I’m Retiring From Giving A Damn

I’ve had it.  I’m just done.  {With what? Tell us!  Tell us!}

I’m tired of analyzing things to death.  I’m tired of trying to figure out how to be me, but not break any of the fifty-eleven “rules” of what it means to be a considerate and respectful member of the human race, and tying myself into pretzel knots from head to toe.

Am I being offensive? Am I being fair?  Am I being respectful?  Am I being sensitive?

Well how should I know?  I can’t know that for everyone else.  Honestly, it’s a little on the ridiculous side for me to have such expectations of myself.

I’m tired of explaining . . . I’m tired of clarifying . . . I’m tired of trying to guess what’s going on with someone else.

That’s what I’m done with.

So here’s what’s going to happen for me.  I’m going to focus on my own feelings.  I’m going to do what feels good.  I’m not going to do what doesn’t feel good.

If it offends, is insensitive, or hurts someone’s feelings . . . then whoever that is can choose to speak up and say something to me or not.

Otherwise, I’m not going to waste anymore of my time trying to figure out what I may have or have not done to someone else.

To be perfectly honest, I just don’t care anymore.

Do I speak too much, do I not speak enough, why do others go silent, why don’t they say what they’re feeling, is it me, is it them, is it projection, is it projected . . . it’s fucking crazy making is what it is.

So I’m done.

I’m going to do what I do, and how I want to do it.  If others care to join along in the fun, then awesome . . . if not . . . fine.

I love people and I love having them in my life.

But I’m no longer going to bend over backwards to be so understanding of everyone else, and totally neglect my own feelings.  That’s just stupid.

I suppose I was being concerned that if I was just being myself, that nobody would want to be my friend.  And again, that’s just stupid.  And again again, I just don’t care anymore.

I’m done apologizing for myself.  I am who I am and you can either like me for that or . . . you can piss off.

I.don’t.care.

I do what I want

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

There is a period in our development as children where we do a lot of pretending as we learn about the world around us.  We do things like play doctor or house.  We pretend to be an elephant or a mouse.  It’s a kind of learning through mimicking.  This playful energy is known as Gemini in the zodiac.

Once while I was standing in line at a Starbucks, a young girl of maybe 4 or 5 had walked right up and stood beside me in line.  She perfectly mimicked me, all of the way down to facial expression.  She did it so full heartedly and without apology.  I looked at her, and just for a split second, I had wondered if she was mocking me.  But then realized she was actually giving me a powerful insight into myself.

As a person with Sun and Jupiter conjunct in Gemini . . . I understood intrinsically what she was doing.  The little angel wasn’t mocking me . . . she was wanting to know what it felt like to be like me.

Now, Gemini is known as a “superficial” sign, meaning it’s not trying to understand the subject with immense depth and complexities, it’s just trying things out to get a feel for it.  So the little girl was obviously not trying to see what it was like to be all of me, but the me that she could easily recognize and see on the outside.

This “mini me” held her version of the serious pose of mine for long enough, that I had to struggle to not bust out laughing at how freaking adorable she was being in all her seriousness.  She was also giving me a miniature reflection of just how serious I held myself.

Then her mother called her back to her, and she immediately let go of the pose and went back into a little girl butterfly with arms and legs fluttering her way back to mom.  It was a truly magical transformation that she made so effortlessly.  It affected me profoundly, moving me to tears.

It was the beginning of a valuable insight regarding me and my interaction with others.  Why people mistake me for being so much more serious than I actually am.

In my house of other, you’ll find Pluto in Libra and Uranus in Scorpio.  These both (because of the Pluto/Scorpio influence) are a couple of tight-lipped, secretive mother-fluffers.  As I was growing up, I wasn’t getting much information from them . . . so I would mimic them.  I would put my body in the way they held their body, make my face the way they made their face, use the tone they used, saying the things they said.  I quickly learned to do it in private, because I wasn’t as fortunate as the girl who had found her way to me in that Starbuck’s line.  My mimicking was not appreciated or tolerated.  I believe it was seen as “sassing”.

In addition, I have that Saturn in Leo in the 5th house.  That is the sign and house of actors.  Saturn there, is an actor that takes his work very seriously.  This mimicking thing was very serious stuff to me.  I needed to throw my whole heart into it.  I took method acting to a whole new level.

However, while I may have looked and acted like the Pluto/Uranus people I mimicked, inside I was just playing.  I *wasn’t* being serious.  I was being mischievous and giggly Gemini.  I was absolutely lost in the sauce every time someone responded to me like I was being over dramatic, or too intense, or too serious, or that I needed to calm down . . . because what I was showing, wasn’t what I was actually experiencing on the inside.  I was very often feeling playful and happy inside.

That’s not to say I wasn’t ever in a rotten mood.  I definitely had full blown Gemini mixed with Aries temper tantrums.

But for the majority of the time, I was not taking myself as seriously as everyone thought I was.  They were too busy being scared of their own reflection.  For myself, I had no fluffing clue what was going on.  I was just trying things on and playing . . . and everyone else was having explosive and intense responses to me for it but nobody would ever explain why.

To better illustrate this part of myself, think of a Shakespearean Actor.  Imagine this grand actor is on the stage . . . in a single spotlight with darkness surrounding him . . . all eyes on him.

He’s standing there, fully committed to his role.  Over-emphasizing his features in order to silently convey to the audience the struggle he is feeling inside.  He is allowing the tension of the moment to build, and the intensity of his current plight to really sink in deep.  No escape from the reality of the situation.  Looking out into the distance far beyond the audience and into another world that only he sees.

