even peaceful and, dare I say it, serene. Perhaps PURSUE? It is true that for as long as I can remember, I have sought after things: comfort, knowledge, peace of mind, achievement, happiness, both mine and others’. My thinking is in line with that of the character Will Smith played in The Pursuit of Happiness: you might not ever really be happy, but it’s worthwhile to aspire to be happy, just as it is worthwhile, in my mind, to aspire to be a good person, to aspire to be knowledgeable, to aspire to live a meaningful life. Mind over matter, right? Yes, pursuits are definitely more closely related to what defines me, but there’s still a small sense of discord, of something not being right. It could be that pursuits are just too…complex and serious, though I think I am definitely both of those things. But isn’t everyone?

It frustrates me to not be able to settle on my word. Is it really such a surprise, though? I’m barely twenty-two years old; I have yet to even begin living my life. The time is fast approaching, however. I can feel it. And while I’m anxious and worried, there is a bigger part of me screaming YES! YES! FINALLY! I feel guilt over this, naturally. But that bigger part, again, wins. It tells me to stop being an idiot and accept that I have responsibilities, not just to others, but to myself. And myself…, and this is the part that equally fascinates and repels me, is more important. Imagine that! What is so funny (and so sad) is that my mother has been, essentially, telling me this for years. What do you want, Amanda? I’ve always struggled with the answer, mostly because I always thought too far ahead or of what the consequences would be. What I want is vague and disoriented, a jumble of thoughts and yearnings, dreams that I never dare let myself ponder too much lest reality burst in and dash any hope of their coming true. But what if I keep it simple? What do I want…now? The answer comes more easily. Right now, I want to not have to worry about disappointing my new church friends, to be able to speak frankly and honestly and reach a point where my stomach isn’t in knots over contemplating my certain eternal damnation if what they believe and profess is true. A truth that doesn’t ring true to me, at least not completely. And if I’m completely and totally honest, I want to not attend any more bible studies, to which more and more people from the church are joining to the point where I constantly feel put on the spot and miserable. And I want to tell them that and have them say that that is totally fine and YES we can still be sociable and happy seeing each other at church without my feeling that they are silently admonishing me for being stubborn and individualistic and hard-hearted. I want to graduate college. And, by God, my God, do I ever, want to GET AWAY AND TRAVEL. I want to eat and laugh and explore and cry and just absorb every drop of culture I can get.

I am an expert at adopting a philosophical, whatever-will-be-will-be attitude, but it is a sham. I always want to know what will happen, to prepare, to plan, so that I may PROCEED. Now there’s a word. A pursuit is something that follows something or someone and is always tied to something else. It can be desperate, long-suffering, annoying, enlightening, but there’s always this sense that you’re missing out on something, that you’re always a step behind. Indeed, I’ve always felt a step behind in my life. Granted, that’s my own fault. I spend far too much time musing and brooding over things that are over and done with. Now consider the various definitions of “proceed”: to move/go forward or onward, to carry on, to continue some action or process, to go or come forth, to arise, originate, or result. It is synonymous with progress. When someone pursues something or someone, they are essentially chasing, trailing, or hunting it/them. And as long as the pursuit is ongoing, they are that tragic, frustrating step behind. Yes, I definitely prefer the word PROCEED.

So I’m going to make it my word, for now. Even if it doesn’t quite fit, I’m going to aspire to it. The rest can figure itself out. And isn’t that a wonderful sentiment? This time, I’m going to do my best to make it true and, more importantly, long-lasting.

Sincerely,
Myself

Transparent

I've always thought of glass when I think of God and his presence. In my mind, he is a warm ray of light that falls from the heavens and shines through all of us that would allow him entry. Not only that, but I see myself and others as transparent panes of glass, completely open and visible to his sight. Nothing can be hidden from him. In my lowest moments, the idea brings on feelings of fear and shame. I focus on all of the bad, sinful things I have done and imagine him frowning in disappointment. But what kind of way is that to live?

What I know about God...is very little. Beyond declaring his existence, my stance has always been that he is too vast and complex for any human mind to grasp. I want to say that it is out of respect for his perfection, yet there are times when I wonder if it is more out of a desire to ignore any responsibility that I have to do better, be better.

