Twisted Sisters: Transparency; Accountability, Consequence, Jealousy and Ambivilance

It is coming, can you feel it?  The world is taking on a certain sense of transparency; where once there were lies buried too deep to see, unearth a disturbing truth.  We all have things we have been hiding from ourselves and others for years.  I am going to guess there is a very small percentage of people out there who experience telling the truth and being fully authentic in every moment.

I mean, to be totally authentic is not an easy task when you have been brought up to buy into both the program of “being honest,” and “keeping a smile on your face.”  These things to me, seem in direct conflict of one another.

Websites like Facebook have opened the flood gates for potential pity parties catalyzed by vague statements made in a status update.  Facebook is one of the first places people go to vent out their angst.  They realize they can get some acknowledgment for their struggles.  Commiserate over children, whine about traffic, or confess a crush.  In  a wifi connected world, the lonely still have a soap box.

On the internet we can see it all.  And by All I mean, almost anything and everything the mind can concoct; in every spectrum of perception that we broadly summarize as “good” or “bad”;  “wonderful” or “evil.”  Most of it is labeled as “entertainment.”  Some of it is staged.  Some of it is real.

There is one thing I have never seen on the internet.

Tell me, have you ever see any one say, “I beat the shit out of my kids today.  I hate what I did.  I am having a hard time right now, I could use some help.  Can any one offer me therapy, or some assistance.  I am having a very tough time coping with this alone. And the kids don’t deserve it.  I need the help of my community.”

And if you did, would you ignore it, respond, or just call DHS?

Or how about,  “I  have fallen back into destructive behavior and substance abuse.  I could really use the support of close friends right now.”

Would you just type a message and hope for the best with a suicide hotline number or; go get them and bring them to your home, or ignore it.

Or, off a deeper end;  ” I sexually took advantage of a child today.  I realize that my moral compass is off.”

“I stole money from my family.”

“I was in a hit and run, but neglected to report it.”

I bet you thought the last three are really tricky because unless you are a total idiot, you don’t broadcast that stuff.  And if you did, don’t be surprised if some one calls the cops.  Effectively relieving any guilt by assuming the powers that be will address the issue with adequate justice, right?  The “Hands-off-don’t-involve-yourself-in-other peoples-affairs-but-DO-get-involved-just-enough-to-feel-self-justified” approach.  Very few take a “This-is-my-community-and-I-want-to-be-involved-in-it” attitude, and many that do end up killing people and give that whole wrap a bad name.

We assign cops as our go to guys because we know they are trained for conflict.  And we hate conflict.  Stranger still, we assign the section of the community which the populace is most in fear of to assert control, sending everything to the battle ground of a “just “court system to deal with the stigmatic issues involving people who have no idea what legal language is.  And at the end of the day, either someone has a jail sentence; is released, or if you live in a state that has the death penalty, well, you know the rest.

Now maybe, somewhere, in some anonymous forum confessional, these admissions are happening.  But where is it safe to admit failure and willing to accept both help and consequence?

The court parades as such a savior, and yet has very little success with their long-term goals of more than incarceration and whatever capitalistic goals that  achieves.  Self aware Rehabilitation, isn’t really a modern style of function, quite yet.  Self Awareness is still in it’s baby stages it seems.

We talk about the diseases, but we rarely discuss the cause root of how we got there.  Then (all of a sudden) when sociopolitical moral issues arise, it’s like they came out of the blue.  But the closer we look, the more we realize, even Discontent has a birthday; and quite frankly we are a society that has a hard time with confrontation.   We prefer methods of distraction because we don’t know how to handle the brutal honest truth of potential existence.  Unless of course it is filtered through the news or major broadcasting network.

Take the current Cosby case.  There are over 12 women who accuse this man of indecent activity, being drugged and rape.  These allegations go back years, and were ignored.  Why?  Because we have been fed illusions of one thing, and the news conflicts with what we want to believe.  It stresses the brain out to the point it chooses to ignore it all together.

To add insult to injury, it isn’t just the entertainment industry which finds itself unintentionally in the middle of a barrage of transparency.

Take the biggest, wealthiest, and most influential religious institution in the world; The Catholic Church, and it’s mounting allegations of molestation, abuse, and even death that go back… CENTURIES.

Pull your big kid pants on, because this shit is real.  How do we actually DEAL with any of it?  Thus far the solution has been to pass the buck to someone else.  A third party vendor.  We assert blame.

If you have any sign causing an intuitive reaction that someone  is mistreating another person, especially a child; IT IS YOUR MORAL OBLIGATION to get involved.  (Unless of course you have no moral standing, and that is called a sociopath.)  You speak on behalf of community (which few people have a concept of in this day and age,) For those who live in fear and oppression do not know what it means to have a voice, much less how to use it.    You act because empathy tells you, that if the tables were turned, you would want an advocate that believes that you have some worth or purpose.