The audience itself is dead quiet except for the occasional shifting in their seats.

He begins the much awaited soliloquy from Hamlet.

To BE. {pause for dramatic effect} Or . . . NOT TO BE . . . that is the question . . .

Everyone is enraptured and pulled into that single moment.  Everyone is united in that moment . . . nothing else exists.  All being transported to another place and time with the actor.

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

The audience continues to listen as a single unit, as if they’re seeing into a human’s private moment . . . one that is not normally shared with another.  They can feel something deeper inside that they normally tune out.

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing . . . end them?  To die, to sleep–

And then have some doofus in the audience stand up and say, “OMG, stop being so goddamn dramatic.  Good lord!  You need to relax and stop taking things so seriously.  Maybe your life sucks because you’re standing up on a stage all day when you could be outside enjoying the sunshine.  Sheesh.  Some people just think the whole world revolves around them.  Well guess what buddy? . . . I have problems too you know . . . you’re not the only one you self-centered son-of-a-bitch.  I’m outta here, I don’t have to put up with this nonsense.”

Imagine how confused the actor would be.  Didn’t the audience member *know* that this isn’t real?  That it’s all pretend?  That the actor isn’t the role he plays?  That of course the actor isn’t the one taking it so seriously, he’s just playing the role of someone who does take it all seriously.

Of course, there are also the actors who play a role for so long, that the line begins to blur between themselves and the character they are.  And I have that same problem myself.

When I was younger I could keep it straight.  I knew that wasn’t me.  But people kept responding to my character or role in such a real and convincing way . . . that I started to forget that I *wasn’t* that role.  I just played one on TV.

I guess I should take that as a testament for how good I am at role playing and pretending.

If I could go back in time, I would tell little me that no, you’re not really all of the bad things that everyone tells you that you are.  You’re just fully committed to your way of learning, playing, and pretending.  You’re so good at it, in fact . . . that they can’t tell the difference between your pretending and the real thing . . . so be more forgiving of other’s reaction to you.

And also . . . how about instead . . . you use that same level of commitment to just be the you inside instead?  That way, instead of being the scary reflection of other’s shadows . . . you could instead be the beautiful reflection of other’s light?

Cat Killing Balloon

“I’m Not Featured On Freshly Pressed” Award

im-not-featured

I have been nominated for the “I’m Not Featured On Freshly Pressed” award by Let Me Reach with Kim Saeed (yay!).

I’m still brand spanking new to the whole blog awards thing, so it still takes me a little bit of time to calm myself down and get back to normal breathing.  Having said that, I really don’t think that it’s something that I’m ever going to get used to because of how much it means to me.

Everyone has their reasons for blogging.  Some want to help educate others, some are a form of self-therapy, some to be a resource, some to promote a business, some are about their hobby, etc.  Each reason is just as valid as another.

I have various reasons that I blog.  I have a deep need to share the things I learn with others.  But the blog itself, is the culmination of many years of hard work in overcoming my fears of self expression and being noticed.  And when I say fears, I mean TERROR.

Once upon a time, when I would attempt to creatively express my thoughts, I would just go mute.  My throat constricted and I wasn’t able to even attempt to speak.  It didn’t matter if I was trying to verbally speak, or even trying to write in a journal while I was alone . . . the ability to communicate my personal feelings or thoughts was just not possible.  I would instead just talk about things that were trivial, or I would focus on the other person in the hopes that the conversation didn’t turn to me.  If it did, I would either go into the deer in headlights look O.O . . . or talk around it until the person was distracted away from me.

I spent the first 3 decades of my life mastering the art of invisibility.  “Please don’t see me.”  If attention in any form were to be directed at me, my mind would go blank and my face would turn scarlet red.  Meetings at work were the worst.  During the most intense of those moments, I mostly focused on trying not to puke or faint in front of everyone.  Later, once I was alone, tears were sure to follow.

The journey to here, to where I now blab my ever loving head off to anyone who happens to find their way into my little spot on the internet, has been years and years of persistent pushing and healing of myself.  And the blog awards are a double-edged sword to me.  So would I *like* to be on WordPress’ Freshly Pressed?  On the one hand, it would be a hallmark in my journey of self healing.  Saying to me, “Look me!  Look how far we’ve come!”  (<– I used to be concerned that I sometimes refer to myself in the plural.  But I figure, hey . . . at least I’m not alone.)  On the other hand, that level of attention (assuming it brought the level I’ve seen on other blogs) would probably require that I breathe into a brown paper bag for at least a week to keep from moving into full blown panic.

But I think that would actually ultimately be beneficial in my journey.  And so yes.  Yes, I would like to be Freshly Pressed.  And I’m not ashamed to admit it.  (<– that’s a total lie.)

So thank you so much, Kim Saeed, for this nomination and for inadvertently being a part of my journey of self healing.  The nomination both scares the poop out of me, as well as makes me cry . . . and motivating me to keep pushing forward.  I appreciate you thinking of my blog when you were choosing people to nominate.  That makes me feel pretty special to be *seen* by you.  😀

As for my nominations, here they are:

Rules for Nominees:

1. Select the blog(s) you think deserve the “The I’m NOT Featured On Freshly Pressed Award”.

2. Write a blog post and tell us the blog(s) you have chosen- there are no minimum or maximum number of blogs required- and ‘present’ the blog(s) with their award.

3. Include in your blog post a paragraph about why you’d like to be on WordPress’ Freshly Pressed OR a paragraph on why you couldn’t care less about Freshly Pressed. Up to you

4. Let the blog(s) that you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the instructions with them- (please don’t alter the instructions or the badge!)

