The Journals: A Bright Future

August 21, 2018

Yet again, I'm trying to downsize and further compartmentalize my life. Shed some of that heavy weight that no longer serves me. It's hard to do because it requires me to dig into my past and this time it went into an even weirder zone.

Did you ever see that movie "Stranger Than Fiction" with Will Ferrell? If not, you should, and then maybe you could get some sort of sensation about your own life. Especially if you are the artistic or wordy type.

Basically today I got the sincere feeling that I have been writing my own life out before I actually live it- or something to that degree.

I can look at a piece of writing and know when and why I was writing it at that time, but the way I write things is subconsciously coded language. I don't know how or why this happens specifically, however I have some assumptions.

The thing about all of this is, I haven't had a bad life overall. I've had a rudimentary amount of pain in comparison to other people. My family is full of good people who tried their best to offer what they could within their means and probably unbeknownst to me- went above and beyond when needed.

All I can ask myself is, "What in the actual fuck?"

I am going to admit that most of my journals are a massive spiritual battle. It has been that way as far back as I have recorded my life. The journaling started around the age of twelve but I can go back to a certain creation or two, done in elementary school and see a depth that was or is seen as somewhat abnormal for a kid that age.

"She's five going on thirty-five!" My grandma would say, when I was little.

I wanted to sit at the adult table. I wanted to converse. I had questions and quips beyond my years. Spirit has been speaking to me forever.

Now perhaps this is just a byproduct of losing my mother at a young age and the feeling that I had to grow up very quickly to compensate. Maybe I was just born this way. Who knows? I do know that I drove my mother crazy when I was a small child, enough so, for her to strip me down to basically nothing and leave me on the front stoop with the old adage that "If you don't want to be here, you can leave the way you that you came in. Naked and shivering."

It's okay- my aunt lived a couple of blocks away and my mom would call her and tell her to come pick me up. She would come over, armed with oversized clothing that belonged to my older cousin. She would wrap me up in them and take me back to her place until the whole thing had calmed down.

Once, my dad said "If your mom was still alive, you would probably be at each others throat." Sometimes I feel like I am getting that experience with my grandma. It isn't a "hate" or a "loathing" issue, it's just this weird temperament that arises out of our idiosyncrasies and differences in ideologies. It is the byproduct of being stubborn and bullheaded while still having the best of intentions in love.

A stranger once told me "It is easier to paint yourself into a corner than it is to write yourself out of a box." That has stuck with me for over two decades. I wasn't quite sure what it meant but today I think I've got it.

It goes back to "abracadabra." A spell, or an incantation using the "ABC's". This is why writing and words are very magical. This is how words hold vibration that can influence the reality we live in. It is the way you can send prayers or well wishes, or destroy a life in a single breath.

My family can be traced back to Druids on my mothers-fathers side. There is some witchery in the blood and that blood still courses through my veins. I don't purposely perform rituals or magic- I have a feeling that there are a lot of us who don't. We settle on titles like "artist" or "writer" or "musician." We feel and feed on an indescribable power that fuels our creative spirit.

Words will almost magically manifest on the page without too much work. We feel "born knowing" the Muses. At least this is how it has always been for me. I haven't had to try too hard in create ways, it just comes to me.

I don't profess this as any sort of braggart. In fact, in this moment I am questioning ALL OF IT. My family is a mixed up match of tight lipped and deceased. I don't know where I can go to discuss this openly, so I leave it here for you- my few but beautiful readers. I am realizing I am needing to find a new way to console myself. Feel free to send suggestions.

The calm before the storm is over. I know it, and I feel it with a force that is hard to describe. As I read through these papers and place them in a new container, I am god-smacked.

I've predicted future patterns in my life with with no intention of doing so. In alignment with that, the writing has predicted patterns of humanity and what would be worth our attention. This leads me back to a post that I made a week ago in regard to purpose and being a dreamer. In this moment I want nothing more than someone I could share the depth of this with, but I don't have that "someone" which is a reoccurring theme in my personal writing that I rarely share.

I see that in this moment, that this specific loneliness is a representation of that spiritual battle. We are all looking for connection in various ways. I believe in Creation. I believe that Creation will NOT be outdone. I know that I can't "out-create" Creation. That knowing can be overwhelming, like, "Why even try?" Not to mention all that clutter as I make and make and make a mess of abundance that may end up at a thrift store or a landfill.

I've carried around paper, weighing what may be over a thousand pounds over thousands of miles- for what? This moment.

This is the moment it all shifts. I might not see the evidence of it immediately, so I will leave room for it to shift as quickly as it wants to.