What is right? What is wrong? More importantly, what is truth? I've been told to not rely on my own wisdom or feelings, but how does anyone live their life when nothing of what they think or feel can be relied upon? It seems a miserable half-life to me. What my mind tells me is that no creator would endow human beings with an intellect and the ability to make decisions if he didn't want them to draw their own conclusions. If he didn't want them to have options or to choose him. We're not born loving God. We have to be introduced to him and find him on our own once we are made aware of him. That to me is what makes faith such a powerful thing. It's not easy or automatic. We choose to have faith, to believe in God, which is why the Bible speaks of the narrow road and gate.

It's never easy...but it can be easier for some than others. For myself, I struggle with being, on the one hand, too emotional and afraid, and on the other, too rational and skeptical. Life is uncertain. Follow that train of thought and it leads to death being uncertain. My grandfather, the most devout man I have known in my life, admitted to me that he sometimes had the nagging suspicion that it was all a sham, that there was nothing out there, no God, no heaven or hell. But, and this is what struck me the most, why risk it? Why take the chance that there isn't anything and end up wrong and burning in hell. It's a grim prospect.

I don't want to be too afraid or stubborn that I damn myself and hide myself from God. But I struggle. For instance, Christianity itself, which is advertised as the true faith of the one true God, is a fledgling in comparison to other religions. The Creation story parallels creations stories from other, older cultures. It seems like a copy and paste job. Yet Christians preach that we must all convert or be damned. What of the cultures that have been worshipping different gods for centuries? They have to just accept that they're religion is wrong and convert. Seems simple...not.

I've found comfort and reassurance in reading the Bible. But it doesn't control my life the way it does others', the way those same others would say it should. I read it and see a lesson, a moral guideline that was created because God didn't want us to be wandering around blind. I don't see it is a God-made book of laws and commands, but rather as something that was divinely-inspired but in the end man-made. That in itself is a fine line to draw, because in a sense, it's thus open to interpretation but that could easily get out of hand. Again with the uncertainty. What both my heart and mind tell me is that God gives us clarity but not transparency. There is no black and white. We all exist in the grey, the in-between area where you have to test and probe and discover what there is to be discovered but, at the same time, be content with the fact that it will never all be clear. There will always be unknowing. God doesn't want mindless converts or followers...he wants to be chosen. And the only way to do that is to live...to make mistakes and grow. Physically, mentally, emotionally...spiritually. You have to take that leap of faith.

The size of that leap and the end destination isn't the same for everyone. We are all one body, of one unconsciousness that, to me, has divine origins. But one size does not fit all. Religion is very artificial in the sense that it exists and changes to suit its members. The fact that there are so many denominations is a source of frustration for many. For some, it is a disheartening thing, because so many are "in the wrong." But are they? Would God allow for the existence of other religions and damn the children that believe in them? I don't have the right to ask that question or expect an answer, but again, both my mind and my heart tell me that God is love and, as such, the answer must be no. Sure, pastafarians stretch the boundaries of freedom of religion but overall, I see God in many of them. Just with a different face, different names. Is that blasphemous? Maybe.

In the end, it all comes down to that leap of faith. For me, I want to touch the sun...to feel the light and have it surround me. But can I handle it? Time will tell. For now...there are three things to live by: faith, hope, and love. All are necessary. All are important. "But the greatest of these is love."

Worthy of love?

The name "Amanda" is Latin and means "worthy of love." It's a fact I've always been happy about, as well as secretly amused. Such irony, that they would pick a name so closely resembling my inner conflicts. I know, on a rational level, that as a human being, and a decent one at that, I could be called worthy of love. Yet the deeper, more tender, parts of me and my subconsious raise doubts and insecurities. My siblings got into a discussion today about their crush antics as children. Ash pressed me to reveal my own embarrassing stories and was disappointed when I revealed that I had none. How strange...