5. Come over and say hello to the originator of the “The I’m NOT Featured On Freshly Pressed Award” via this link:http://DonCharisma.org/2014/01/01/the-im-not-featured-on-freshly-pressed-award

6. And as a winner of the award- please add a link back to the blog that presented you with this award, and then PROUDLY display the award on your blog.

7. If you ever do get officially “Freshly Pressed” then take down this award badge and display the official “Freshly Pressed” badge instead.

Drop That Mad Bass

{head bopping}

{foot tapping}

{head bopping more}

{foot tapping travels up the leg}

{hips start to move}

{shoulders shifting}

Commence full blown chair dancing.

It doesn’t matter if I’m driving . . . if I’m standing at a crosswalk . . . or sitting at my desk at work making Excel spreadsheets my bitch, if a song has gotten into my blood . . . *this* bitch is going to dance.

The crazy part is that I’m actually quite shy.  And also I hate to be seen doing anything silly.  If I’m anything but composed, I go crimson red.

But music . . . oh man . . . music does something to me.

I grew up in a military family, so I don’t really have a single place to call home.  For 5 of those wandering years, I lived in the deep south of the USA.  It was during the 80s when rap and thumping bass started to make it’s arrival onto the music scene.

Booming bass.  O.M.G.

Get a song with good bass and rhythm . . . and it’s just not.possible for me to sit still.  If I do, I’m in an emergency state of sadness and someone needs to perform emergency ridiculous dance moves and force me to join in.

When a good dance song comes on, my body starts to move on its own.  It centers from the center of my hip area and radiates out.  It’s in the deepest part of my bones.  It’s in all of my muscles.  It’s in my blood and runs through my heart.

I played classical flute for 20 years.  I received many medals and recognition for the short time I played in organized music groups.  The feedback I consistently received was my uncanny ability to keep time.  Rhythm.  It would be hard for me to *not* keep time.  It pounds from my inner being and outward through the rest of my being.  Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick.  Well for classical music it ticks ticks or hums me into a place of mystical enchantment where the sirens sing and play.  I move more towards soft floaty places.

But for bass dance songs . . . it B  O  O  M   r a d i a t e   r e v e r b e r a t e s  my whole body open.  I become very . . . very.  .  .  g r o u n d e d and present in body.

I don’t have to do shit . . . I lean into it and surrender to the energy and force that comes from some secret doorway in the center of my being . . . and in response to the music it courses through and moves my body for me.

That is . . . until my mind gets in the way and I become self conscious.  Not because I’m worried about what they think about my goofy ass made up dance, but because to me it is like being seen naked in public.  In that moment I’m completely unguarded.  You are seeing me uninhibited.  The same state that others typically only feel when alone naked in bed with another human.  That’s my feeling and experience when I feel the music take me over.  It is so personal and intimate to me.

Same with my singing.  I can barely squeak a note out when anyone is within a mile of me.  My throat starts to constrict and become dry.

But in the car alone, with all the windows up . . . oh sweet baby jesus . . . my whole core opens up wide and the force of which I only experience in those rare moments comes roaring from deep within me and shakes my whole body like a plane going through turbulence and wind shears.  Something more than just a need to sing is coming through me.

I’ve spent years just getting to a place to feel safe enough to sing that openly when I’m by myself.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to get much past that in this lifetime.

But my dancing.  I’ve made more progress there because, who cares what I look like.  Maybe to me it feels like I’m naked in front of everyone.  But they don’t need to know that.  Plus . . . it feels too damn good to just let it out.

{head bopping}

{foot tapping}

( ( ( ( ( ( B  O  O  M   r a d i a t e   r e v e r b e r a t e ) ) ) ) ) )

( ( ( ( ( ( B  O  O  M   r a d i a t e   r e v e r b e r a t e ) ) ) ) ) )

Drop The Beat

( ( ( ( ( ( B  O  O  M   r a d i a t e   r e v e r b e r a t e ) ) ) ) ) )

I Feel Joy In The Darkness

When I am tuned into my center, the prominent energy I feel resounding in me is Joy.  I feel a mix of many other energies that also make up who I am, but if I had to give a one word description for what pulses in my being . . . it would be Joy.

Many times in life, I have felt ashamed or guilty for not feeling the appropriate feelings in a situation.  I have wondered what is wrong with me that I don’t respond emotionally to things like others do.  I worked hard to match the feelings of others so that I could learn how to be “right”.

I learned that when another person is having a hard time, it’s not okay to be happy.  I learned when another is happy, it’s not okay for me to be sad.  It was confusing to me that it wasn’t okay for me to feel whatever I was feeling without others getting really upset or mad at me.  So I learned how to block out my own feelings and make myself feel what I was taught was appropriate.  And that made me feel kind of numb and dead inside.

Whenever I try to just be who I am, I continue to run into the same issues that I have all along and I just want to understand.  I feel most secure and safe in life when I understand the meaning behind something.

A clear understanding struck me suddenly during a moment of contemplation.  I felt and saw myself in a generic situation where someone was in a dark place in their life.  Upon seeing them, I expanded and grew much larger and increased in light.  I felt my prominent energy of joy begin to course through me.

I saw how my feeling of joy in the presence of someone’s dark moment could be mistaken as inappropriate.

But I am not feeling joy because of the person’s pain and sorrow, I am feeling it because I am opening up and becoming more present to be there for them in their moment of need.  When I open up, more of my energy and who I am comes in . . . and who I am inside is joy.