We shield ourselves behind the most smiley pictures and phrases we have.  We keep up the illusion of 24/7 joy.  We want Joy so badly.  We want her to fill our hearts in every moment…  We don’t enjoy the bombardment of sadness in reality.  It causes a feeling of hopelessness and helplessness.  In our hearts we feel if we just focus on the good stuff this would be an ideal reality.

Instead though, Jealousy and Ambivalence rule.  It is hard to see everything we see, everyday though social media and not be on their side.  And maybe you tell yourself, you only “like” or “comment” on that which is  “good,” “right,” or “just.”  And you believe the “New Age” that if you “just focus on the good, the bad will go away.”  You may ignore knowing that  social media has algorithms and filters.  Nonetheless Jealousy wins sometimes, because she is the driving force that causes you to “like” that photo. Because you wish it was you in that picture. Jealousy is sometimes passive aggressive, and likes what she hates because she doesn’t want the retaliation of a snarky comment  Other times Ambivalence wins because, if you don’t agree, it is easier to “ignore” or “block” than it is to add some substance to the greater conversation, or maybe, just because you don’t want others to know sometimes you are not agreeable.  You may be afraid of being blocked, or ignored.  Worse yet, you are probably afraid that  you let a piece of yourself out there that is raw and real, you will be rejected and unloved due to it.   Ignoring the fact that no one is perfect and there is variety in the world for a reason. Further buying into, and selling the illusion.

So as the interconnected reality we attempt to live in meshes further into the cyber world, we construct a design that allows us to do just that.  Create and perpetuate an illusion.  A place where every picture is funny, beautiful, or adorable ( at whatever end of the spectrum of perception you may be).  And we continue to hide behind status updates that are smart, provocative and sometimes depressingly honest.  Honest but somehow, not real and almost empty.

People think they know everything about whomever because they watch every tid-bit that is posted… but have those same voyeurs read every note in the notebook of the mind they are observing?  Or do they just read whatever  they are tagged in online?  Narcissism is the blindness that keeps us from seeing the truth between the lines and pictures.

Despite your worries or cares, blessings or achievements, YOUR world revolves around YOU… and likewise; even if you have children, your self-absorbed question costumed in humbleness and care is “how will I feed MY children.”

We envelop the world in our concerns, and unless you have been following the thread, you may just look like a complainer.

For instance, I have left a hearty online trail of my angst, but I don’t think too many people read it.  It is “depressing” and it has nothing to do with you….No tags.  Does it make my struggle less real to me?  Does it just come across as complaining to you?  Did you offer to help?  Did I deny you or shoot you down?  Did you just think, “typical musing from her.”  ?  Did you pray for me , or send word of consolation?  Does it even matter?

SURPRISE!  All of this does have something to do with you.

Do you ever feel pain or discontent? Do you fail?  Do you make mistakes you hope to never repeat? If you can see it for  yourself and feel something, you have Self  Awareness, and you should be honored for it. If you get these things then you may know what I am talking about.   You may realized you never admitted certain things to yourself, your own struggle with it.  Which means you probably haven’t admitted it to anyone else, and you may really be struggling with some internal moral battles, and feeling despondent and completely alone.  Your self-awareness has been nagging that something is off, and you have chosen to not face the issue full on, and maybe even have fallen victim to yourself.

I don’t think one can truly harness that illusive Joy,  without first confronting and tackling the dark part that continues to pull their view from the light that is purposeful absolution.  And that means to face the struggle and tackle it head on; not to just complain or ignore.

Personally, I only remember moments where I was happier than others.  Few of them were consecutive.  I have never had a phenomenal month of Joy.  Nor do I think a life with out dark dips is a potential reality in this world.  We learn through our mistakes and misgivings.  We evolve through experiences of both success and defeat.  We pay the price of consequence in all our actions.

My whole life has been a struggle with the dark side.   Trace my writing back to its beginnings of child like journals and thoughts too big for the child writing in the journal.  It isn’t easy.  Especially to be transparent, confrontational and advocating righteousness; however, it is what we all deeply want and need.

I face my own mistakes daily, and yet something I think about often is a time when I was 16. Walking down the side passages of the mall to go to the restroom, and on  my way out a man, his wife and three-year old  daughter were walking toward me.  The small girl was dragging her coat on the floor; the mother had a black eye, the father towered above them.  He started yelling at the small girl to pick her coat up off the floor, and before she could respond the father picked the girl up by the front of her shirt and slammed her into the brick wall.  Screaming in her face, shaking her against the unforgiving hardness that stood behind her tiny body. Scared shitless…Mother backing away, looking away; doing nothing.

