Every Rose Has It's Bush

Aloneness.
Today is the first day back to normal life since Grandma died exactly one week, one hour, and 24 minutes ago. Since then it’s been family, and mourning, and Thanksgiving, and driving, and acquiring Katie for a month trial period. Today it’s life as normal until Christmas time. Work, reading, dog park, etc.
I think life as normal is the hardest thing there is. If there is nothing else to distract you, you are forced to confront yourself.
While cruising back from Houston earlier today, I realized that for the first time as an idea unto itself.
For so long I struggled with my jealousy. It was my biggest source of negativity, suffering and self-loathing. It’s a miracle James’ and my relationship survived And now, while I on occasion relapse, but more often than not, only begin to relapse, I am fixed. That bud has been nipped.
I can’t even begin to tell you the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of unfairness I’ve felt toward Dad and Ruthie over the years for the difficulty of my adolescence. For not actually doing their best, and for, even if they were, if not being good enough. But now, as my Grandma’s already diminished health, deteriorated so rapidly and completely, I began to make amends in my mind. I began to forgive.
I saw all of the long kept resentment, grudges and blame between my Grandma and her first born son, Scott. I saw them not over come those feelings, ever. They never spoke before she died. Now they never can. I saw the life long sibling animosity my Dad holds for my Aunt remain solid and in tact, even as my family came together at my Grandparents house to mourn just hours after Grandma’s death. She tried to hug him, to let him know that despite all their differences over the years, he was still her brother, and she still loves him, and as she did, he just stood there, unresponsive.
I saw these things and realized the pettiness of it. The reasons are unimportant. To shut your family out of your life and to let your anger fester inside of you. There is not a good reason for that. I saw I had to understand and to forgive and to rise above. I will not one day be my Uncle Scott. That bud is holding on by one browning, fibrous string.
There are smaller things. I have to come into a zen-like balance with my work. I do not cry before going. I respect myself. And I do not put up with any shit. That bud has been nipped.
(On a side note about work, I realized that your life will be spent however you spend it. So I am not satisfied with my job. It is not what I will be remembered as, whether by my survivors, or by my elderly self. I can do better. I can do something I love. Anyway. Back to the buds.)
I can cruise (see aforementioned description of driving back from Houston), instead of stressing myself, hurrying to wherever I’m going. I’m able to not feel like I’m, as I’ve been so fond of saying in the past, “wasting my life” while driving. I throw on the autopilot, and enjoy myself. Another bud nipped.
I eat more slowly, enjoying my food more. This seems like a stupid thing to mention, I know, but you should have seen me eat before. Jesus.
So, I’m finding a new balance in all of these different areas of my life. All of these buds nipped. All of these symptoms and distractions removed.
But without all of these buds and blooms clouding my vision, distracting me, I am now acutely aware of the bush. The source. My self. My life. And it is overwhelming.
Now with out all of the death, and mourning, and traveling, and old dog adoption, I am left again, to stare at this thorny and formidable bush, to formulate and to attempt, all while nursing each new prick.
And in comparison, the jealousy, resentment, and bitterness all seems like little fireball breathing flowers in the Super Mario of life. I’m just now to King Koopa.

My brain keeps wanting to think about tomorrow. To imagine my responsibilities. When I’ll work this week, cleaning, dog park, all that. It keeps trying to incite me to consume. “Don’t you want a special treat Candice?…How about a coffee?…You also need groceries…Treats for the dogs….Don’t they deserve them?… They’ve had a hard day.”
And so on. But I’m stopping that. I’m letting myself feel good about spending time alone. When was the last time? Two weeks ago.
I have Zero 7 playing, my red Chinese paper lantern and some candles lit, and I’m writing. I don’t have to do anything else. I don’t want a coffee. I am not hungry. The dogs are sleeping. I am fine.
Maybe I won’t solve the conundrum that is life, not even my own, tonight. Probably not after many nights like this. But it is such a good feeling, a long transient feeling since my first serious boyfriend came along, and I am glad to have it tonight.

It’s occurred to me recently, that I hardly ever spend time doing just exactly what I want. I sleep when I think I should sleep, eat when I think I should eat, work when I think I should work. When I wake up, I always jump out of bed, and brush my teeth. I never wake up, and lay there, reading for a couple of hours. I never don’t brush my teeth. I never sing when there are people around, even if I feel like it. I shower when I really don’t want to. I drive because I think I have to hurry. I don’t linger at the pool of whirling leaves in the creek for long if there’s anyone around. I don’t stay up later than I “should”, listening to music, drinking wine, alone. I’ve never gone downtown dancing alone. I’ve never gone into work at 10.
Starting now, I’m going to do what ever I feel like, even if it’s a “waste of time,” even if my teeth will rot, even if I won’t be productive, even if I’ll be drunk alone, even if I’m coloring in my Lion King coloring book for 5 hours.
I feel like beinsg myself and forgiving myself for it.