When I feel joy when someone I care about is having a tough time, it is expressed as compassion and love.  It changes flavors depending on the situation.  I’m not sitting there getting giddy and giggling as the person cries.  But I will brighten and light up.  I will come alive, because that is a part of who I am and what I do.  I am of no use to a person if I dim or turn down my light so that we can both sit in the dark together.

Whenever I’ve been in a dark and cold place, the thing I could have used the most was someone else to hold and stand strong in themselves in the warm light with me so that I didn’t get lost in the dark.  So that I could feel safe in feeling my upset feelings, knowing that once I’ve felt them . . . the person there holding the light will be there so I can find my way back to my own happier place.

On a larger scale, it was also conflicting to me that the more that things begin to break down on a global scale, the happier and more alive I began to feel.  At least initially.  Until social conditioning kicked in and I began tearing myself down for being a total asshole.

But it’s the exact same situation.

I’m not getting off on the destruction . . . my soul responds by trying to come into being through me in order to help.  I experience my soul as joy.  The more pain and upset there is, the more my soul tries to come into being and the more joy and love I feel trying to come through me.  But then I start becoming afraid of my own “inappropriate” feelings and try to stop myself from feeling good and shut myself out.

I’m basically saying to my soul, “No!  No.  You do not get to come in here and help.  How dare you be who you are and feel joy and happiness with all the horrible stuff going on.”

And my soul is all, “WTF?! I can only be what I am.  That’s how I help.  I hold the space of joy so that others can face their dark night of the soul, and afterwards find their way back out.  Ya dumbass.”

So now I better understand what is meant when others talk about being a “beacon of light” and to “be myself”.  It doesn’t look or feel how I thought.  It doesn’t look or feel how I was taught.  It’s going to be misunderstood and judged wrongly by some.  But as the saying goes, what others think of me is none of my business.  I just need to understand for myself why I am like am, and why I do what I do.

Shining from within

Shining From Within

The Story Teller

Today the crows came squawking at my window like an alarm clock.  I figured I’d better get up so they would be quiet, because that made complete sense in my half sleep state.

But it worked, the minute I slipped out of bed. . . off they went, to go wake up the next person on their list.

I’ve been thinking of my dad a lot recently.  We’ve not really been in contact a whole lot these last years.  I’ve been nose to the grindstone in pulling myself apart, cleaning off the pieces, and then carefully trying to reassemble them back into a whole. . . so I’ve not had a whole lot of contact with anyone really.

A couple of days ago, I was reminiscing about the cartoon characters my dad draws.  He has his very own unique style of drawing that I just adore.  They are almost like caricatures, in that they are so expressive of the character’s personality.  I miss those.  I loved them when I was younger, but I didn’t have enough life experience or understanding to truly appreciate them like I do now.  I didn’t understand how much they told about the man who drew them.

Yesterday, however, I was remembering my favorite thing of all about my dad.  See, he loves to read.  Not something you’d necessarily expect from a man born and raised in the humble Appalachians, but boy am I thankful he does because they led to the most memorable things from my childhood.

He would read books by authors such as Stephen King,Terry Brooks and Robert McCammon.  Usually a mix of mystery, paranormal, horror, and far off worlds.  But the best part, was when I’d ask him what the book was about that he was reading.  He didn’t just give me a two sentence summary, or read the book jacket. . . no.  I could rest assure that I was about to be propelled into another world entirely.

He would set the scene and the characters.  He would retell the story in a way that would give any of those authors a run for their money.  The world around us would dim and disappear, putting us into a magic bubble that would whisk us away to observe the story being told firsthand.  Between his ability to weave a good tale and my vivid imagination, I got to explore more rooms of the universe than is probably even fair.

His eyes would sparkle.  He seemed like a magical character himself, as if being the story teller was only a humble disguise he used to keep everyone from finding out who he really was.  And that he was really from one of those other worlds, but he couldn’t come out and say it because people here wouldn’t believe him, so he masked it in stories.  Or maybe he was in hiding from one of the dark characters in the story, and being in a world that had forgotten that magic was real, was the perfect place to hide.  It always felt like he knew so much more than he ever said.

He always made me think of the bards of old.  The genuine, skilled, talented, and oh so loved Story Teller.  He seems almost out of place in this world.  There are books, TV, movies, internet. . . more ways than ever to tell a story.  But.  When was the last time you sat down in person with a truly gifted story teller, and listened to them spin a tale?  Hearing the different intonations of their voice, and feeling the chills of the pivotal moments in the story.  Eyes glued to the person, but feeling like you are actually in the story with them.  Having a spell weaved around you, that will make you believe in the impossible and the unseen again.  You’ll know without a doubt that there is more than meets the eye in the world you live in.

A true Story Teller, speaks with their Heart.  Is full of Life and Passion.  They have Hope.  They still Believe.  They feel deeply.  They are dramatic and subtle all at the same time.  They don’t just tell a story, they embody it.  They draw your focus to the story and not them.  They are merely the messengers of something bigger that wants to be shared.  They have to feel in big and multi-faceted ways and be flexible enough to move into whichever one is needing expression at that moment in order to do the story any justice.  They have to get out of their own way.

Ironically, it was when my dad was telling these stories, that the real him would shine through the most.

My dad is also the one who first introduced me to computers back in the Tandy 1000 days, which plays a large part in why I’m in the field I’m in today.  I blame him for my love of Excel Spreadsheets.  ; )

But, nothing he did will ever mean more to me, or have played a bigger part in helping to shape the person I am today, than the time he spent in response to my question, “What is that book about?”

My dad

The Place of No Time and No Me

I started writing a reply to a comment. . . and it was quickly morphing into a full blown blog post. . . so I moved it here.