I continued to walk by and act appropriately like I was taught.

“Do not stare. And most importantly DO NOT involve yourself in other Peoples affairs.”

At the core of my soul, I feel more guilty and wrong for doing nothing  in that moment than I feel about any misguided intentional misdeed I myself accomplished in the 16 years previous and the 18 years after that one moment.  My only excuse was fear because God knows I was born confrontational, and I have no guilt about that.   Fear can no longer be used as an excuse to those  who know fear is an illusion.  I wish I knew then, what I know now, and I hope that Momma and girl are safe and alive.  I have never admitted to having a regret, and that would be it.

That said, the only solution I have is this; Transparency and Accountability. Be honest with yourself and all you deal with. Call each other out.  Use your intuition.  Get into other Peoples business.  Be raw.

Ask for help when you need it, accept it if it is offered.  Participate in your community and do not be offended when they involve themselves with you.  Be social in real life, not just in the cyber world.

Honor pain and struggle, give it a voice and find it a solution.  Band together as people who have all experienced the most basic of human emotions, and use them to strengthen the good in the world; use them to balance the scales of injustice and harm that goes on senselessly everyday.

Love each other the way you want to be loved; finally set an example of human behavior that can not be ignored.  No one is perfect, and if we can agree on that it should be easy helping one another through the struggle that it is to be human.

Simply put,educated and empower one another to be accountable and transparent.  Deal with each other  in state of love, in equity and consequence.

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The Observational Adventure

Remember the great writers of the most recently retired generation. The Kerouac and Thompson era. Those journalist trippers taking to the road, ( and not always the high one) making a story as they went along. The intricate weavers of an American subculture. Remnants of their lives describe eternal youth and the adventure of virility few in this day and age can experience without some hinderance. Even those books were riddled with hurdles and nay-sayers, but these writers weren’t necessarily writing with the mindset of being the voice of their generation. Instead, these creative minds were merely taking time to observe the human condition from a new perspective; brilliantly commenting on the social climate. They are the record keepers, the traveling linage of pioneers ready for change and personal breakthrough.

The karmic struggle of a writer, is to conveying a worthwhile message. Anyone can write, but few can write well enough to captivate audiences for years to come. Those literary artists stepped beyond the front stoop and took a bounding leap into the unknown. These are the characters found to be the most inspirational.

Who will be the next great writer of my generation? Who will take the open road exposing eyes to things unseen, and yet there all along. Which one will stand up with vigor and enthusiasm for the new paradigm, a master of words and action? Why will masses follow along the journey, what will make it profound and worth recommending to a friend? What is it, as a growing society, that we still need to learn and assimilate? Who is worthy of such a task? Could it be a woman?

Few know author, Joyce Johnson. She wrote the memoir “Minor Characters,” a journey of her evolution as a writer and her love affair with Jack Kerouac. Joyce, was indeed, a minor character in the underground life of some of the most recognized writers of that time. She was amoungst one of the few women allowed into the inner sanctum of those well known beatniks, Burroughs and Ginsburg. Her accounts of the time she spent learning, loving, and living in the shadows is poinant and captivating. “Minor Characters,” brings to mind the question as to how; with her writing skills, keen observation, and warrior spirit, she remained overlooked as a complimentary commentary on the day and age. Perhaps we have been so caught up in the taboo stories of fierce and flagrant men; as is common in American culture, that those softer voices have been drowned out. Just as the admired men of her time were openly defiant to the social norm, tagging along the ranks was Joyce. In a time when women were expected to get married, stay home and have babies, Joyce was expanding her mind and sexuality. Her involvement with Kerouac never turned into marriage, and though he was 12 years her senior, he highly respected her as a writer and confidant. Still, few recognize her impact on Kerouac’s musings… truely a minor character.

I took the leap into the unknown some 10 years ago now. I have traveled the open road, and talked with strangers. I have stayed in the homes of people met merely hours ago, only because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I have observed the bizarre and beautiful array of life bleeding behind closed doors. Empathy is more prevalent in my life due to scenes so heart-wrenching and real, no script could do them justice. Trickles of poetry and sketch have formed from the surreal nature of observational participation. What is it I am destined to convey?

