An Odd Contradiction

An Odd Contradiction

[Musings from my journal: Tea Bar, NW Portland, October 9th, 2017.]

We are constantly seeking happiness, comfort, and an “easy-breezy” feeling—yet the stories that we cling onto the most are redemptive, heroic, painful, and complicated.

We are torn up by the elements of tragedy, yet captivated.

 We like to feel bad for ourselves and we prefer to be at the bottom so we can eventually say we came out on top. It’s an odd contradiction. *

At the root of any story is the need for nourishment. We encounter Struggle and Growth. And though we seek and fear both, we cannot avoid Love or Death.

There is a push and pull in my soul.

I am an odd contradiction.

I love people.

I am indifferent to people.

I want all things leafy and green.

I want all the treats.

I believe in fairies.

I am a skeptic.

I am obsessed with books.

I haven’t finished a book in weeks.

I want the beauty of foliage.

I hope for the rain to go away.

I love the sun.

I can’t handle the heat.

I want to be alone.

I want to be with you.

I pray for no more pain.

I am prideful of my pain.

I wish to stand out.

I do not want to be seen.

I intend to finish this list.

I don’t.

*Inspired by page 226 of the novel “Aleph” by Paulo Coelho

            “I cannot cure despair when people find comfort in it.”

Breathing

There is a chill in the air. Very quickly tiny bumps form and the hairs on my arms become more visible. I did not notice the air conditioning until just now.

I’ve been overheated for weeks,

Constantly serving and working

To keep a flame ignited.

I am relieved to have an opportunity to rest with my thoughts that come in waves—to feel the air caress my skin.

I take a deep breath and allow that same air to fill my lungs and soften the tension that infiltrates every muscle and fiber; an extended dip in a pool, head under, without the fear of drowning. My right foot begins to vibrate and becomes numb.

I think it’s falling asleep. That must be where my intelligence lies because sleep is exactly what I need—to forget the outside world for an extended period of time and heal myself through full relaxation.

I’m shaking. The cold is becoming uncomfortable. Breathing feels unnatural.

As I give this time to myself I become aware that it feels wrong, like I am naked in a room of people who pretend to be deep in conversation. I am vulnerable to their judgment in my choice to befriend the wind. Maybe I should take caution.

The air whispers, “No, be brave. Be you. And just put on a sweater.”

We’ll embrace in a hug.

And in that moment I find within myself the thing that exists called love.

Grey Anomaly

Dear Anomaly,

I want to live by black and white. Simple. Clear. Balanced.

But I love the greys.

Therein lie the curiosities and the beautiful

Haunting fog of emotions and unforeseen sparks.

I preserve the brilliance and luster within

Because I cannot bear to release anything short of perfection. 

But brilliance is not perfect; it’s truth—

And luster is not perfect; it’s life. It’s light. It’s me.

I cannot expect to be black and white.

If I am only intentional than I will filter what could be.

Perfection aside, I long to embrace the authentic me,

Creams, greys, and smog combined, to paint my world
In neutral. Even in the smudges I will be seen.
In an Epistle to myself, I will be heard.

Brilliance and luster. Dearth and shadow.

And I will drink my unfiltered loose-leaf tea of

Earl grey, lavender, and rosemary.

Take out an envelope and pen, and then

Ruminate.

Let the herbs infiltrate my system as I meditate on the
Aromatic sweetness.

Herbs transform into a cluster of charcoal words,
Earnestly transferred to blank pages to be folded then
Enclosed.

Star-like imagery. Dark interior.

I love the greys. Complex. Hazy. Eccentric.

But I want to live by black and white.

Soul Lover

“When it comes to sexuality, like so many things, only the truth will set you free.”

This quote stopped me in my tracks as I was reading an article last night.

Including the old adage ‘the truth will set you free’ felt a bit cliché until I reminded myself that I am someone who has to be open and honest. Always. When I do not express my own truth, I become bogged down; and recently that has definitely been the case for me. I am in a sort of mental trap, reaching out here and there to express myself to a few, but not feeling brave enough to stand strong in my identity. I just want to find some inner peace and mental freedom by communicating who I am right now. I know that finding comfort in who I am is not reliant on me making a public announcement, but I think if I just take my jumbled words that have filled my head each and every day, and just finally write them down, the visual reality of the words will empower me. Maybe.

It’s time I come out.

Now, I definitely do not need a label. I am honestly still sorting that out for myself, and I am an ever-changing creation. Human sexuality is such a complex idea and I am not about to say that I am gay, because that is not accurate for me. But even with various terms these days that fit under the category of Fluid Nature-- asexual, pansexual, aromantic, demisexual, gray-asexual-- none of that really seems quite accurate for me either. What I am saying is that I am definitely not straight.

I do not know where I fit, but what I do know is that I think people are Beautiful, both inside and out, no matter their gender. It’s the soul that counts. It’s the light that someone shines simply by being his, her, or their genuine self that I am attracted to. I’m a Soul Lover.