To catch you up to speed, here is the link to the comment from Ophelia (Myself).  The part in particular I was responding to was this:

i know when i relate to people, sometimes it sounds self-obsessed.  or so i’ve been told.  yeah, i kind of am.  i think it comes from feeling alone.  personally i love it when people tell me about themselves and i can say YES!!! ME TOO!!! so that’s where i’m coming from.  i’m just so pleased to find you.

The entire comment is great, so if you have a moment, it’s worth the read. (And unlike my novels, it’s relatively brief) : D

It pulled on a topic that’s been pacing in my head the last week or so, trying to gain an entrance (or exit. . . guess it depends on whose perception you are looking at) and this seemed to be it.

So here I. . . it (?) . . . goes.

If you haven’t noticed, there’s a couple of things I have a difficult time keeping straight/consistent in my writing.  (And if not, then I’ve just done a good job in curbing it and probably need to stop that to really let loose.)

1) Pronouns/1st person, 2nd person, & 3rd person.

2) Tenses – Past, Present, & Future

I was a self taught reader.  My mom said I somehow already knew how to read by age 4.  I always aced literature, spelling, English.  It was always 2nd nature to me.  But what I could *not* seem to ever get right in my writing, are those two things.

For me, this actually ties into the “self-obsessed” accusations I heard once upon a time.

When I’m writing or even communicating in general. . . there is *something* that is going on in me that I think may go beyond what the average person is experiencing in the same situation.  That may not be true, but I think I can at least safely say, I’m more aware of this *something* than most people.

I was seeing visualizations of it while driving in the sunshine this afternoon.  I saw communication in general, as a river flowing.  I was standing in the middle of it.  I cupped my hands and filled them with this water, and lifted the water out of the running river.  The water I held, represented an idea or thought.  Maybe a blog post.  It was a temporarily suspended snapshot of an understanding in that moment.  I could observe it, describe it. . . do anything I wanted with it. . . and for that moment. . . it was completely true.

As soon as that moment is gone, and the water has slipped back into the river. . . it’s gone and has changed and has new connections and layers added to it.  Words, communication, thoughts, ideas. . . have a life of their own.  They are fluid, ever moving, ever changing, dynamic.  As soon as someone has a great idea and publishes it or gets it printed. . . it’s already outdated in the ethers and long since moved on and morphed.

This river. . . connects and runs through everything.  It collects, retains, learns, and relays everything it has learned to everything else.  The wispy web threads I’ve spoken of before, are a part of this.

When I’m communicating, voicing my opinion, thinking, have a distant look in my eyes as I look off into space when I’m talking to you. . . that’s where I am.  I’m in that place where this river runs.

When I’m there, I’m not Jenn.  I’m not any one thing.  I’m not a nobody. . . I am a presence. . . but I have no. . . single identity that I would be able to give a name too.  (Oh the irony kills me. . . the river energy I am describing is Gemini. . . Gemini is the universe’s label maker. . . and yet when I’m connected into it. . . I lack a label.)

I’m also in a place of *no* time.  It just is.

So as I ride this literal etheric information super highway, I skip around from perceptions of I, She, Us, You.  It naturally and freely comes out depending on what thread I’m cruising down as I search or am pulled to the location that holds the information I am conveying or trying to explain.  Same thing with tenses.  Sometimes I’m in current time, sometimes I’m in what we would consider the past. . . and sometimes the future.

During all of this, I always have a thread or something that anchors me here and stays present and aware that I’m in this place and time. . . that I’m writing, that I’m a female.  But, that’s about all I’m aware of from *here*.  If I become TOO aware of who and where I am at present. . . the connection into the information weakens.  What this means, is that if I give in too much to being aware of what I’m saying and how I’m saying it so that it doesn’t offend someone. . . I am not able to stay connected into that space of no time and no me.  (Btw, this also accounts for 99% of my spelling/grammar errors which I am continuously having to edit the posts to fix.)

Some of the reason for that, is because I am actually trying to translate from “ether energy speak” to English.  If I start adding to it, “You know, if you keep speaking in this manner, people will take it as you lecturing them and stop listening.” it can start becoming the straw that broke the camel’s back.  I can’t do it.  It doesn’t feel good or right to do it.  It literally. . . messes with my flow.

So back to the comment regarding being self-obsessed.  I feel this is a matter of semantics.  I don’t even know if that’s a proper use of that word, but it’s what came in.

It only sounds like I’m self-obsessed.  All I’m really trying to do, is keep consistent so that I make some sort of linear sense to others and can communicate what I feel, know, see.  As I’ve said before. . . until my late twenties, I did not understand or comprehend that I was a separate individual from others.  I am perfectly at home with using the “royal we” perspective.  With switching between I, you, me, her, him, they. . .   Because I’m not attached to it.  It doesn’t mean to me what it means to people in general.  It’s not important to me really, at all.  But people in the past have thrown such a goddamn fit over it, that I’ve tried to understand and use it properly.

If I use *I* and *me* too much, I’m self obsessed.  If I use *you* too much, I’m supposedly telling others how they feel.  If I use *us* and *we* too much, I’m trying to be a guru or make people follow me.

It’s enough to make me want to start beating my head against the wall, because all of the focus is on something that is so. . . irrelevant in the big picture, that the actual message goes unheard.

The tenses (past, present, future), I’ve never really had anyone have an issue with it – I just understand that it can be hard to follow what someone is saying when they are leaping all over like they’re in a perpetual time machine while they talk.