I have been treated with love and disgust, invaded and ignored. The path has been dirty but rewarding. Perhaps the only rewards are stories. Maybe it is the ability to slip into the personal lives of others. To walk, invited into all the swells of struggle that humans desire to share, and yet feel too ashamed or isolated by, to know how to. I have been there in one way or another. Crying with strangers, sleeping with soul mates, laughing at nature, embracing the sunset. The fabric of our lives is a quilt work of words and experience, a colorful co-creation in a constant state of evolution. Each of us, without knowing, are active in our participation. The blessings of momentary meetings, the rush of brilliance shown through Truth. You may not know it, and you may never realize the silent impact you can have on a writer. I could write poems about a certain strangers’ smile. Those things may never be published, the muse may never know they were influential… and yet, words however private spill forth like a fountain of expression. A writer’s “full release.” Just as life force spills forth from every man until his death, words worth writing fill the page of eager hands. Some times in life are less inspirational than others, and still it is only a sign that the wellspring is in the process of change and revitalization.

I am on the adventure, you are each adding to the journey, the goal is unseen. The struggle is to learn how to really LIVE a life of expression and integrity. Each interaction bring to light a new concept or facet of totality and unity within our humanity. May the words of sages and wise women be a spark into the flame of greater creativity in each mortal soul. Eagerly we await a greater acceptance of our bond as humans, our Universal Minds and Hearts. Each time you read words of inspiration, contemplation, revelation and resonance, heed the message, though mass produced, it was written specifically for you at that time. There is no time in Truth, and Truth is timeless. May your soul recognize your journey no matter what time it is.

Things Left Unsaid

I think I am having a sort of identity crisis.  As I mentioned in a previous post, a belated mourning.  It’s been slowly building day by day creating a depression like I have never known before.

My life is very isolated right now.  I see one or two people on a daily basis.  Mostly I just see my grandmother, but at the same time, despite living with her, and taking care of her; I avoid her.

It is sad to see the loss of memories of some one who was so proud of her ability to retain information, to  loose a little bit more of it everyday.

Recently she asked me how my mother died (her daughter)… and I replied “Cancer.”  She responded with “what kind?”  I had to ask ” is this a quiz or do genuinely not remember?”  Her answer was shocking… she didn’t remember.

My mother passed away of ovarian cancer when I was four years old.  My family bottled their sadness and harbored their memories of her to themselves.

As a resilient and adaptable person, I just didn’t give it too much thought.  I did what people expect you to do, which is “get over it and move on.”  I had a little brother to look out for and influence.

There have been times in my life where this depression surfaces and causes me to question  where I came from, maybe what I missed out on, but people in my family have been hush hush .

I have noticed that over the past year with the passing of my grandpa and my aunt, that my grandmother’s mental hard drive is crashing.

My dad remarried when I was 8 and he had a daughter with his new wife.  That half sister of mine is married now and had a baby this year.  My step mom is a very active participant in their lives.

My full blooded brother died in 2006, and that was the first time I felt the pangs of losing what I know to be a part of myself, and the living memory of a mother who didn’t stay too long.

The things most girls want to grow up and be are a good wife and mother… but not me.
I feel a huge rift in even contemplating that life because it feels so distant to me.

Where do I come from, why do I feel such sadness? Will it ever get better?

I don’t know the word “mom.”  Even when I say it out loud it sounds foreign and awkward.  How could I ever be that which I do not truly understand.  I find jealousy at how easily “mom” rolls off the tongue for everyone else.

I hate that my sister gets to use it with such frequent consistency. It never felt right to call my stepmom anything but her first name.

I live in a world full of moms, and daughters, and because of my past I don’t feel like I fit in at times.  I wish I could conquer this void.

It recently came to my attention how Disney movies often run a program in their scripts that kills off the mother figure leading the main characters to be highly vulnerable to influences of say, a witch in disguise.  And I wonder if I run in manic directions because I don’t have a mom to run to.

I am well aware of the benefits of a good hug, the oxytocin and the bonding, but I don’t hug or touch anyone very often because it too, feels foreign.

My grandma use to hold me and comb her fingers through my hair, but now she is frail, and when I do hug her, I feel that I may break her.  This breaks my heart a little more each time.

Love to me is synonymous with sadness and loss, and I am not sure how to remedy that physical and mental reaction.  I enjoy being alone because most people just don’t understand how deep this program runs.  I can tell disappointment in others when I don’t say “I love you” in return.

I am not close with my mothers brothers, I don’t really know anyone she grew up with.  And in that I fear that when my grandma passes that I will have little to validate my existence outside of my own creations.  This sadness is so strong lately that I don’t want to create much, mostly because I don’t feel like I have many people to share it with.

It all feels sort of pointless.  And since I am not out for fame or fortune, I wonder for who does any of this benefit?

Recently because of Robin Williams death, people have been more vocal about their depression and sadness.  And I believe it’s a great topic for discussion, but I find that when people realize how depressed a person is, they find a conflict of caring and repulsion.  No one likes hanging out with a Debbie Downer all the time.

This is another reason I am reclusive at times.  I just don’t have the energy to be happy or funny all the time.  I don’t enjoy how worn out I can feel from pretending.

