Hi everyone!
I've decided to start a new blog that focuses on the dreamwork that I have been practicing over the past few years. I hope you'll join me over there at the new site. This has been a great blog for me over the years. Thank you for reading and being so supportive of me.
It is called ZapalaSpeaks.
http://zapalaspeaks.wordpress.com/
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
A Rare Poem
I wrote this at the retreat I went to last week. Hadn't written a poem since sophomore year of college. Felt great!
Black Eyed Meadow
Can you call something blind that was never meant to see?
Flowers are like that, deaf to the bees and the thunder
to my sighs, my breath.
There's no time for the flowers.
No waiting, no regrets, no tomorrow.
Death comes each day when the sun sets.
Why can't I have faith like that?
Simple petals waiting in eternity
for the sun to shine again.
Can you call something blind if it was never meant to see?
I can be like that, deaf to the cries of agony
echoing across the generations.
I can only watch, the tears crowd my Eye.
Yesterday pulls, tomorrow strains, right now explodes
into a thousand beams---except the one that hurts the most.
I can only barely hear you, time is so deafening.
A whisper of a promise, I can only just feel.
My soul waits with the flowers in the meadow.
Black Eyed Meadow
Can you call something blind that was never meant to see?
Flowers are like that, deaf to the bees and the thunder
to my sighs, my breath.
There's no time for the flowers.
No waiting, no regrets, no tomorrow.
Death comes each day when the sun sets.
Why can't I have faith like that?
Simple petals waiting in eternity
for the sun to shine again.
Can you call something blind if it was never meant to see?
I can be like that, deaf to the cries of agony
echoing across the generations.
I can only watch, the tears crowd my Eye.
Yesterday pulls, tomorrow strains, right now explodes
into a thousand beams---except the one that hurts the most.
I can only barely hear you, time is so deafening.
A whisper of a promise, I can only just feel.
My soul waits with the flowers in the meadow.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
What it is like when I am not writing.
I think one reason I named this blog Full of Baloney because I wanted to to be clear with everyone--I don't really know what I am talking about.
That was the way I wanted to present myself--don't worry, everyone else, I won't stomp on anyone's toes. I don't really mean what I say. This was because I was afraid.
I feel like I am very slowly becoming aware of the intense fear that is almost always present in my entire body. It burns beneath my stomach, threatening to take over at any moment. It has the threat of flame and its aftermath, extinction. Where does fear ever end?
At first, it feels like never. The fear feels infinite. So then what is the point of feeling it? So I just try to avoid it, as much as I can, just go on with my life.
Little did I know, that I was carrying this fear in everything that I was doing, all the time, regardless. We have no choice over which emotions we feel. We just have choice over how we interpret them, contextualize them, attach them to a 'story' about who we are, rationalize them, ignore them, project them on to other people, etc. The best thing we can do is just to experience them, as raw as possible. I don't want to make that sound too simplistic, though. It is extremely challenging.
This is why I often do the same destructive things to myself over and over--this can be repetitively seeking out abusive dynamics, all shades of addictions, or just preventing myself from my own inner desires. When you are caught by fear, you just want anything that has a predictable outcome, that is highly controllable. In moments I know that these behaviors don't make me feel good, but I can't stop them because then the feelings just come floating in, pervasive. It is a difficult trap, but the opening is knowing that not only am I avoiding the difficult feelings, but I have prevented myself from so many of the positive ones as well.
Avoiding fear, for me, has lead to a paralyzing, frustrating numbness that pervades my life. One of the hardest parts is that I know this and yet it is still there, ever present, lurking.
Writing has always been such a challenge, because I am someone who wants to please people and had been quite willing to sacrifice my own desires in order to do so. But it is quite impossible to both please everyone and be true to your own voice. I have a ways to go in this department, but if nothing else I no longer want to claim that I don't 'really' believe in what I am writing. I don't want to hedge my bet in any way. This is me, trying to be as real as I know how to be. I will fail. There are so many things I haven't figured out yet, I know I'll write stuff that will look so ridiculous to a future me. But I have to embrace my own transformation if I want to change.
There have been so many twisted excuses that have prevented me from writing. There's no point to writing, it's not something I need to be doing, I don't have a clear enough idea of what I want to write about, I am just trying to write for some imagined fame or fortune, if I don't do it perfectly the first time, every time, there is no point. I will think of anything to stop myself. This is what it is like all the time when I am not writing, just a circular, hysterical anxiety. Excuses that go through my mind, pulsing, intense, seemingly air tight, logical, sensible, correct, and yet, somehow, I have stayed up long enough to write this piece, and will publish it. There is this incredible energy that is released when I do what I am afraid of.
That was the way I wanted to present myself--don't worry, everyone else, I won't stomp on anyone's toes. I don't really mean what I say. This was because I was afraid.
I feel like I am very slowly becoming aware of the intense fear that is almost always present in my entire body. It burns beneath my stomach, threatening to take over at any moment. It has the threat of flame and its aftermath, extinction. Where does fear ever end?
At first, it feels like never. The fear feels infinite. So then what is the point of feeling it? So I just try to avoid it, as much as I can, just go on with my life.
Little did I know, that I was carrying this fear in everything that I was doing, all the time, regardless. We have no choice over which emotions we feel. We just have choice over how we interpret them, contextualize them, attach them to a 'story' about who we are, rationalize them, ignore them, project them on to other people, etc. The best thing we can do is just to experience them, as raw as possible. I don't want to make that sound too simplistic, though. It is extremely challenging.
This is why I often do the same destructive things to myself over and over--this can be repetitively seeking out abusive dynamics, all shades of addictions, or just preventing myself from my own inner desires. When you are caught by fear, you just want anything that has a predictable outcome, that is highly controllable. In moments I know that these behaviors don't make me feel good, but I can't stop them because then the feelings just come floating in, pervasive. It is a difficult trap, but the opening is knowing that not only am I avoiding the difficult feelings, but I have prevented myself from so many of the positive ones as well.
Avoiding fear, for me, has lead to a paralyzing, frustrating numbness that pervades my life. One of the hardest parts is that I know this and yet it is still there, ever present, lurking.
Writing has always been such a challenge, because I am someone who wants to please people and had been quite willing to sacrifice my own desires in order to do so. But it is quite impossible to both please everyone and be true to your own voice. I have a ways to go in this department, but if nothing else I no longer want to claim that I don't 'really' believe in what I am writing. I don't want to hedge my bet in any way. This is me, trying to be as real as I know how to be. I will fail. There are so many things I haven't figured out yet, I know I'll write stuff that will look so ridiculous to a future me. But I have to embrace my own transformation if I want to change.
There have been so many twisted excuses that have prevented me from writing. There's no point to writing, it's not something I need to be doing, I don't have a clear enough idea of what I want to write about, I am just trying to write for some imagined fame or fortune, if I don't do it perfectly the first time, every time, there is no point. I will think of anything to stop myself. This is what it is like all the time when I am not writing, just a circular, hysterical anxiety. Excuses that go through my mind, pulsing, intense, seemingly air tight, logical, sensible, correct, and yet, somehow, I have stayed up long enough to write this piece, and will publish it. There is this incredible energy that is released when I do what I am afraid of.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Raging Pelican Article
Here's my Raging Pelican article: http://ragingpelican.com/radical-hopes-radical-challenges/
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