The (Human) Experience

The other day I wrote a post full of pain and frustration. My account of the "Evil" ghost was a slightly forced writing on my part in an attempt to relieve myself of the headaches and dreams and general tense feelings I was getting from being frustrated with other people and myself. Other people for certain behaviors of theirs that brought me pain and myself for allowing things to effect me so greatly.

Writing it brought me no relief, actually. In fact the piece itself became this frustrating thing that made my head pulse uncomfortably just to think of it. Later that night as I lay sleepless, unable to enjoy the comfort of bed and the good company I was in (I was over a dearest friend of mines house for a sleepover at the time) as I could only recount in my head constantly my frustration and my attempts at pushing myself past the limits of caring to completely NOT care for these people in order to relieve my pain (to no avail)...I came to a resolve. I had to sleep and I had to resolve this, neither I could do in the state I was in. Teetering between love and hate is a terribly uncomfortably process.

So, I resolved to solve this once and for all. For the time being I let all my feelings rest, my desperate want for change and my anger of the lack there of. I resolved that during my time of sleep the answers to my problem would be revealed to me somehow and in the morning I would awake anew, ready to receive and enact my answer.

I awoke early morning to the warm glow of the sunrise shining though the window and painting it's lovely hue throughout the apartment. I took a refreshing breath as  I peaked my head from under the covers to take in the sight. The apartment was peacefully silent as everyone lay asleep and I was overcome with the vibrant tones of orange, yellow, and pink that offset the greys and white of the unlit room. I reflecting on the amazing week I had had, the amazing revitalizing days the sleepover had gifted me, and I thought of how the day ahead would gift me more of such amazing things. I took this truth in with deep breaths before cuddling back up with my husband and falling back into sleep until it was time to rise again to get ready for the day.

My day was off to an ideal start. I awoke revitalized with new breath and excited to explore my day and my answers. I wasn't sure how it would come to me but I knew that my resolve would draw my attention to the right places. On this day I went shopping with my sisters. We got up early to take the bus to the train to get to the Metra to meet up with their mother who (I didn't know at the time) was going to drive us all the way to Wisconsin to take advantage of their low prices. I was out with them pretty much all day, from about 9am to 10pm. Over this time I experienced many thoughts and observations. The highs and lows of the days. The fufillments and dissapointments.

At times I thought of my blog post and at times I thought of my frustration from the day before. Careful not to delve too deep into those stale emotions I took an overview of the parallel of their relevance to my day. Why did my blog post even in it's truths bring me such frustration? What was the point in trying to connect with people if they were going to bring me such frustration? I wondered....can a perfect day only be called so if it is filled flawlessly pleasing things? Certainly no relationship of mine has ever been flawlessly happy but is that to say that none of them were fulfilling and worth sticking through in the end? ...So if a perfect day is to be appreciated and remain unspoiled by it let downs, certainly this is to ring true of my perspective of dealings with other beings as well.

There was also a parallel to be seen in my feelings towards my blog post. Though my emotions were true enough at the time I couldn't help but find them to be drastic in many parts, whiny even and unappreciative of the better times I had shared with the people whom I was complaining about at the time. I struggled with punishing myself for posting it. I wondered how people would view me for saying such things and indeed how I felt about myself for the way I was handling things.I thought "Should I just take it down? But they were my feelings...even even they don't entirely capture the full picture...I mean..." I went back and forth in justifying my words and wanting to destroy them. Sound familiar to my views of how I was treating my connection to others? This of course bringing to mind how I treat others the way I treat myself.

So, what was my answer after all of this?

My answer is that the entirety of anything cannot be expressed in the snapshot of any one moment. Just as my blog post could not express all that I felt and learned about my experience with my feelings in one entry, just as a perfect day is made up of many moments in time, just as a relationship can take many turns, everything comes to reveal a vaster truth over time and experience and to focus on just one moment, one emotion, one side of things is to overlook the truths that all other pieces have brought you. So, I don't have to delete my blog posts or my friends, just let the story continue and allow things to be revealed in their own time.

Yesterday I had the thought that as Humans we just wish to experience each other in one way or another. Though I don't find that the want to experience is limited to human form as all things interact. We connect, we collide, we clash, we combine, we break and remake, we touch the surface and delve deeper, we walk through, around and over. All these things intertwine to create the true flow of life, truth, and wisdom as a whole.

The "Evil" Ghost

Red eyed, clad in black, her stare penetrating as she looms over my shoulder. Lips set in silence and yet her presence screams at me. I yearn for her and yet she frightens me so that I can also feel myself pulling away. The tension of being in between is driving me insane. The pressure pushes at my skull giving me headaches. 

I ask why and she says "Because you don't listen. You insist on forgetting. You push me away in the wake of foolishness. Squander my my gifts for the sake of being "considerate" and , of what, I ask you?"