People on the autism spectrum (always think of rainbows when I say that) have trouble communicating verbally.  They tend to think in pictures/images.  They can see straight into your soul, but don’t know how to socially interact with you without there being some level of awkwardness and discomfort.

But it’s not for the reasons people think.

How would a line, describe its world to a dot.

How would a square, describe its world to a line.

How would a cube, describe its world to a square.

How do you translate from one way of being to another, more limited. . . linear way of being?

How do you describe something that is new and more than the world everyone has previously known?  Where do you find the right vocabulary?  How do you even get someone to pay attention or realize that even though you may be using the same words as them. . . you are trying to convey a richer, bolder, expanded meaning. . . when those people are so sure they already *get* the meaning of the words you use.

 

The Many Ways We Love

My son was cracking me up last night.

“Many people tell me how wise I am. . .

And now I am foolish, for thinking I am wise.

Which in itself is a wise thing.

And now I am even more foolish. . .

Somebody quote me!”

Bwahahahahah! His comedic timing was impeccable. He was really on a roll last night (what kind? dinner? crescent?).

I can’t say the same for his mother. {shrugs}

Last night reminded me of something incredibly valuable to me in my life, and that is in understanding that we all love in our own way.

If I may be so bold, as to scrutinize the golden rule for a moment:

“Treat yourself as you’d have others treat you.”

I really took this to heart when I was a teenager. And with a religious zeal, I immediately began implementing it in my everyday life.

“I want people to be nice to me, so I am going to be nice to other people.”

There. That should take care of that issue in my life (I said smugly in my all-knowing teenage years). I had a long laundry list of how I thought people should be, and I was going to do all those things for them. Because you know, then maybe they’ll get the hint that that’s how they should be too. And peace will reign on Earth. I was so very clever. : )

But all that did for me in actuality, was set up a lot of false expectations and resulting disappointment when people didn’t treat me any different. If anything, I was treated worse.

So, back to the drawing board.

I’ll save you the long, epic journey of where this took me and skip to the good part. My epiphany of where I had misunderstood my literal translation of the golden rule.

If I’m too busy looking for others to respond in the way I would to a situation, I miss out on seeing the person for who they really are, and their own way of being. Plus, I will constantly be disappointed in life with failed expectations of others.

The most noticeable example of this, is the many different ways we all show and receive love. I have many different ways, and the way I show it can change from day to day. So, if you think “if she loved me… she would call more often”. . . you are going to be disappointed. Because that’s not how I show my love. That’s not how I am. If that’s how *you* show your love. . . then cool… do it. But don’t expect it of me. And don’t try to make me feel guilty for *not* showing my love in that way.

If you’re really seeing me, me…. the Jenn that resides within my heart… then you will see for yourself the ways that I show I love the people in my life. And no, it’s most likely not going to look like the ways that you show your love to others in life.

Maybe one day, I show it by lovingly cleaning out the kitty litter. It’s not that I love cleaning cat shit. I don’t. But. I feel love when I’m doing it (not every time… let’s not get crazy here), because I really love my cats and I want them to have a nice clean place to use the restroom. It makes me feel good that I can provide that for them.

When I pick up my son’s favorite foods at the store, it’s because I am feeling love and I want to somehow show that for him. He.loves.food. So, to me, providing something he loves. . . is *my* way of showing love.

Maybe (pure speculation on my part) he wishes he had a mom who was more “huggy” and said “I love you” out loud more. I wish I could’ve been more that way myself. And I still try. But…it’s not a natural way of expression for me. I can’t be who I am not.

So last night, when my son was cracking me up with his natural wit. I didn’t need for him to say to me, “Mom, I love you.” because he was saying it loud and clear in his interaction with me. He was literally shining light off of his body last night. I hadn’t seen that with him in years!! It was more heart warming and beautiful than any clumsy words could have conveyed.

I say the golden rule could maybe use a revision, or even some clarification. Maybe yes, treat others how you would like to be treated yourself. . . but don’t forget that others have their own ways too. And they’re all pretty neat.

Expressing the Inexpressible

Imagine yourself very still.  Your breathing very slow and stable.  For whatever reason, for this moment you’re able to suspend your stress and worries.  You take a deep, satisfying breath.  You aren’t thinking about what you should be doing.  You are fully surrendered to this moment and the feelings.  You are so still, that your body is able to release any tension it’s holding. . . it is also able to surrender, because it recognizes that it is in a safe space and doesn’t need to be ready to protect or defend the body. . . it can let go.

In this space, of complete quiet and stillness, another feeling begins to surface.  One that seems very familiar. . . but that you haven’t felt in so long that you almost mistake it for anxiety.  You keep expanding the space of your awareness to make room for this feeling.

You find that it is in fact, something you stuffed down a long time ago in order to survive.  It’s a warmth. . . it’s a joy. . . it’s a feeling at the most sensitive and subtle levels.  You are almost scared to let it through, because you know how hard it is to be in this energy and in the “real” world.  But you miss it so much, that you indulge yourself, even if just for a few minutes. . . just so you can feel it again.  It feels like home.

So you surrender to it, accepting any consequences that come with feeling it.  It starts to fill you up.  You’re having to be very brave and open, even as you feel scared and want to tighten and close yourself up to protect yourself.  But as you pull off this little miracle and experience it for the first time in a long time, you remember it.  And you understand why it was necessary to push it away earlier in your life.

Every sense is so magnified and  intensely felt. . . that the smallest movement. . . the most subtle of gestures. . . . sends waves of sensations rippling through you and outward beyond the physical you.  If you move too fast or too strongly. . . your system and senses go into overload and everything “blanks” out or goes numb.

