I ended one war, only to start another.

Not too long ago, a war was declared between the two hemispheres of my brain. I was in the middle of my first semester in my fourth year of university. I had passion for my degree (and still do)and as a consequence, my creative passions had been suppressed. It was at this time that my creative self decided to arm an attack, to advance in full force from the back line of my younger years, declaring its feverish presence. The battle began. Study, create, study, CREATE etc. This carried on and got to the point where study became an inconvenience and a hinderance. As soon as I began to tackle academia my energy levels depleted rapidly, I felt burdened. When I managed to finish one task, relief was only briefly experienced before I had to tackle yet another. It was grueling to say the least.It just wasn't enjoyable anymore. My heart for this venture had abandoned ship. However, when it came to something creative, I had boundless energy, in fact, it was a source of energy. When I completed a project, I felt satisfied, ecstatic, stimulated, wanting more. It was clear who the winner was. Once the decision was made, I felt light, giddy, giggling like a child. My spark was coming back.

So, I deferred my studies. Somehow I managed to claw my way through my final studies and now I have been 'free' for four whole days. In this short space of time, another war has begun. The weapon selected: the double-edged sword of uncertainty. There is no doubt in my mind, body or spirit that I have made the right decision. Yet the programming of study is threatening to sabotage my sense of freedom. I told myself to set no goals, to avoid unnecessary application of pressure upon myself to be of a certain standard at a certain time. This leaves me with no ground, no baseline to show my progression. I now find myself feeling impatient, already! I want to be somewhere, have some form of establishment, right now! However, I also know that this is going to take time. I want to get started, to charge ahead but there is no where to charge to. I am constantly confused but filled with so much anticipation for what will eventuate. I could do anything, I just have to allow myself the time to flow along, take as many opportunities as I can before my path can be highlighted. I have to keep reminding myself to relax, ordering my mind to slow down so my body and spirit can breathe, refresh and catch up.

So here it begins.
I know what I'm doing but don't know either.
I love it, I hate it.
I'm excited and I'm daunted.
I know I can do it but I'm filled with doubt.
My mentality is sorted, yet scrambled.
I'm filled with innumerable internal conflicts and when I balance one (or a few if I'm lucky) a collective go askew or even catapult into obscurity.

I have ended one war only to start another of epic proportions.

Fuck.
Yay!

Tantrum.

He found himself back at her doorstep,
Tenderising his knuckles on her threshold,
While his feet felt like they were sinking through the concrete.
Silence.
The little child within was pulling down on his stomach and ribcage,
Down, down, down.
Stomping its grubby, impish feet with impatience and he felt himself sink lower.

"Why?! Why do all my questions start with why?"
"Why are you never there when I need you?"
Silence.
His lips drooped, feeling as if they were about to slide off his face.
His eyelids descended on what felt like dirty puddles,
He clasped and shook the doorknob half-heartedly.
She never responded to shallow demands.
He knew that.
But it only intensified his need.
It happens every time.

Words.

When I was strolling through my campus I caught a small exchange of conversation between two international students.
"I'm sorry"
"Don't contempt yourself"
"Okay"
They were both speaking at the same level of intensity - casual. The use of words far out weighed the lightness of intention.

When I continued strolling and the two students were left behind in their banter I began to ponder the meaning of words and their place. To me, they are just tools, and on their own they aren't very useful, they need our intention to put them to use.

Vocalising your intention through tones, with words being the vehicle, is easy to understand. However, when these same words are left silent on a page, the intention is lost from the writer (usually) and it is up to the reader's discretion to decide their value and how it will affect them. It can create misinterpretation for better or worse.

A Question Leading to a Theory - Pt 1

He said. She said. He did. She did. He should. She should. He’s so… She’s so… He is. She is. How could he? How could she? Why would he? Why would she?

This is how gossiping, bitching, or whatever you may wish to call it, starts. Why would we even bother discussing it if we didn’t care about that he or she or how we might be seen to that he or she?

Or is it because we envy some quality that they possess, and by throwing an arsenal of aggravating words they might finally surrender and reveal their secret so that we too can acquire this quality?

Or is it because we want to see that person reach their full potential, just that we go about it in the most ungraceful manner?

Do we subconsciously hope that what we have said will reach that person or persons in the hope for change so that we can be closer? Or so that we can bring about confrontation in order to reach a resolution?

Or is it because we see those flaws within ourselves? Are we just trying to grasp and control our own insecurities and worries? After all, it is much easier to see these in others than within ourselves as denial tends to act as our own big, stalwart bodyguard with bitch tits.

Or is it because we just need to vent the steam built from the pressures of frustration, and once we have, realise that that is not how we feel at all? Is venting to someone else rather than the person themself acceptable in order to avoid ruffling feathers over something so trivial? Will they understand that it is just venting, rather than something more substantial? It all depends.

That’s what it all really comes down to. It all depends. It is all so circumstantial. I believe that love is unconditional; it is forgiving, helping us defend against the onslaught of ‘condemning’ words so that we can learn more about each other and our weaknesses, giving support and diminishing the space of isolation.

In my mind, we are all each other’s mirrors. I would not know who I am if I did not interact and connect with others. If someone says or does something I like or don’t like, I have learnt something. Every person, whether it is a parent I have known a lifetime or an absolute stranger who I have shared a fleeting moment with, they have all held up a mirror helping me to see myself in a different light or to reaffirm something about myself. Even if it is something unflattering, it is always good to know and to be aware of. I also believe there are no bad ‘things’, once you start removing the scum from its surface and scooping out its vile contents, you are always left with a beautiful pearl worth a wealth of knowledge, affirmation and understanding. You just have to be prepared to get your hands dirty instead of trying to make it go away.