But it's true. I can vaguely remember having crushes on boys in middle school, remember having a few in high school, yet I've never engaged in any of the totally melodramatic and completely normal teenage antics when it comes to romance. In truth, I've always been skeptical of kids who date in school. I don't know if I believe that you can meet someone when you're so young and spend the rest of your life with them, when so many at that age don't even know who they are as individuals yet. It always seemed strange, and stupid, to me, that while already entangled in the quest for identity, boys and girls would drag significant others into the whole mess. No wonder teenagers are so emotional. They don't know how to take things one at a time.

Impatience has its perks, however. You certainly make more mistakes and end up in more mishaps, but in the end, many grow and wisen up faster than their peers. Even if they don't realize it at the time. For me, at times I regret the wall I kept between myself and my peers. I thought I was doing it to be practical and responsible, but I realize now that those two characteristics, while admirable, sadly oppose what a teenager should want to be. It's not that I wasn't impatient; instead, my impatience had a different direction and a different goal. I wanted to grow up, not to graduate so I could be free to move away and fly the coop, but so that the gap between my physical age and the age of the person inside my head would lessen. If I grew up, I would be closer to the image I had of myself, someone mature and wise, who wouldn't make mistakes or be irresponsible like others her own age. I was so arrogant...still am.

But I'm starting to learn humility. Hindsight is 20/20, as Pops like to say. I'm comfortable enough with who I am now that I can look back and laugh and get just a little sad at missed opportunities to have fun and be a kid. I took them for granted. Time flies with or without your urging. But it's a bit more heartbreaking when you did urge it to, and you wake up one day, almost done with college and terrified, wondering how many more years will have passed the next time you wake up thinking of the past. "Carpe Diem." I have hope that one day, I'll be able to take hold of that motto and live by it. I want it. Just as I want to prove that I can live up to my name.

Good Days

When do we learn to hate? I know that there are some who are convinced that things like psychopathy and criminal behavior are genetic and exist the moment we are born. There is certainly evidence. Yet a wise person should never discount the environment. What little of life I have been exposed to, in and outside of my studies, has taught me the value of looking at things from a holistic perspective. There is never one answer, one factor, one reason, that fully explains why people behave the way they do or why certain things happen. I do believe that one reason, one factor can come to have more influence than the others, however. Every individual's life is different and offers its own lesson for society.

But the tone of those lessons are shaped by the very society we contribute to. Norms and standards determine what is right and wrong, moral and immoral. People become pawns and actors on a great stage, enacting the progression of civilization. Or so some...many believe, consciously or not. I have such hope for this world, for humanity. I am a person who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of mankind and the power of love and compassion. But there are times when the actions and words of others depress me to the point of hopelessness and anger. What have we learned from the past? Anything? Most days, I would say plenty, but there are times when the answer is nothing, for it seems we repeat the same mistakes over and over again.

A teacher told me that nothing is ever inevitable. There is always room for chance and uncertainty. I believe that. And yet. Sometimes it seems inevitable that people will look down on and belittle those who have the courage to be different. Those who refuse to conform to others' standards of right and wrong just to fit in. Those who live their lives simply, honestly, respectfully. Those who aren't obsessed with what is hot and popular but instead like what they like and aren't ashamed of it or worried about what others will think.

I have always tried to be true to myself, to not let other people's opinions sway me into acting like something or someone I am not. But I'm not perfect. There have been times when I've fallen prey to peer pressure and conformity. I'm not proud of it, but I am proud that I've always managed to realize my mistakes and correct them, to get back on the right path for myself. My heart aches for those who feel that they don't belong or fit in. Even more than that, however, I am angry that society has created the situations that lead to some feeling like outcasts while the majority judges those people.

I don't think we ever leave high school. At least, not mentally. High school can be the best or worst four years of a person's life. For all of us, it acts as a training ground for who we will become, as individuals and, more importantly, as fellow human beings. Unfortunately, this experiment has gone awry. Newly emerging adults are learning that you have to take sides and weigh your options between being yourself and being who society wants you to be. The unspoken reality is that those who don't end up choosing what's expected and acceptable become outcasts in and beyond high school. Some make it big and shove labels back in conformists' faces. Others become miserable and wish they had chosen differently. Everyone uses those experiences to form their identities. And there is always an acceptable and unacceptable standard to compare yourself against.