So I don’t pretend.  But is taking its toll on me, and it saddens my grandma, which turns into a cycle of us throwing sadness back and forth.

This is no way to live, and no way to die.  I wish I knew a way out of this cycle.

Where is the sacred trust?

Let me be honest.  (HA! Like I am not giving forth such honest thoughts each time I publically publish… and also  secretly script…)

I am experiencing death on new levels that bring such uncomforting; they become almost unexplainable.

No one wants to openly talk about this… so I think alone, about it… and it tears me up.

I feel left alone in so much emotional turmoil and question,  so much so that kind condolences mean nothing.

Maybe this is a simple “depression.”

But is depression ever simple… ?

I see within myself a sense of being, which does not resonate to my Higher Will.  Nor does it resonate with my positive productive being.  It is what I would call worry some.

This malady is partial Spiritual Crisis and partial sad bystander  complex.

Imagine you have 10 years of technology running on compatible programs; and each burns themselves out with no way to archive or save the data….

This is the human reality I am living.

I am like the new android tablet you got last year that held a certain amount of transferable data from your last android…. and everything  else is early windows on hard drive that is crashing…

I know what I am now, but what I come from has  spotty presence of research toward beginnings.

Perhaps all this is just a belated mourning.  But I feel like I am losing parts of myself to lost stories never told and redefinition means a new program, and I am resistant.

It is like Alzheimer’s by proxy, or imagination in over drive creating a melt down.

This is not good.  There is no easy remedy because there are too many questions and no room for submission.

Nature is the only remedy.

The Twisted Dichotomy of Body Image

Why is it, that when I feel bad about my body image, my girl friends are the first to tell me I am beautiful, vibrant, and powerful; and my guy friends will say, ” yeah, I know that feeling. It sucks.”

Men interested in being my lover, will respond much like my girl friends.  Combating my personal displeasure with compliments.

The other day, my friend Brandon and  I were talking on the phone for an hour and a half.  We spoke about dating and sexual relationships that we have had.

He recently met a girl through the internet dating app, Tinder.

I expressed a desire to get laid, but not in that willy nilly way that unaware people often do, by lowering their personal standards.  And  yet I see my own oxymoron by feeling I have already lowered my standards by “letting myself go.” Feeling sick of my body lends me no courage to be naked with anyone, strangers and myself included.

He told me to “just do it!”  And when I explained I feel fat and gross, he said “that sucks.”

Perhaps it is my idealism getting out of control, but I want my male friends to respond with the same compassion as my female friends.  I want my male friends to reassert that they find beauty in me… even if I will have a hard time swallowing it in the moment.

Now, just maybe that is too much to ask.

Our society has been brainwashed by unreasonable expectations.  The thigh gap, a flat stomach, no extra pounds to be found; ignoring how those traits aren’t always heredity or healthy in how they are acquired.

Brandon’s mother Trish, who is a friend of mine, admitted that she unknowingly at the time, raised her sons to be “fatist.”

She admits now that in her youth, she would constantly harp out loud about strangers and even her husbands fat, and their need to lose weight.

For her, I believe this is a byproduct of living in Southern California, home of unreasonable aesthetic expectation.  Land of hopefuls wanting acting roles, and modeling gigs.

I have never been a skinny Minnie, and I admit, I too have been “fatist.”  Not so much about other people, but for myself.  When asked my greatest fear, I would respond, “getting fat.”

I would say I have an average middle American body.  I can still see my private parts despite my belly pooch, and my boobs stick out further than the pooch.  So that’s good, right?

In the last three years of living rather sedentary while taking care of my grandmother, that pooch has become more defined, and this scares the shit out of me.  I can’t find a pair of jeans that will fit appropriately over my thick thighs and my ghetto booty.  I find myself at the brink, of fat.

I recollect the quote, “If you want to know how you’ll feel tomorrow, pay attention to what you are thinking today;  If you want to know why you feel the way you do today, pay attention to what you were thinking about yesterday.”

It’s like the body has a 24 hours process time to manifest thoughts into physical proof.

Have you ever spent the day obsessing on a pimple, telling yourself “My skin is suck a wreck!”  Only to wake up the next day to find the condition has gotten worse?

I have.

There is much to say about loving and appreciating oneself.

The first thing I can say, however, is we are not taught to appreciate ourselves or our adaptability.  We live in a society  that seeks stable permanence and actively believes “pain is gain.”

We are taught to seek external praise and appreciation, and in return we are not taught to believe it.  Only to skeptically accept it.  No wonder people feel so unfulfilled.

Some of my previous responses to the compliment, “You look pretty.”