Lizzie McGuire = Big Mac

I know know know that I would write more if I had my own computer con internet. Every time I'm in Houston, I'm writing.
Needless to say, I'm in Houston. Richmond to be specific. James and I are at his mom's for second Thanksgiving visitations. We had first Thanksgiving at my mom's on the 24th.
Whatever.
That's not what I came here today to talk about.
I came here to talk about nothing in particular. I guess I just wanted to listen to myself type.

Am I wrong for finding Hilary Duff revoltingly annoying?
Marilee, my common law sister-in-law, is watching the Lizzy McGuire movie. It just started and I felt little curds of revulsion jiggling in my tummy while watching her trite and so blatantly rehearsed "I'm singing and dancing alone in my room and no one's watching" fiasco.
I ain't a hater.
She's cute, and I'm sure she's a sweet person, but she's, as far as I can see, talentless and her work is unoriginal.

Do movies like Lizzie McGuire fall into the Arts category?
To be sure, all film, including both movies and television, have their origins in theatre, an art in which I'm not too well versed (it's never been my thing), but I know is a display of people in exaggerated situations, exaggerating emotions in order to bring them to the front of our consiousness and look at them, both on a stage and in ourselves. But come on.
It's like trying to call a Big Mac a product of the culinary arts.
There's garbage mass produced for mass consumption, by people with less discerning tastes.
And then there's creation.
To create is to push beyond our mere animal nature. It is to become divine. It is evolution.
It is as beautiful as birth. It is the same thing, only it comes from our mind and soul, not just our bodies. It is pushing our potential. It is transcendence, the transcendence of ourselves.
To create is to acknowledge that which is God-like, that which is divine in all of us.
To mass produce is succumb to the instinctual fear of famine, which translates itself in our modern times as greed. When we must have as much as we possibly can, for fear there may not be enough, or difficult times may come. Capitalism.
(No, I'm not a communist. I'm a Candice-ist. I can think for myself, thank you.)
So, in summary, Lizzie McGuire is not art. It is a Big Mac.

That hurt my brain, all that thinking I just did.

Thanksgiving Thanks

Thanksgiving Day.
I wish I could say I'm feeling warm, fuzzy, thankfullness this morning, but I'd be lying.
I guess these things have to sometimes be induced.
So, in an attempt to both be in a more appreciative state of mind today, and to elevate the situation of my life to someting not so desperate, I think I'll try and list a few things I'm greatful for.
I know. How trite.

*James, who probably is the only person who really knows me, understands me, agrees with me (mostly). I love him so much.
*Auntie, whose heart is as big as her weight in gold. Wait, does that make sense?
*Mom, Pa, and Bra, for being the normal, relatively, part of my family.
*Zoe, my pup, even though she likes James better than me.
*Toni, my oldest and closest friend. Probably the only female who gets me.
*Fo the people who bring out the goofy in me...Crazy Kathy a.k.a. Alex, and Vanaynay.
*Those moments when I really understand. When I know everything is not just going to be, but actually is, okay.
*For magic, imagination, fantasy, subjective reality, and it never being, necessarily, better to grow up.
*Good books, and Tom Robbins.
*Creativity
*Food, and despite things I don't like about it, the fact the I am lucky enough ot have been born in a country of abundance, where I can have so much of so many different foods to try.
*Me, my good looks, cleverness, wit, occasional clarity of mind and understanding, and super hot body. Also that my brain isn't completely retarded.

I don't want this to just turn into a list of things that I like, although that would be a positive contribution to the lightening renovation of my blog. But, another entry.
In reality (subjective of course), there are many other things, small things, I know I am thankful for, but don't realize, like maybe global commerce, which allows me mangos year round, and electrticity, and scientists who take the trouble to figure out things that benefit me but I don't really find interesting enough to bother with myself.
This is my shoutout to all of those innumerable things, which are too many for my not completely retarded brain to even concieve of. HOLLA!

Any how. Life is good, lovin' rocks, money doesn't matter...Erleichda!

Houston.....not so dull this time.

The hurricane is less than 24 hours away from hitting. James and I are stuck in Houston at my familys house. We barely had enough gas to get here from his mom's, much less get back to Austin. I'd say 4/5 of the gas stations along the way were out of gas, and the other 1/5 of them had lines at least 45 minutes long.
I didn't get any pics of that, but when we went to the grocery store for some last minute supplies, I got these. A little taste of chaos.
Mom and our last mintue necessities.
Breadless.
Canned goodless.
Waterless...except for the impending floods.
Meatless.