That being said, I have never been able to fully give myself to a man. And perhaps I never will be able to. But I’ve felt a comfort and attraction to women since I was a little girl that I have always kept separate from my identity, and hidden from my loved ones (though perhaps my mom has always understood that and read me in a way that others have not, or that even I could not). I completely accept others for who they are, whom they are attracted to, and whom they choose to be with, but have been unable to fully accept myself.

Why? Well, I pride myself on being unique, eccentric, and a bit odd to a certain degree, but in the end I just want to fit in. Labels make everything easier, and fitting into a binary is even easier. I’ve tried to go for simple, easy, and expected, both to feel “normal” and to make others proud. I want to feel comfortable and accepted. Aren’t I suppose to find myself a good man, let him sweep me off my feet, fall in love, say I do, recite my vows, have his kids, and live happily ever after?

Well, I do not see myself in that story line.

I am becoming more okay with this because I want to breathe easy, live life to the full, and find a love story that is true for me. And guess what? I am still whole-heartedly loved and accepted by God for this. I don’t have to give myself to a man on earth if it does not feel right, because my life is already being given to the man Jesus Christ. And That feels good to say. That is my truth.

My dear friend shared these words with me in response to my coming out and I think they are worthy of being written down. Perhaps they will speak to more than just myself:

“Do not let your heart be troubled. Rest in God’s incredible love for you. Seek truth, and be honest with yourself and those who truly love you.”

                                                                        <3

Where I am going from here I do not know, but for anyone out there dealing with the same questions, concerns, and uncertainties, just know that you are not alone.

I have to remind myself of this as well: I am not alone.

And I am strong.

And I am ME.

And I am a Soul Lover set free.

 

Wild Things

Where are the wild things?

They are deep inside of us- the place we often dare not go.

Where truth lies and darkness flourishes against the sun-kissed moon of shimmering silver. Here in the wild, wolves howl in the night, trees stir violently from the billowing wind, and fires burn in our memory of invisible paths across fields of broken branches and smoldering fumes.

We jump into the fire, unafraid of the burn.

It feels good because it is a reminder that we are alive, and that we no longer need that pack of cigarettes or fifth glass of wine. We can breathe deeply, run to the other end of town, and take chances others miss. We notice opportunities masked by the night.

All is seen and nothing is feared.

To be wild is to not condone the restrained, austere comforts consistently enforced. We choose not to live that way because we do not like sixty hour work weeks in an office cubicle, monotonously driving to and from a prison of surface level relationships and false meaning, for wasted hour upon wasted hour.

The wild things are creators,

Lovers, protectors, and seekers of meaning that feed off the land.

They believe in the natural world and avoid synthetic safety.

They embrace the challenges that come, and under the pattern of constellations drawn up above,

They are home.

I follow the path marked by my passionate ancestors, and often stray toward a place of transformation in various shades- my own uncertain, undiscovered path.

I am accompanied by a lurking shadow that I have become all too familiar with and often call by my name. A figure formed by bravery and strength that transcends my own. My path is strung with leaves of every colour, now dried out and glowing in silent hues of white, saturated with glorious history.

I’m on a mission to discover the wild imprisoned in all.

With plenty of matches at my disposal, I need to form an escape plan. I want to watch the embers burn in abundance, to release a flame so vibrant that everyone will feel the warmth. The ultimate spark of curiosity and inhibited, fearless inspiration will be ignited.

The wild things are here and now.

And it is my soul howling.

Embracing My Old Self

I am not static. As a human I am made of radiant light and shadow, with a myriad of intertwining facets, some consistent and some ever changing, some revealed and some yet to be discovered. There is something to be said about being able to recognize who you were in the past, who you are in the present, and in what ways both versions of you are the same or different now and in comparison to each other.

Growth is important and we should avoid entrapment by feelings of nostalgia or regret from that which has already occurred, but we must not lose the child-like wander and curiosity from our past. As we age and become adults, we experience more responsibility, freedom, and the amazing ability to think more deeply and live more intentionally. There is a drawback to this though, and that is the stigma of what it means to be an adult- to “grow up”, be reasonable, contribute to society in a “normal” and productive way, seek security… etc. etc. etc.
 And though I do find an importance in each of those facets of being an “adult”, that should not include becoming a dolt.

If we disregard our beautiful, fun, innocent, and instinctual child-like curiosity (the natural tendency toward creativity, innovation, exploration, and simple, spontaneous decision making, rather than over thinking everything) than what is the good in that? We should fully embrace our old self and even allow ourselves to revert to who we once were, before we discovered fear and all that fear encompasses and limits us from creating and accomplishing.

When thinking about embracing my old self, I am reminded of a brilliant book that I read titled, “Women Who Run With the Wolves”; its stories of lore and archetypes resonated deeply with me. The author recognizes the self that exists within us (not just for women, but men too) that contains more wild and instinctual tendencies that are natural, powerful, and dynamic; but this self (or soul) becomes increasingly more difficult to recognize and follow, as it is diminished by society and the idea that we must fit in and act in a certain “civilized” (boring!) way, when it actually could be more productive to society to follow a more instinctual, mindful, creative, wild path in life, like a child who prefers to colour outside of the lines, or chooses to forego the page altogether and instead chooses a blank wall to draw an abstract mural upon.