“No, I don’t.”   Denial

“Ohhhhhhkay…” Sarcasm

“Whatever.”  Brush off

“So what do you want to eat later?”  Change the subject

*Blank stare, silence, walk away*  Avoidance

“Uhh, if you find cows pretty.”  Self Deprication

How hard is it to just say, “Thank you”?  Really hard.

How hard is it to say, ” Damn straight!  Thank you!” ?  Damn near impossible.

No wonder our male friends find hesitation in complimenting.  We find far more negative responses toward kindness and appreciation than we do positive responses.  That’s got to get old and tiresome.  And for me, it has.

There is a resurgence of people who want to celebrate the divine feminine.  Most of them are considered “new age hippie types.”

The Dove company has created an ad campaign attempting to get women to see their true inner beauty, while selling soap and body products.  Needless to say, I am skeptical of their real agenda.

Advertisers don’t advertise because they genuinely care about making people feel better or live better.  They advertise to sell products and illusionary life styles.  They advertise to make money.

A tried and true method of advertising to make money is to either make people feel worse about themselves for not using a specific product, or to give a false sense of security that is held in place by using a specific product.

People in advertisements are paid.  Most likely paid actors.  There have been Vegan actors in McDonalds commercials; “rehabilitated” fat women with low self esteems staring in Jenny Craig ads.

It’s all an illusion.

Personally my confidence and esteem don’t come from any product I can buy.  I see through the illusion of advertising, and my confidence comes from within my skin.

My confidence on a daily basis lays on the contingency of how my hair, body and skin look to me at the time.  Whether or not I can pull my outfit together, or if my hair will curl, or if I can cover up my blemishes with out exacerbating my flakey broken out skin.

At the end of the day, the only products that will help, are wholesome natural foods.  Not make up or clothing, or weight loss pills..

I, like many women, cave at times to the illusion of advertising.  Hoping for a quick fix and a boost of instant gratification.

If I become more aware of myself and the situation, I see that I should be able to muster up my own instant gratification.

I am alive, I am mobile and malleable.

I am not advertisement “perfection,” but I am, the perfect me.  The one and only, (at least so far as I know in this dimension).

If I am able to breathe, move and think; then I am able to change and adapt.  Adaptability becomes illusive when we keep ourselves boxed into who we think we are.   The walls of illusion are permanence.

I have had the blessing of living many different lives in this one life time.  My body and mind have adapted to each newness, not always in my perception as “positive,” but adaptable change nonetheless.

Most of the changes I’ve deemed  “negative” have been a byproduct of negative self talk.  A gut reaction that is usually in the vein of denial; sarcasm, self deprecation, avoidance or ignoring.

We ALL want to feel good about ourselves and each other, but the programs we’ve been fitted with support competition and comparison.

We are not taught to look in the mirror and see the positive.  We are taught to focus on the flaws and then to unabashedly pick at them; to confirm what we see with negative self talk.  Only then do we walk away feeling shitty; full of self doubt ready to be shared amongst humanity like contamination.

We know we don’t like how it feels and yet we don’t know how to eradicate the problem.

I am reminded of a viral video called “Jessica’s Affirmations.”  The cute little curly haired blonde girl standing on the counter top in her bathroom, in front of the mirror.

“I love my hair, I love my mother, I love my sisters…”

” I can do anything. I can do anything good.  I can do anything better!”

That video went viral not only because it is cute, but because it was the actions of a Master.  It was how we all wish we could be, but what we do not allow ourselves; the freedom to be, based off of a life time of stored apprehensions and self loathing.

We accept little Jessica, positively affirming because four year olds are cute and they don’t have the same acquired emotional baggage as an adult.

We laugh and cheer her on because we’ve lost some hope for ourselves, but we can believe in a child.  A child like that, is bound to “do” or “be” somebody, someday.

I have written about emotional baggage a lot over the years.  How we carry it with us though it no longer serves our best interests.  Baggage can become it’s own addiction.  Emotional hoarding.  Or emotional masochism.  Tearing and picking at ourselves when we look in the mirror, and hating ourselves for it long down the line.  Unknowingly adopting attitudes and belief systems that support self abuse and self suppression.

How cool it seems, to be to appear coy, withdrawn and disinterested.  Emotionally caving to a pervasive belief that “IF it SEEMS too good to be true, it probably IS.”   The old adage, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

So we have stopped hoping so much .  We redirect our energy in to squelching our own excitement for fear it will all fall through, and fall apart.  We become accustomed to mundane.  Thinking magic only happens to beautiful, wealthy movers and shakers.

But not for us, normal, average people.

Most people just want to fit in; to not feel left out.  And in that, they compromise their own unique magic, mystique and specialness.  No one wants to stand out too much, fearing that if they do, they’ll be made fun of or isolated.