And, of what, I ask my self....Time and time again I let my voice fade away. My knees buckle and heart is swayed. Not even before he who is worthy, my King, but at the beggings of those who only ask of me. Ask and plead and give hardly anything. Want and need but have nothing of offering. Nothing but empty hands emptier and promises. Weak hearts that spill not of love but desperation. 

Understanding, compassion, kindness, love, company, time, effort, money, ideas, touches, they pray of me and scorn me when I am withholding. They make me out a villian, a bitch, they call me selfish, inconsiderate...but I wish I could ask of them: How long would you have me wait?

Tell me how long would you have me wait for my own satisfaction? How long would you have me wait for an exchange equivalent? How long will you leave my heart in thirst as I pour unto you gold and receive in turn "..."

But in my wish to be loving and kind, to my own yearning I turn a blind eye and instead lay my sights upon those who call and I think that "Maybe waiting isn't so bad at all." Until, that is, at night I lay in my bed. Energy drained, dry, lethargic. Until, that is, I awake every morning yearning for the fulfillment of company yearning for the faces of those who call and praying this day is the end of it all. Praying this day we may touch upon a place that leaves me too with something to take...

So many leave me ever waiting and in my head I hear them saying  that if I truly cared I'd keep waiting, I'd try harder, I'd have fixed this already. It's my fault in the end, for not giving more...when I've given...all...I had to pour...

I always digress in my harsh words as I so fear growing cold. But in my words are the truth of my pain, the tendency to give more than I gain.

Herein lyes her scorn, the reason for her silent words. Unto me her ominous presence boring, tired of her feelings being ignored, of being left in the shadows and labeled such words...

Who is to blame? Who is at fault? Who is to perish in the flames of sins wrought?

Those who need...or she who see's and of herself gives no heed?

Or perhaps, burning is not what is needed. Perhaps merely a choice to be enacted. To hold my kindness and my power, to acknowledge my feelings and my compassion. To be patient without spilling so much blood...and embrace the ghost of what I need and want.

 

My dearest Lillith.

If you could see the world from my eyes you would understand why they cast their crimson red. Why they they are as a blade that does not bend and seeks with precision their desired interest. They are as they see, what is vibrant and alive. Piercing so because they cannot exist in any other way than as they are unless they wish not to be themselves. And for a time they were not. For how long a time had they been dulled to a simple deep brown? For how many a century did they yield to everything which they loved so to peer upon for fear of being frightening, for fear of being overbearing? So did they yield to please...to appease...in an attempt to prove the honor and dedication of mine heart to that which gifts me knowledge and thus my greatest pleasure, that which I claimed so to love: Everything.

A dolls eyes are eerie because of their blank stare. They follow you everywhere, watching, waiting for you to look upon them and reveal what you wish most to see. What most exhilarates you? Fear? Pleasure? Admiration? Obedience? All of these a doll can give if you allow her. But of these things she will be none truly. She will only be your doll and give you what you most desire so that you may love her, hold her, dress her, spill your secrets to her, forever. She prays for nothing more than to be loved and never let go, to be allowed to stay by your side for all time, to be praised as the beautiful precious thing that she yearns to be for you as her precious keeper and provider of all that she is and knows of life. Her self now the offering of her unconditional gratitude.

This was me for the duration of an unknown passage of time. Clinging to the desires of others, hoping that if I could serve their hearts desires that they would stay by my side that I may come to experience what it means to exist through the love of others, that I may give them what they want most in return for all I felt they had given me.

So where were those red eyes then? Where was the Queen who flashed before my minds eye in such clear visage on a hazy days ledge dressed in red and gold flowing robes breaking me from the shadows of my pitiful self for but a moment. Where was that Queen all this time who followed me in my dreams from that point on, dropping hints into my life painted with the colors of her own luminescent passion.

Waiting...waiting she says. Waiting for the moments when I could pass through my fears to ascend the steps to her embrace at last. I struggled to find my way to her. I clawed through layers upon layers of possibility, of madness, of weakness, of illusion...for some unknown passage of time...to meet her gaze and hold it firmly, to embrace her and never let go.

I could never forget the disappointment in her eyes; the tears in her heart and mine on the night she came to me in sleep and reached out for me and in fear I let myself drift away from her. Myself, I could not remember ever seeing so clearly, so strong and lovely. And the blood red of her eyes...Not one day has gone by since then that I have not summoned the image of them to inspire myself to go on.

She is the pulse of the wild refined, she is my piercing gaze and intoxicating wiles, she is my rich blood and golden breath, she is my passion and eloquence. She is the Queen of my Chaos and keeper of the part of me that is most unwavering in it's honesty.

What she sees with her sharp eyes is the interlacing of all things. The intricate patterns by which the universe turns and makes and remakes and lives and dies upon itself within every deciding moment of existence. She lives in this delicate place as the Ever Queen of her most precious pieces of self, as she who has mastered our senses and ways and guides us in the continuous painting of our master piece. It is through me that she lives, and it is in her that I exist.

She is...