“Women Who Run With the Wolves” also introduces the idea of Life/Death/Life, in which we must allow certain parts of ourselves, our actions, our beliefs, our choices and thoughts, our insecurities and fears, to die off, so that new life can blossom inside of us. This is what happens naturally as we grow older, but instead of just ignoring who we once were- forgetting any mistakes we made, or even that which once worked for us that we assume cannot be incorporated into our new adult life- what if we were to embrace who we once were, acknowledge that which had to die, and be grateful for that? We can hold our own internal funeral to honour the past, remember what first brought us life, and feed ourselves similar nutrients to support a new life within us that reflects the past life and celebrates that which is new within our soul.

 Death does not have to be something that we fear, especially when there is something in our soul that must die for new life to spring- such as beautiful autumn leaves falling from the trees. Embracing the old self is giving the old you a genuine embrace- a hug of sorts- thanking Time for removing the parts of you that no longer bring meaning in your life. It’s as though the old self is shed, cremated, and then dispersed among wild flowers and riverbanks; the rest kept safely in a jar to be displayed in an archive of letters, books, and paintings. Time gently pushes us to move forward as a beautiful mixture of what once was and what will be.

When I embrace the old me I climb a tree, read a book, write and draw whatever I want, refuse to brush my hair or match my clothes, stop to smell the roses, ignore fear and what others think of me, and appreciate each little moment that I have to share with those I love.

Winded

We are kindred spirits.

The Wind and myself.

Always moving, searching, changing, welcoming joy and rejuvenation,

Sometimes howling, chasing,

And inevitably pissing others off.

Not everyone likes the wind.

It does not care what we look like or who we are trying to impress.

The wind just makes a way, aware but blasé, transient through our distress.

I’ve never liked the way that the wind ignores my carefully braided hair, separating the strands into a tangled, unmanageable mess, for which my centered part becomes undefined. But perhaps I should just let my hair down.

I begin to sense the beauty of the wind.

The glorious way it navigates drifting balloons across the sky,

Released by a distracted five year-old on her training-wheeled bike.

It makes a way for sailors to glide through the waters in search of undiscovered islands; for pirates to blunder around the seas in search of hidden treasure; for chimes to dance like an octopus, producing the music of nature that rings through our ears, spirals around our vertebrae, and directly into our soul.

Wind brings inspiration.

Just now I thought I was reading the right passage in my book, but I was wrong. The wind has something else to uncover, as its hands suddenly take my dog-eared page and flip it all the way back to page 17: “…all of this only takes somewhere between one and two minutes, so I haven’t actually wasted that much time. Still, it leaves me winded. I go back to trying to breathe, slowly and calmly, and I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments.”

And there that word is; winded.

I think how wonderful of a feeling that can be, to have dealt with drudgery,

Worked hard

Endured tension

And to then release that to the world and just pause.

Allow time to pass.

To be winded is a legitimate excuse to breathe and draw attention to the things that perhaps were missed along the way.

There are a lot of intimate details to be captured by a one-inch picture frame.

I make a mental note to fashion one for myself.

In this moment I am still.

Whenever the wind comes it seems to accelerate my movement as I walk downhill, and I lose control as my hair blows across my face,

Blindfolding me.

As I’ve said, I’ve never liked that feeling, and so I instead choose to experience something different.

Perhaps I can become one with the wind.

I sit, breathe, let go of control, and let my hair flow, finding contentment in not having to move or decide on anything. I just listen to the breeze and ask my spirit what it wants of me.

It brought you to my table.

 Aggravated and flustered, with scorching hot coffee overflowing onto your freshly ironed white shirt, notebooks toppling onto the ground as you attempt to balance too much on your forearm, the clock reflecting a time later than what you had hoped.

“Please excuse me. I’m so sorry. Oh lord I’m probably so late and this coffee is so hot. And my class is all the way in Smullin. Miss, what’s the time? 10:19? Oh yes I’m already late. UGH…”

Somehow you still manage to share a smile and laughter with me, as you continue to rant and sip from your coffee cup, now carefully set on the table next to my almost empty mason jar, containing an ounce of apple spiced tea, and adorned with a straw tied bow, creatively wrapped around a honey pot shaped tag, bearing the words Collect Moments in pencil.

“Is your class at 10:20?”

“Yes. I’ve got to go. Thank you so much!”

“Good luck!” If it helps, I spilled toothpaste on my sweatshirt this morning and had another last minute change of plans that brought me here to this sun-stained, umbrella covered table, rather than going to work.

A warm feeling of joy erupts from my core as I welcome the wind to sit beside me and join as I continue to read and write. I reach for the remains of my tea and find that a bee has made it’s way to the honey pot. Collect Moments.

The wind lifts my pencil and I write everything down.