It has to stop. We aren't merchandise to be dressed up or down, to be neatly categorized into best-seller/flop labels. Everyone has something special and unique to bring to the table. Society is supressing those unique qualities. And we're letting it. Sure, we can argue we don't know any better, but it's a poor excuse. We know the difference between right and wrong, not the kind laid out to us by those intent on curbing deviance, but the kind that comes from human instinct. From our hearts.

It's a good day. I believe in and expect the best from everyone, especially myself. Here's to hoping for a lot of good days, in my and others' lives.

Ghosts

It was only ever supposed to be my pain. The truth in this statement, in my mind, in my heart...horrifies me. But it's true, nonetheless. Years have gone by, and the pain has withdrawn into a single, dully throbbing ache located somewhere in my heart. I no longer spend endless moments reflecting on it, only slightly more time reflecting on him. The past I have yet to stop falling prey to. Somehow, I've separated the two. There is him...and then there is all the rest.

Now I've invited another ghost, without meaning to, without ever wanting to. Another sad-eyed, lost little girl. There's a part of me that wants to be selfish and push her out, not wanting the added burden. Haven't I hurt enough? More importantly, haven't I suffered long enough? But she looks at me, and I am lost. All my feeble excuses and pitiful illusions melted into nothing. Just one glance. That's all it takes for me to realize just how successfully I have been deluding myself over the years. Because she is me...and yet not. So tragically similar, yet her own person, with her own story, her own ghosts, perhaps even her own hidden balls of hurt. I thought I was alone in this darkness. What to do?

And somehow, without my meaning to, without a thought for what I thought I wanted or needed, the little girl inside me, the one I keep locked away and lost in the darkest corner of this cavern, steps forward and takes the other girl's hand. No words are needed. And I'm the one left behind as the two disappear into the cavern, which is what I wanted, yet now...I'm the one that feels lost.

Just Keep Swimming

I think I found that place- the inner sanctuary of the mind, where none dare enter but me. I was lying in corpse pose today and imagined myself lying on a float, my hands extended out and into the water. The sun is shining, heat rays sliding over my skin in a lazy, penetrating caress. They glisten and sparkle as they catch the water, which is a pure aqua.

I was in the Hali Koa pool, which my family frequented in Hawaii when I was a kid. It was like a secluded paradise. Lounge chairs everywhere and a bar that Ash and I used to go get slushies from. They had so many flavors.

Then one day I discovered what was beyond the hedges that surrounded the pool. A beach. Open stretches of sand and even more water. Only it wasn't the clear, almost crystal aqua of my pool. It had a deeper hue. Beautiful still, yes, but more mysterious.

I think a part of me grew up the day I encountered the ocean. Not that it was the first time. But something about stepping from a small, peaceful, enclosed pool into the vastness of the ocean strikes a cord in me, as I imagine it did when it actually happened.

The pool was...is my childhood. Everything is fun. You know all there is to know about your surroundings, because what exists is only what you can see with your eyes. Nothing else matters.

But I know better now. There is more to the world and living than what you can see with your eyes. Ignoring that is dangerous. As with the ocean, there are currents that will sweep you under and away if you're not careful to keep your head above water...Some you won't be able to avoid, no matter how hard you swim. You just have to go with the flow; never go against the current. It's important to keep your feet on the ground whenevery you can. Going further only invites problems.

To have that pool, that representation, as my safe place is both ironic and fitting. I regress. What's new? Maybe one day I'll find the peace of mind to move from the pool and into the ocean. For now, I'll just focus on the present, remembering, that when all else fails...to just keep swimming.

Impulse

I wanted to hear your voice. The impulse arose, and I went with it...for nothing. I guess I should be glad. The whole time the phone was ringing, my stomach was in knots and my hand kept clenching and unclenching on the wheel. So why the disappointment? More importantly, why the sadness?