Thirteen

Last night we took turns dodging pillows the other two threw, all the time, trying to keep our laughter at a low hiss.
We put on Marilee's clock radio, and showed each other our dance moves, chewing Lemonheads, and more Lemonheads.
We played Bullshit, but said "BS," once again, trying to keep our giggles low.
We moved our card game to Ivanna's room, after being told one too many times to keep it down, where were told one last time to keep it down, or we (not me), would have to go to bed.
We played rummy, crazy 8's. We did the splits and backbends. We talked about crushes. We ate string cheese and farted.
Then they went to bed.
And I got to be thirteen again.

Listen All A Y'all, This is Sabotage

As always, I am beginning to sabotage myself.
Watching Team America, I feel a tiny longing to visit France, sitting in cafes, wlking over bridges, buying flowers from flower stalls, eating fries.
Watching Malto Mario, I want to sample Italy's finest food, gathered around a large old wooden table, with 4 generations of my Sicilian family, laughing, lingering, drinking wine poured from a jog.
(I am no part Italian, it's a fantasy. Jesus!)
Watching BBC America today, I wanted to buy my ticket right then to England, to see the cloudy skies, formal, yet lush gardens, and dark pubs.
And so the travel sickness once again shows it's ugly symptoms.
Just when I have a good plan.
I can't just work a shit job, save money and travel for the rest of my life. If I did, I would only really be living, doing something I love, about 1/3 of the time. And that's not even factoring in sleeping, showering, shitting.
One day I'll be old, and I won't be able to work just any shit job any more. And with all the medications I'll have to buy, for my alzheimers and diabetes and erectile dysfunction, I'll probably just barely be scraping by.
Am I overly concerned about a future that may never even come to be?
Am I trying to insure my life?
No.
I just know what it's like to live the way I live because I've been living that way for quite a while by now.
I am not satisfied. I am not happy with it. I am not living my dream.
I am not fulfilled.
So it's time to move along, to commit to something (at least for now...he he), and not fall back into my habitual way of life, because it's that...a habit.
I don't suspect that I'll ever stop travelling. I love it. I need it.
I get these serious cravings that HAVE to be pacified. It's like heroin for me.
But at this point in my life, travelling can never be for me, anything more than a diversion from the cruel reality of my soul killing job.
I can't join the Peace Corps. I can't teach English in Japan.
I don't know if I am currently capable of combining my passions with my responsibilites.

Oh no...
We were just talking about Fredericksberg, and the awesome German food, and Enchanted rock. James was reminiscently complaining about the price of camping there, and compared it to the average costs of National Parks.
And suddenly, I was longing for the view of the entrance booth, the beauty abounding on either side of the road, the map at the trailhead, the treasures to be discovered along the path.
I want another shot at Denali. I want to be deep in Olympic. The Great Smoky Mountains, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Teton. I want it all again.
And then, think of all the National Parks in other countries...Croatia, Costa Rica, Australia, Kenya. Jesus Christ!

See what I'm saying?
Frick a lick on a stick!

Commitment and Eclairs

I always get a little swirrl of anxiety when I sit down to write.
Maybe it's not knowing the outcome.
Maybe it's the uncertainty that I'll find the words.
But I'm feeling it now.

I'm writing because I was inspired by my friend Dani's blog entry that she wrote recently about herself. More specifically, things she finds wrong with herself.
With this train of thought, fresh and in the back of my mind, I wrote to my friend Toni. I haven't been in too close of contact with her in a while, so I was telling her about what's been going on in my life.
It was during this e-mail that I realized, I am afraid of commitment.
Maybe "afraid" isn't the right word.
Maybe I have an aversion to commitment.
Maybe I'm allergic.
Whatever the appropriate term for my inability to commit to things, the fact is, I am unable to commit to things.
I'm not talking about relationships. James and I have been together 4 years as of the 10th of October. I am very commited to him. I don't know about marriage, but that's a whole other story.
I'm talking about commitment to any direction in my life.
I'm talking about to anything lasting longer than a couple of weeks.
Por Ejemplo: In the past 4ish years, I have been intensly and passionately interested in crochet, belly dance, beading, poi, and haiku, all for about a month each. And those are just the examples I can think of right off the top of my head.
I have made arrangements to roommate with 4 different people, Julie, Toni, Melody, and Jen. I have followed through with only Julie, and that was only for a month and a half. The rest, I've decided against after a couple weeks thought, thus ruining other's plans and nearly breaking up my sister, Melody, and her fiance.
I can't even commit to simple plans to hang out with people. I make the plan, I decide I don't want to hang out after all, I never call, and when that person calls me, I don't answer the phone. people who know me really well have come to understand this about me: I am a flake.
So, at this particular juncture in my life, I have a plan, as I usually do.
I am going to save money, for roughly a year. Then I'm going to take out loans for school, at the same time, investing the money I've saved, with James' help. Then I'll go to school. When I'm finished with school, I'll use the money I had originally saved to pay off my loans before they accure any interest, and I'll keep the money I made off that money in the stock market, so it can make me some mo monies.
An excellent plan I think. I really like this one.
But you don't understand. I've made SOOOOOO many plans. And SOOOOO few have come to fruition.
Why? Because I can't commit. Therefore, I get little accomplished.
Therefore, much of the time I feel like I'm floating around, just stayin' alive.
I imagine such great things for myself. Such wonderful experiences and accomplishments. I expect a wonderful life.
Buy how the frick am I supposed to experience and accomplish great things if I can't commit to something for more than a month?
Maybe I have a short attention span.
There are only a few long lasting passions in my life, and those are, in order of age (though definitely not in order of importance), food, writing, cooking, and James.
Travel also actually, but as it's not on a front burner for me right now, I hesitate to add it to the previous list.