While going through things I stumbled on a good-bye note from a woman named Cecily Monk. I didn't know her well or for a very long period of time, but I really liked her personality. She felt like a person that I would have had a long time friendship with if we would have had more time together. Anyway, she left Keystone, Colorado one day while I was at work and left this note. The last line in it was what I found most potent, "And remember, the journey of self discovery comes not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

So, obviously she was a fan of Proust or perhaps one of her teachers had the actual quote on a poster, " The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." I like that she added the words "self" and "journey" because the timing is perfect for today.

Journey versus Voyage is appropriate because I perceive a journey to be far more relaxed than a voyage. Voyage makes me think of a specific conquest for which I have had none up until this point.

The actual Proust quote takes a deeper meaning when I rehash my words and see that, in fact I have been on a voyage but I didn't realize it. I have had conquest but I didn't acknowledge it. It all comes down to love and forgiveness. This is going to be so hard because there is a lot of bad shit that happens in the world, but just like I am finding illumination in my own writing, we are capable of finding illumination in just how fucked up humanity has been by bringing it to light.

Today, I wanted to get rid of everything. I was feeling oppressed at how much garbage we consume and then throw away. I was overwhelmed by the massive pressure of pain that is the human condition. I wished I wasn't apart of it because, there is no easy solution and by the looks of it- it is only getting worse.

I thought about all the mundane stuff that we do on any given day just to maintain a standard of living, I thought about all of the people who loath the work that they do, just for a paycheck. I kept thinking and thinking and thinking about all the stuff I cannot stand- how disappoint all of our entertainment is because it is coded, yet getting increasingly more ominous in content. I thought about how my creative spirit has been lost because I can't imagine things getting better and I a sick of rehashing this old script that we are being fed on the daily.

Believe it or not, I believe this rumination to be a good sign. My art, dreams and writing tell me so. We really are dancing on the tip of a needle right now.

As I dug through this box, the skies turned dark outside. A while later the rain came pounding down in sheets and I laughed out loud, asking "Is this a baptism?" I went to shut the screen door, the water was falling down so fierce that it splashed out of the rain gutters and within a few seconds it took me to remove the heavy prop that held the door open, ( which is a concrete statue of a sleepy man in a sombrero) I was soaked and a bit elated.

This isn't over though. I had just begun this excavation and there were more treasures to dig up. So, this is only a taste of what was. To a certain degree I have been pulled into my own mystery. I am sure it is appropriate timing, as next month I will turn 38.

My life has been amazing. It's hard not to think that it's a shame I've felt so heavy through all of it. Even in times of levity, the gravity of reality has kept me solid and grounded. Luckily people like that about me, but if they didn't- it wouldn't really matter because it feels unchangeable.

Last night I re-watched "Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind" for the second time since the first time seeing it just after it's initial release. I saw it with new eyes, though I knew the story. When I watched the story, it came flooding back- looking though my life writing brings me the same feeling. This is a topic I could probably go to length writing about, but not today.

I sensed that thing are starting to sync up for me again and I am not sure what that means. I will probably be able to glean some knowledge from further exploration, but I don't know if I will wake up with the energy to keep on tomorrow, or if I will sit and stay in stasis again for a while.

I've been practicing forgiveness for myself and part of that is finding patience when my desires are so vast. Giving myself time to figure things out, without a strict timeline. It is not easy, it's hard not to compare myself to other people, and their obvious accomplishments. I think, "I'm just sitting on a stack of paper." But that stack of paper is the analog archive of my life in a very raw form.

I like to journal like, I like to go bowling. I can have a couple of drinks and do something, to the best of my ability, in full enjoyment even if I suck at it. I feel fulfilled by the slap-dashery of swinging my dominate hand around without any expectation of high results. It is something to do that is totally dependent on my personal attitude at the time. I don't fear judgement because most times I keep it to myself.

I mean, if you want to bowl alone, go at 1:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday; the only people there are over sixty years old and there aren't many of them. Most are there for the bar. Every once and a while a bold old pro will stop by your lane and offer you tips on your game.

It's like my blog page- I have about 80 followers, very little engagement and I am fine with that. Sometimes I just have to express myself out in the world, even if it is in my tiny little pocket.

When I was younger I was under the impression that I didn't actually have a voice in the world; or that no one cared what I had to say. Now I think that "just the right people" stumble in at just the right time, not only just for me but for themselves. My delusions of grandeur have been over for a while now.

This digging and sorting is going to continue, it has to. It has something to do with "getting your house in order", which feels very appropriate right now. So may you find the patience and forgiveness for your self and the strength needed to get your own house in order.