You remember that it’s not that you don’t feel anything. . . it’s that you feel so incredibly much, that you are regularly in overload. . . and have come to believe that *that* is how you are.  But it’s not true at all.

Your true way of being is such, that the smallest of things can bring you the most immense amount of pleasure and feeling.  But if you move too much, too fast, too strongly. . . you go into overload and are unable to feel anything.

But when you are in that space. . . you would be able to sit next to your beloved. . . in a still and quiet environment. . . within inches of each other and not touching.  And ever so slowly moving. . . as if neither of you are moving. . . towards each other.  All you intend, is to just kiss. . . to just simply touch lips.  That is all.  But from this still space where you are tuned into yourself and feeling every little thing. . . in those minutes that tick by as you both slowly lean and move towards each other. . . is the most intense and insane pleasure you have ever felt.  You feel like your nervous system almost can’t handle the energy surging through you.  You have no wish to rush it, because any sense of pushing, controlling, or rushing the movement. . . is to pull you completely out of the feeling and into numbness.  And you don’t ever, ever want to be out of that feeling.

So you discipline yourself.  You continue to stay open to it, while breathing very slowly and staying focused in that quiet space so as not to break the spell.  You trust that your partner is doing the same for themself, and by both doing so. . . you harmonize your energies and become in sync. . . so you’re able to fully trust and surrender to the experience.  You move into a space outside of time.  Have you been doing this for 5 minutes?  15 minutes?  An hour?  Eternity?  Who knows.  Who cares.  Because it’s all you care about in that moment.

As you get closer, you have to move even slower and become even more disciplined in your stillness and breathing because the intensity has become almost more than you can endure.  So the timelessness and heavenly bliss that is coursing through every inch of your being and beyond, continues as you both hover within a breath of each other’s lips. . . almost afraid that you won’t be able to handle what happens when you finally actually touch.  The energy and anticipation building.  Eyes closed so you can maintain focus, your lips finally touch . . . and you feel like your heart is about to explode out of your chest and like you’re going to start bawling and crying at the sheer beauty of the moment.    The beauty, intensity, transcendence of the feeling . . . is beyond anything you’ve ever experienced while in body.

And you know and remember, that *this* is your true way of being and feeling.

But then you step outside, and your senses are bombarded by the pollutions and noise. . . cars and airplanes sound like they’re within inches of you and screeching at top volume.  Even the sound of the electrical wires are buzzing too loudly.  Someone yells across to a neighbor down the road, and it feels like a metal rake being scraped down your skin.  Honking, clanging, yelling . . . everything feels like a personal assault on your person.

Your whole body tenses trying to protect you, as your nervous system goes into overload and suddenly you don’t feel anything.  You can’t feel the good anymore.  You feel cold and cutoff from yourself.  You feel irritable, frustrated, angry, confused.

Someone asks you what is wrong.  You want to tell them. . . but you communicate from that sensitive space. . . the one where you are connected into everything and sense every little subtle movement in energy and intuitively understand what is being communicated. . . and with your senses being assaulted and shut down. . . you are unable to voice what is going on within you.  You don’t know how to express the magnitude of what is happening inside of you.  There are no words to describe it.  So maybe you say something like, “I feel scared” or “I feel overwhelmed” or “I feel numb” . . . but all of those things are far from what is really going on.

And the person may respond, “Yeah, well we all feel that.” or   “You have to get over it.” or “You aren’t the only one.”

And not knowing, that the other person doesn’t experience or feel the world like you do, you take it out on yourself.   “Wow… I must really be a big baby.  What is wrong with me?  Why can’t I handle things like everyone else….”

This is how every single day of life has been for me.

I don’t speak in monotone because I’m not feeling things or because I’m robot like. . . but because I feel so IMMENSELY . . . the *only* way I know how to communicate without breaking down into a slobbery, snot everywhere, ugly crying face way. . . is to be very, very disciplined.  And this requires me to speak in a straight monotone way in order to keep it all under control.

I’m not stiff and rigid in my bearing because I’m an emotionless bitch, but because I have so MUCH that wants to burst out of me.  Dance, movement, swaying, hopping, skipping, swinging, twirling.  I’m sooooo not kidding when I say I wish real life was like a musical.  I feel like I could sing and dance to everything I do in life.

But do you know how *crazy* that looks?  I already feel like I’m on the outskirts of society. . . I haven’t quite been brave enough to jump head first off the last cliff that keeps me somewhere in the tolerable zone.

But I wanna.  I wanna dance and skip and sing out loud and out of tune.  I truly have a song constantly singing in my heart and it takes everything I have to not continually express that in my everyday life.  I don’t want to hide it anymore. . . but I don’t know *how* to be like that out in the world and my everyday life. . . and be able to withstand the rejection from others.  Because I can feel it.  I’m trying to be strong enough to do it anyways.

Because being me, how I am naturally. . . there’s nothing like it in the whole wide world.  It feels like I just won the lottery every minute of every day when I am able to be like this.  So I have high motivation.  But. . . my sensitive nervous system. . . arrrgghhhhhhh!!

Deep breath.

So. . . if you happen to see some silly woman on the street. . . swaying and dancing to a song that only she hears. . . try to find it in your heart to withhold judgment and maybe even smile at her, so she knows she is supported by at least one person.  And hell, if you’re feeling extra rebellious. . . join her for a moment in her dance.  And make it the new normal.

: D

Apathy and Irony

When my eyes popped open this morning, the first thing I was feeling was that I wanted to change everything in my room.  Stuff has been the way it is in my room for years.  However, once my brain had a chance to kick in, I was plagued by a million reasons that was *not* going to happen today (or maybe ever).