So we throw ourselves into any sort of conformity and find ourselves still feeling wanting, and dissatisfied.

Would I feel perfect if I weighed 125 pounds?  I don’t know, I’ve never been there.

Do I think I would feel better about myself?  Probably, there are a lot of clothes a girl my size should not wear, that 125 lb me would love to strut around in.  But I know even that would not be enough.

To not worry about my weight, or how I look would inevitably trade off into some other mental fixation, whether it would be the process of maintenance, or perfecting other issues I find with myself.

For each thing we fixate or obsess about, and then remedy; there are three new concerns that are ready to take its place.  Let’s face it, we all want to be, do and enjoy more than we allow ourselves.  It can turn into a stew of self regulation.

“I can’t eat that.”

“I can’t go there.”

“I can’t do that.”

Really?  Is there a force field keeping you from it?

We create our own mental force fields.  We reinforce them with our negative affirmations and synthesized mental stresses.

Why do we do this?

A fear of unconditional love seems to me, to be the culprit.

There is a lot of talk about a need for self love, unconditionally.  However, our society has such distorted views of love to begin with.  It is a struggle to know exactly how love, especially unconditional love, feels.

We mistake lust for love; liking for love, abuse for love, restriction for love, and jealousy for love.

I like the adaptation on the golden rule, ” Treat others the way you want to be treated,” into ” Treat yourself the way you would have others treat you.”

Meaning to me, why would we shit talk ourselves, if we hate the idea of others shit talking us?

We dive head first into self deprecation almost as if to beat others to the punch.  It is an overused modality in stand up comedy.  To be the first one to talk down about ourselves in order to shelter our hearts and egos from the disaster of the potential observations of our fellow humans.

In so doing, we ignore the fact that EVERYONE has their own special set of insecurities and fixations.  We ignore that everyone is capable of  self effacing grandiose

Each one of us is the center of our own universe, and under the microscope of our own insecurity we are blinded to the peripheral view that deep down there is nothing extremely different about anyone, unless we deem them that credit as an individual.

We all struggle with fear and self doubt.  We isolate ourselves in the illusion that everyone is better or more adaptable, or magical than the “I” who stares in the mirror.

Everyone is taking an individual path leading to the same place.  That place is the understanding of infinite self love.

We want to love and be loved, we just don’t know how to do it, find it, or feel it.  We are not programed for easy acceptance of it.

When I try to imagine what self love looks and feels like, I think it comes with the appreciation of waking up alive everyday.  Looking in the mirror and saying “Hey Beautiful, I love you!  Today is going to be a great day because you are in it!”

It is the self encouragement to be courageous and do what is best for the self, because we all want the best, but we have horrible role models and frankly, we don’t feel like we deserve it.

There is a common misconception that we have to earn what we deserve.  That there are some illusive hoops we have to jump through in order to prove to someone outside of ourselves that we are worthy.

Each of us are born with the gift of life.  Within that gift we are ENTITLED love.  Some of us start with really rough beginnings which makes that path to Love a bit more rocky.  Especially loss or abuse in the formative years before self awareness comes to play.

These can be amazing learning curves that catalyze the question of what love, actually is, and how it is asking to be expressed.

Learning curves can be amazing teachers that show us what Love is not, and how to recognize it through feeling and reflection.

Sadly though, those same learning curves can also lead to a life time of turmoil and self doubt.  Extra long term baggage.  It is easy for some people to get caught in the eddy of victimhood.  To swirl in an endless circle of self effacing pain.

“No one likes me.”

“I’ll never find love.”

” No one will ever love me.”

“Nothing ever works out for me.”

“I am a failure at life.”

“I am shit.”

“I am ugly and fat.”

“I hate myself.”

“I am so fucked up, no one will ever want to be with me.”

“It’s just the way I am.”

“Nothing will ever change.”

Most of that is spoken through the unhealed wounds of childhood.  The broken inner child whose faith in Love was derailed before it had a chance to mature.

These are the sins of our forefathers and the examples set by our foremothers.

There are people in this world very aware of these facts and products of our history.  These are the people actively seeking to remedy hundreds if not thousands of years of passed down self hating logic.  These are the people seeking to teach the next generation a more positive and fruitful way of living and loving.  I think they will succeed.

As a whole, humanity is sick of oppression both internal and external. We WANT to see the magic in ourselves and each other.  We want to thrive together with out the insanity of comparative competition.  We want to live without the fear of loving ourselves and each other.

Deep down we want what is best for everyone.

Ubuntu.

Grasping for Beauty

I made a mistake today.  I did something that I had purposefully been avoiding, knowing if I did it, it would make my head spin and send me out of control emotionally.  But I went ahead and did it anyway.

I weighed myself.