I was happy to find numbness. Not the forced, desperate kind, but the natural kind. The one that comes with time and distance. Finally, I thought, I've moved on and matured. Stopped acting like a hurt child. Maybe this is proof that things aren't settled...how can they be? We're in a stalemate, really. Years without communication have resolved only so much. I told myself that it was pointless to make a move. You aren't ready. I know you aren't. She has you so wrapped up in her, that you've stopped being yourself. You wouldn't listen. And you wouldn't care; at least, not enough.

Despite all that...in spite of all that, I wanted to hear your voice. It seems the child is still strong in me. Surprise?...not really.

She keeps me clean
of emotional clutter and debris.
Without her, there would only be the screams
that kept me up so many nights.

That annoying internal racket,
the runny nose and puffy eyes.
The kid did nothing but cry.
What else was I supposed to do?

The situation called for something new.
Something improved.
So I gave it over to the fire,
let defense mechanisms take hold.

And here I am.

I Want to Touch the Sun

Everyone is looking for answers. We all go to extraordinary lengths to puzzle and figure out questions that frustrate and confound us. Even the most laidback individual suffers from uncertainty. How we cope with uncertainty is different for everyone. No one has the same exact "opiate," to borrow a phrase from a friend.

For me, I have constantly had to struggle with uncertainty. I am a control freak. There is no question of that. I want to know anything and everything about as much as I can. Knowledge is power and, even more, it is solace. A trusty shield from the dangers and pain inflicted upon the naive and unaware. It's no wonder I shy away from childishness; is there a figure more valued for naivete?

This struggle has encompassed different aspects of my life. Personal and social. Spiritual. The latter is the one weighing on my mind right now. I had an interesting conversation with a girl on Facebook the other night. She asked me about my beliefs. I told her that I believed in God but also in keeping an open-mind, for nothing is absolutely certain in this life. She responded by questioning whether I was okay with being uncertain about what would happen to me when I die.

An interesting and disturbing question. One I try not to think about. I believe in God, in a heaven and a hell. I believe in the dynamic nature of God, his perfection and his might. His love. From there, confusion sets in. How can it not, though, with all the different denominations warring for supremacy in the name of the Lord? Each one believing that their faith is the true and right faith...

It's no wonder I'm wary of churches and organized religion. I call myself a Christian because I have no specific Protestant faith nor any desire to claim one. God is wonderful. Church...can go either way. It depends on who you go to church with. So terrible, yet so true. The good news is that God doesn't care if you go to church, only if you believe in him. There are further requirements, of course, but that's the most fundamental one.

I have and will always believe that faith is a relationship between an individual and God. No one can dictate what you're supposed to say to or do with God but you, for your beliefs are your own and will only form when you are willing to accept them. Also, while I cherish the overall messages in the Bible, I don't believe in it word for word. People wrote it. And people are imperfect and easily swayed towards sin. Does that mean I don't ever think that I'm wrong or that I'm sinning by not believing everything the Bible says? No. Truthfully, there's a part of me that's terrified for my soul and wants to stop rationalizing and just start believing.

But faith isn't easy. Especially not for me. I've always had God in my life, even before I really knew who he was and what I thought about him. Despite that, life has made me suspicious and proud. Releasing control is my biggest issue. The idea terrifies me...to lay down all my worries and just expect him to take care of them? A leap of faith. Necessary yet so hard.

There has been progress, though, and that comforts me. I can't bring myself to believe that the God I love and cherish, the one who loves all his children for who they are, is just a figment of my earth-loving imagination. That goes against my very core...the soul-deep contentment I feel at times when the sun is shining just right or when I'm choking down tears during a moment of revelation, where everthing that I've been blessed with in life is made visible.

God is love. That I believe with all my heart. And I feel that if I just live according to the principle of love, and not hate, that all will work itself out. The rest will come with time and prayer.

Facing Reality

We all reach points in life, where we are forced to confront and accept certain realities. We must realize that some things we can change, others will always be untouchable. We learn that black and white is just an expression and not really what life is like...except when it is. Except when what you receive in life and how easy others make it for you depends on the color of your skin. Or where you live or how you dress, how much money you have, or what your sexual orientation is.