There are so many tangents to this subject, which itself is one of many aspects of the human condition, a condition that can be understandable to an extent but always keeps us guessing and theorising, leading us down rabbit holes and winding pathways that equates to our life journey in learning about others and ultimately ourselves.

The Loner Puzzle Piece

A newly formed, obscure puzzle piece tries to find its place in the perfectly rigid puzzle.

At first it floats around the board trying to find the space that matches it's shape and that will snugly hold it in place.

Confused and unable to find this personal space promising belonging, it methodically works it way around again to no avail.

Panic drives it slam itself in the gaps, trying to force itself in.

The unique puzzle piece becomes frayed.

No success. It cannot manipulate or alter its shape to fit in.

The puzzle piece must now wait for its space to be made or for the board to lose its rigidity from more assaults from these desperately unique puzzle pieces so that every piece can be where it wants to be.

The Night Owl That I Am

It is late, it is dark and it is quiet. This is my time. I nestle and become enclosed in my sanctuary. My mind shakes off the shackles of the daily grind, takes a moment to release the weight and is free to indulge in any and every impulse.

This cannot occur by waking up extra early in the morning, as my mind seems to work like a vintage engine. On start up, it is sluggish. It takes the whole day before it starts running smoothly. By bedtime it is purring like a kitten. It could also be due to the fact that I am greeted with responsibilities, deadlines and obligations as soon as I emerge from my slumber and by night I have fulfilled most of them, leaving me rubbing my hands together conniving creative pleasures that will massage the right side of my brain and dismiss the left.

In these late hours businesses are shut, people have gone home and everything feels rested. Any influencing energies seem distant, even inexistent. I feel as if I am on my own, acting like a naughty child who has defied their parents doing what they wish with no one to intervene.

These hours permit my freedom, grant me focus and allow inspiration to coax my third eye to open its lid, like the night owl that I am.

Feed Me

Feed me,

Inspire me,

Invigorate me,

Stimulate me,

Quench my thirst.

Love me,

Hold me,

Support me,

Nurture me,

Quell my self doubt.

Unlock me,

Open me,

See me,

Accept me,

I am free.

To My Beloved Time

To my beloved Time,

I feel as if I’m losing you. It seems like you are running away from me. Where are you going in such a rush? We have been together ever since I can first remember. In the start of our relationship it felt like I had so much of you. Sometimes, too much. At a tender young age you stifled me and I felt like I was the one running, trying to pull you along with me. Now as I have matured, it appears you are ahead but are leaving me behind.

Can’t we just slow dance for a while and enjoy each other? Hold each other close, breathe in our scent, cheek bone to cheek bone and feel our heart beat? Or even for one moment, can’t we just stand still, holding hands and view our world with a smile? These are my desires, as I feel exhausted trying to keep up with you. I fear that this has become a one way relationship. Despite my efforts, there are moments where I lose you for minutes, hours, days, months and even years. I look back over our long history together and feel saddened that some of it appears to be a blur when I used to be able to remember and savour so much.

I lust for you like no other. I’m ruled by you. I bow to your feet. Without you everything seems to warp into chaos. Where do you go when you escape me? Will you ever return? I fear I know this answer but I pray, one day, that you can prove me wrong.

You are unforgiving my love. It pains me to be with you, yet I could never live without you. You are my unconditional partner in life. With that said, I know that I must continue trying my best to keep up with you, to manage both you and myself so that I won’t lose you and fall into an abyss that would surely challenge my sanity.

Yours Truly,

A mere mortal

xo

Five Stages of Grief Within Twenty Minutes

A few days ago a couple of my friends came over to watch a movie. After conquering our indecisiveness the anime film Porco Rosso was chosen. We settled in and let our imagination enter the world of Miyazaki while our eye balls were licked with his artistry. The film was coming to a wrap, the resolution of the plot was just around the corner (or so I thought and expected) but no, it ended without the ending that leaves you satisfied with a grin or watery eyes. I couldn't believe it, this wasn't like Miyazaki! How could this be?

My reaction was amusing and after minutes of hearing my rambling a friend commented that it had seemed I had gone through the five stages of grief. It stopped me short. I had actually had gone through these stages, all within twenty minutes!

1. Denial. I couldn't believe that it was the end of the story. I sat through the credits just to see if there was some implanted hint that could help conclude the story.

2. Anger. I believe I spoke to the screen venting with the final words being 'F*$k you!' What was the point of this?

3. Bargaining. Surely there was an explanation! I was willing to give up my time to scour the internet in order to find the answers to my questions.

4. Depression. I felt down that was all that I was going to get from the movie. Why had I bothered to watch it?

5. Acceptance. I accepted the end. That's how it was.

After my grief I discussed the film further and the end without having an end was perfect for the story. How could I have ever doubted Miyazaki? It was beautiful in every aspect, as always. I just thought it was interesting that the five stages of grief can be applied to such minor reactions.

A Moment of Serenity.

Knee bends

Hip drops

Shoulders roll back

Chest rolls forward

Back curves

Chin pushes out

Eyes close

Eyebrows raise

Lips prickle with a grin

Fingers click

Smooth lyrical words caress the ears

Tickling nerves as it flows through the spine

Toes mimmick the drum beat

Body loose

Vocal chords tighten and vibrate

Harmonising to the melody

Serenity.