Awww, but how come? : (

The word that came to mind was, apathy.  In fact that word has been creeping into my thoughts and conversations more and more in the last week.  I know basically what it means, but anytime a specific word decides to make a repeated appearance in my life, I figure I better give it some love and look it up.

Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/apathy  says:

ap·a·thy

[ap-uh-thee]
noun, plural ap·a·thies.

1.  absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.
2.  lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.

Ok, so I knew it was an absence of passion, emotion, etc… but interesting about the suppression of it.  I can definitely identify with that.  I have an overabundance of all of those things.  But, for the most part, I don’t know how to utilize that energy effectively around others.  Combine that with a tendency towards trying to push the spotlight away from myself in a panic (ack! please don’t see me!), and you’ve got yourself a recipe for suppression. . . apathy.

Well, cool.  I mean, yeah, I can see why this word is making itself known to me.

Still curious so let’s see what wikipedia has to say about it http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apathy :

They may lack a sense of purpose or meaning in their life. He or she may also exhibit insensibility or sluggishness.

Huh. Ok, well, what else?

In 1950, US novelist John Dos Passos wrote: “Apathy is one of the characteristic responses of any living organism when it is subjected to stimuli too intense or too complicated to cope with.   The cure for apathy is comprehension.

I’m intrigued, go on.

Social origin

There may be other things contributing to a person’s apathy. Activist David Meslin argues that people often care, and that apathy is often the result of social systems actively obstructing engagement and involvement. He describes various obstacles that prevent people from knowing how or why they might get involved in something. Meslin focuses on design choices that unintentionally or intentionally exclude people. These include: capitalistic media systems that have no provisions for ideas that are not immediately (monetarily) profitable, government and political media (e.g. notices) that make it difficult for potentially interested individuals to find relevant information, and media portrayals of heroes as “chosen” by outside forces rather than self-motivated. He moves that we redefine social apathy to think of it, not as a population that is stupid or lazy, but as result of poorly designed systems that fail to invite others to participate.[5][6]

Well.  That’s not what I was expecting to find when I went to find the definition of apathy.  That did a little circling around the entrance of the rabbit hole.

I love it.

This gives me something to chew on.  Before looking up what it meant, my impression of apathy was just losing that *spark* in life.  Doldrums.  Repetitive schedules that just continue on forever, and nothing ever changes…not really…so why bother.  A simple lack of passion.

But a suppression of passion, emotion, excitement… in a world full of overstimulation and intensity … and an economy that is only interested in input and contribution from its people that will make an immediate profit. . . now *that* shines some light on it for me.

What is important to me?  It’s kind of hard to know, because it’s kind of hard to hear through all of the busyness.  From morning, noon, and night, I’m bombarded with things trying to get my attention.  Me, as a person, is looked right through. . . as the things that bombard me are focused on what it is they stand to gain by getting my attention.  Trying to tell me what it is I need, want, should have, should do.  As if I have no needs, wants, would like to-dos of my own.  I am not a resource, number, target, or commodity.  I am a god.damn.human.being.

And as a human being I have feelings and emotions.  And no, they aren’t always rational or logical.  I think the biggest scam on the planet, is in getting us to believe that being strictly rational is equivalent to being civilized or advanced.  Denying our emotions and feelings, does NOT make them go away.  It just erupts in other, more “acceptable” ways. . . like . . . oh, I don’t know… WAR?

In our attempt to compartmentalize ourselves (keep work at work, and personal stuff at home) and be civil (calm down! and carry on.) and unoffensive to everyone (you know how sensitive those vertically challenged people can be), we have lost ourselves and who we are inside.  If being strictly intellectual and “scientific” is so civilized. . . then explain to me why the whole goddamn planet is falling apart, and very few people are happy?

I don’t WANT to compartmentalize myself anymore.  I am who I am, where ever I am, whenever I am, however I am.  I *want* to be able to feel strongly about something and not be ostracized from society.  I *want* to care out loud a lot.  I want to cry in public, and not feel like an emotional leper.  I want to sing when the moment comes upon me, and I want to dance when I get a case of the wiggles.  If I could break out into a full blown, goddamn musical in the middle of downtown, I would do it!

I am FULL of life!  I am a passionate woman!  I have joy, enthusiasm, and happiness just waiting to explode and share with every person who wants it.  I care.  I love.  I feel.  I am alive!  I make mistakes dramatically.  I laugh as fully and loudly as possible.  I take risks!  I try to make a complete and total ass of myself on a regular basis.  I am the world’s biggest goofball.  I am silly.  I have weird ideas. I’m scared of really dumb things.  I am idealistic.  I have dreams.  I have visions.  I have hope.  I have faith.  I believe in magic.  I believe in the impossible.  I do the impossible.  I think Excel spreadsheets are pretty damn cool.  I talk to my cats like they’re people.

I see so many opportunities and possibilities for things to be different and better.  I want to help be a part of that solution.  I want everybody to be able to laugh when they want and cry when they want.  I want everyone to find happiness.  I want everyone to know the joy of being who they are without judgement or fault.  I want everyone to be able to feel and to love and to be loved.  I want everyone to know what they want and what they value and be able to live a life that matches those things.  I want everyone to feel whole within themselves.  I want everyone to know peace and content.  I want everyone to feel self empowered and respected.  I want everyone to feel heard.

But most of all, I want everyone to feel that they have been seen and loved, for who they truly are.

I’m pretty sure that’ll help out with the apathy part.  : D

Turtle Rawr