Am I really writing this? Yes. And it makes me want to throw something, to cry, to laugh, to just lay down and never get back up, to scream at the top of my lungs until someone hears me and LOOKS. Because how many people really look these days? Beyond the next bargain buy, or latest bit of TV gossip, or whatever is going on in their own narrowly-focused lives? Living has made us blind, if you can even call it living.

I was at a wedding a few days ago and the whole time, I was distracted thinking about how young the couple was, why they thought they had to rush into marriage, how much of their reasonings were based on actual opinion and how much on what they had been socialized into thinking. Even more than that, I thought about my sister. About whether she was thinking about herself and her girlfriend, whether what we were looking at could ever be something that happened in her future, between her and the woman she loved. And it hurt, that it was something to be thought of idealistically and not realistically.

I want to hold her to me, to wrap my arms around her and never let go. I want to be the shield that takes any blows the world has to offer. And I want to be the sword. But both are impossible. Because I love her, I have to let her live, have to let her shield and defend herself all by herself. And that makes me want to kick the world's ass. Again...impossible. What is possible is her becoming stronger and me learning how to let go...eventually. And believe it or not, I still believe that it is possible for the world to mellow and become more loving. Because that is what I pray for, what I wish for with all my heart, for my sister, myself, and everyone in this world that needs acceptance.

Reconciliation

My skin scares me sometimes. I try not to stare at it too long, for when I do, I fall prey to the terror that arises when I imagine the vast web of bone and tissue that lies so closely beneath. What a complex machine we humans are. I am both fascinated and repelled. Moments like these make me question the wiseness of my choosing an objective field like psychology. It too both fascinates and repels me. I am drawn to the information and knowledge it offers me about myself and others, yet also disheartened to think that people can be categorized and analyzed to the point that life is no longer a mystery.

I am the type of person who believes in following rules and directions, in sticking closer to what is tried and true than to what is unknown. I would never be called rebellious or innovative. I am responsibile and reliable. As I believe I should be. But what of the rest? What of the child within me who I have tried so hard to keep silent? It is her voice that I hear when control and responsibility cease being enough. When I cease being enough. She is the voice of temptation and yearning, the part of me that stares at the moon and has to believe that there is something more to life than everyday motions and plain reality.

In the Bible, we are told to be like children, for children are innocent. That is a notion that has always struck a chord within me. I want to be a child, yet I have become who I am today by stifling childish urges and feelings. I am not stupid enough to claim I never act like one. But I can say truthfully that I never endeavor to be one. Even as a child, I was more interested in the adults, in studying them and gaining their attention. I wanted to have their confidence and was fascinated by their language, the way they spoke so simply and straightforwardly. Still, the more I grow, the more weary I become. Will I ever reach the level of confidence and assurance that I want for myself? And if I do, will it lay to rest all these longings and questions? I fear the answer is no.

All the more frustrating is the fact that I am to blame. Children are to be cherished for more than their innocence. For while that is an admirable trait and one worth emulating, it is their ability to live that we must envy. For children, there is no past or future. There is only the present. They don't have to grasp life by the reigns because they were born in possession of them. It is maturity and reality that wrestle life away from us, because we come to believe that being an adults means working to obtain something we don't have. The problem: no one ever tells us what it is. The reason: we already had it. But the world doesn't want us to know that, for if we all stopped trying to be something and/or someone else and started trying just as desperately to be ourselves, there would be an economic meltdown and rich people would cease to be rich. That people could think for themselves, act for themselves...the horror!

Yet even as I rail against this faulty socialization process, I am unable to rid myself of the comforting weight of the world, the one I donned so eagerly in order to dull the pain I now associate with childhood. And I realize that I am setting myself up for a worse fall; the realization that the world is even more cruel and capable of inflicting pain at a level unknown to children. The reason I could never be present was because I always felt the past nipping at my heels. The future and contemplation of it offered the illusion of distance and thus safety. How wrong I was and am.

"With one hand the past pulls us forward, with the other it holds it back" And I find that my desperate grasp on the future is based on the fact that I am only holding on one-handed. My other hand clings tightly, stubbornly, just as desperately, to the past.