I didn’t really need to do it.  I can look at myself with or without a mirror, and tell with certainty, shit ain’t right.  But I did it anyway, as some sort of sick confirmation of my misery.

Over the last 3 years I have lived the most stagnant life I have ever had the privilege of living.  I take care of my 87 year old grandmother.  And though I love her dearly, my chosen obligation has absolutely derailed my previous life styles.

I spend 90 percent of my time at home within easy reach of my grandmother.  And the small luxuries of my previous lives that I have maintained are drinking heady beers, and eating amazing home cooked food.

My weight wouldn’t matter as much if those were not the only two little bliss factors in my life.

I am use to being quite social, active, and involved in mentally and physically engaging activities.  I am use to working hard, and playing hard, metabolizing both alcohol and experience.

Instead I have become well versed in Netflix, and drinking alone.  Not drinking to get drunk, mind you.  Drinking because I love beer.

Today is day 5 of not drinking.  My body is going through a disgusting skin detox.

I stood naked before my shower, looking in the mirror, muttering to myself, “I really shouldn’t weigh myself.  It is a bad idea.”

I responded by pulling the scale out of the cabinet. Stepping up, looking down.  Which led to crying.

I know that concepts of beauty are not entirely tied into how much a person weighs.  Beauty is a thing from within, that is sometimes  evident without.  I do not feel beautiful on either side of the coin.  I have been strategically hiding behind costumes in order to play a role of comfort and confidence.

I have seen myself be physically content with my body before, and it is the best feeling EVER!  Why?  Because it becomes one less thing to worry about on a day to day basis.  When I am happy with my physical appearance, I feel more capable of handing other aspects of living.  No one likes the girl who is constantly worried about how she looks because she doesn’t have the confidence to radiate.

Facing the truth of how my body has morphed over the last 3 years, happened about a month ago.  I stood to a challenge and went to an comedy open mic.  I recorded my set.  The set wasn’t bad at all, but  I couldn’t get over how my once toned arms, radiated white like big wings on a bird.  They seem huge.

I use to joke that women need great girl friends that will let them know when they start to get back fat.  I haven’t had any girl friends around lately to remind me of my appearance.  I mean what do I have to look good for when I am at home with an elderly lady 90% of the time?

The hardest part of all of this, is realizing that how I look and feel is a byproduct of me not being in the right place for me.  The situation has muddled my once sharp brain, into a reclusive and miserable person.  I don’t like it at all.  It is hard to radiate beauty when feeling so despondent and under inspired.

I am facing the fact, that the time is drawing near to leave.  I have to go.

I love my grandma with all of my heart, and I want to see her be safe and healthy, but at what cost?

I have cost my own health and well being to be with her in some respite.

People treat me like I am doing some sort of martyrdom in this experience.  But I do not feel like a martyr.  I feel that I haven’t done as well as I could or should have.  And that feeling isn’t getting any better. I wouldn’t be surprised if all this gain has something to do with the massive amounts of cortisol I am undoubtedly producing within my stagnant stress barrier.

I have become so stuck, I am not sure what direction to go to get out of it.  I just know I need to move, and shift, and stretch, and run far, far away from the anchor I have bound myself to.

I would love to spend a month with raw foodies, with active, patient lives.  I would like to take the time to reprogram my neuroplasticity into a vibe more along where my heart sings.

I feel inclined to run back to other versions of my past, while truly desiring to make something new and redefined for myself.  But I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to ask.  And maybe I won’t, until I just get out of the parameter I have found myself choosing to be stuck inside.

I want to feel beauty, and beautiful.  I want to radiate more than I ever have before.  I want to make something happen, or be apart of what is happening.  A feeling that would be in juxtaposition of how the last three years have felt like, waiting.

I am too young to be waiting on death, and that is the place I have been.

I know I can’t wait on health and wellness to find me.  And I know I can’t wait for myself to just get over what I am feeling.

I know I need a change both inside and out.

The Light Collective: Are you looking for Love?

lovely thoughts on love

Blue Dragon Journal

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October 27, 2013

Channeler: Eliza Ayres (aka Tazjima)

We are the Light Collective, a gathering of ascended masters, angelic and light beings, as well as members of the Elemental Kingdom.

Today our theme is: “ Are you looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Inspired by a reader’s comment and refreshed by a walk in the cool autumnal air, our scribe is ready to take on another short piece.

What is love, really?

This has been a perennial question in the hearts of many people, lifetime after lifetime, as hit by the storms of life, seemingly bereft of solace; they have yearned to find true love.

Some lucky ones have discovered shelter in the arms of another and have learned the delicate art of giving and receiving, sharing a short time together or many decades. Still, even this is not the fullness of love.

Many of you, knowing the…

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