Confusion

I distinctly remember looking at the clock before I went to bed. 1/19/2010.
That means when I woke up it should have been 1/20/2010. No. It was still 1/19/2010. I was lost for most of the day. I guess that is what happens when you go to bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Damn her for introducing me to Marlboro No. 27. Pipes take too long to smoke. Cigars and cigarillos smell weird. Marb reds are too harsh. Marb mediums and Marb lights have no flavor. But Blend No. 27 has flavor without the burn. Dangerous.

Looking for apartments. I'm excited. My own place, really. I can decorate, have parties, have company. It's all I dream about.

I was explaining tonight that the voices have started again. As soon as I try to sleep, there's this constant conversation in my head. It stopped a couple weeks ago when I actually tried to listen to what was being said and respond. But, the voices are back. It's just when I sleep. I think it's my subconscious trying to process - there's just not enough time betwee 3 and 9 am to get it all out.

See - I'm okay! really! :)

Tired

In the book, the mom killed herself because she was tired. Just too tired.
That is what she is saying now. I'm so tired. It sends a chill through me. Not that she would kill herself, she doesn't seem suicidal anymore. But still. I suppose i should be glad that she is angry now and not sad anymore. my anger is wizard's fire. Her anger is battery acid, swirling through and around her. Where's the baking soda?

I'm not tired anymore. I'm here, waiting, walking my path step by step. It was a rough week. However, thanks to very good advice, I am learning to open my arms to the blows, open my mind and heart to the emotions - feel, let them flow through me, then let them go.

inform your conscience, live by it. God is good. Love God, Love People. This is the simplistic whole.

May he have mercy and not let her get too tired.

Nocturne

Lately, I can't sleep until at least 3 am. It's not that I don't like to sleep - I love sleeping, I hate getting out of bed, it's the hardest thing I do all day.

Nighttime is quiet. Everyone else has finally gone to sleep. Music just floats quietly in the air. The light is softer, sleepier. I can finally focus - no one demanding anything. Just me, whatever project laying in front of me, and the night stretching out like free time. It's like stealing time... it doesn't count in the middle of the night.

Time to process, to think, to float away on music and memories, to come to terms with the day behind and the day ahead.

Peace.

Prayer

Concerts are spiritual experiences, U2, Beethoven's 9th, Brandi carlile.
I read and listen to music because I can't put myself into words.
I sing along, I scream, I dance - I have to be a part of it - It's better if I can touch someone who feels it too - connecting, Sometimes I just stop and put my head back, close my eyes and let it flow through me. It's kind of like chelation - the music flows through my mental veins attracting all the bad shit and carrying it out. The next day, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, I'm shaking, I'm exhausted... but I feel clean and renewed.

I pray best when smoking.
I know that sounds like a smoker's excuse. I don't want to smoke. Everytime I smoke lately, I get a sore throat and get sick, but really, it helps me pray.
When I was in college, I used to go out in the back 40 where there was dim yellow light and no one could see me. I would find a stump to sit on and smoke and pray. The smoke was like Old Testament incense, carrying my prayers to God. The yellow light was enough to keep me safe, leaving enough darkness to hide me. The wind in the trees tells me that the Holy Spirit is real, present, listening, comforting, moving, making music, a soft chime.

Even now, I stand on my steps in sight of the soft yellow light, listen to the wind, slowly inhale and exhale my prayers to God. The Holy Spirit carries them away and leaves me peaceful, relaxed, comforted. The Comforter. A Happy Place, much like the others - muted light, breath, warmth, comfort.

Even in high school, the night, in sight of the light, held peace, hushed conversations about important things that would fade in the daylight.

Daylight is for being strong, fighting the good fight. Nighttime is when God moves, things too important to be spoken in the daylight expose themselves in hushed tones, quiet tears and my prayers float to God as smoke in the wind.

back to the grind

I really am more ok than everyone thinks. Or am I lying to myself? I feel ok, until something happens and I burst into tears spontaneously and uncontrollably. But, then, I stop. and everything is ok again. Coping skills, denial, or maybe I just am really ok. Or not.
The Brandi Carlile concert might mean a lot of tears - I better warn my friends.

It's nice to be back in school... but I hate that sick feeling of dread when I think of all the things I need to do in not enough time. I am who I am, can do what I can. My job is to just do it.

Thanks to all my friends - I feel like someone on a tightrope who has a great safety net. Thanks, safety net.

Sometimes, though, I just want to leave and not look back. Move to Seattle,Portland, Boise, Albuquerque, Helena... be whoever I feel like being - fade into the background. Just fade away. If she succeeds, it will be hard not to.

Ramble Ramble

Humanity

A beautiful soul I know said to me in the midst of the valley of the shadow of death that hard times made us feel humanity more keenly and enabled us to reach greater depths of compassion. (or something like that, because i can't quite remember).

Times like these I often wonder what God is doing, because I don't believe in coincidences.
i have learned deeply personal things about many people in the last couple weeks and learned some things about myself. I forget my version of my story sometimes and get caught up in drama and how normal people would react in a situation. i don't feel my own emotions sometimes - if I did, I would probably be better off.
What does it mean to know something about someone, to have had someone be vulnerable with you? If it has been personally entrusted, I suppose it is like a treasure, to be held close to the heart and cherished.If it was put in the public domain, I think it should still be treasured.
How do you look someone in the eye when you know something so personal about them and they know similar things about you, but you don't know them so personally? To treat it lightly seems to make the treasures lighter when perhaps they shouldn't be.
At the end of all this - because this weekend is marking an end, of something - I come back to what I have always known. Open up your heart - Love, knowingly, with gravity, but without getting caught up in the drama. Love unconditionally. Love in spite of the vulnerability/because of the vulnerability. Be safe for others to deposit their treasures with.
I want it to mean something. That is my emotional hang-up. The grief comes when I think it didn't mean anything. But, it always means something. This is why it's hard to look them in the eye - I don't want to see that it didn't mean anything - I don't want to see what it really did mean.
Perfect love casts out fear.
Transparency means letting your love hang out... and your faults too.
Enough.

observation

My mom is becoming a Black Baptist Preacher.
I said the Apostle's Creed in the shower like a Black baptist preacher once. It gave it much more power and strength.