So I'm a commitment-phobe. What do I do? I feel ya guys.

I just want to add, I made eclairs from scratch today. If you've only had doughnut shop eclairs, then you've never had one. SHAZAAM!

The Playground

And I thought there was nothing to photograph in this neighborhood.

The Background

It's retarded.
On this blog, I've recently discovered, I don't feel free to write about stupid random shit.
I know some would disagree, were they to read back over my previous entries, but I personally always feel that I have to at least stir a certain amount of cleverness into my entries.
When I log on to Blogger, I feel.....pressure.
Maybe it's the imposing grey background.
Maybe, well, that's actually all I can think of.
I think I'll change the background.

That's better.

Flawed

I had so much good, clean, and productive fun yesterday with the series of "Flawed" photos, and others I took in James' Mom's van and the fabric store, I think I'll do it again today.
I had been looking through some peoples photos on Deviantart, and regretting the fact that the 3rd dimension does strange things to my face, and therefore, obviously, I could not model for myself in photos.
Then it occured to me that maybe I was looking for the wrong things in a model.
Some old dead guy, like Goethe, or Mussolini, or some one said,
"Ugly can be beautiful, but pretty, never."
And I realized that all those distorted angles, and imperfect features, were infinitely more interesting than a scarless chin, or a perfect button nose.
So I will continue in my "Flawed" series, to appreciate, through very blunt photos, all of my previously unloved parts.

The Fruits of Todays Labor

Urban Exploration and The Elusive Poly-Cot Grail (also random photo)

Sorting through fabrics at Hancock's, looking for the perfect material for James' Urban Monk thingamajiggy, I was thinking of an Urban something else.
Drinking my to go coffee, after eating my big salad at Cafe Express, I was also thinking about the Urban something else.
I wasn't thinking about it when I was trying to get James with the two finger snake bite attack. That takes too much concentration, especially when holding the aforementioned to go coffee.

That Urban something else, is Urban Exploration. It's something that James and I have practiced, sort of, around Austin.
I think that technically, Urban Exploration, is going into abandoned, closed off, forgotten, or forbidden places, with a flashlight, and maybe a camera, and seeing what you can see.
This is something I haven't really thought about doing before, and I am inspired.
I heard about it by reading Toni's blog, where she mentions it in passing.
But I don't just want to go into tunnels and abandoned mills and what not.
In my idea of UE (for short), it is really urban exploration. Discovering all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies around your city. It can be anything.
ANYTHING!
Even tiny things, like seed pods, fuse boxes, whatever.
Isn't the spirit of it discovery, of anything?
I only say this because I was looking at UE websites last night, to get an idea of what Toni was talking about, and they really seemed focused on specific kinds of places, like tunnels, and sewers, abandoned houses, buildings, and factories, rooftops, etc. Places of moisture, fungi, rust, and general dilapidation.
But it can be so much more.
Now I'm really looking forward to getting back to "the 512" and and diggin' in.
Heck, I might even have a go here, in "H town", whenever all the family is busy. I know I'll have time at my mom's.
I'm excited. Maybe I'll look around today.

On a sadder note, fate didn't bring James and his fabric soul mate together today.
Keep searching brave knight, for that polyester/cotton blend grail, and we will all keep you in our prayers.

Sometimes...(plus random photos)

Sometimes I get so tired of listening to my own bullshit.
I just read back over my post before last.
Sometimes I can sound so pompous.
But it's good to have your moments of pompousitude, and all other moments for that matter, recorded. It can really give you perspective.
It can really remind you that "this too shall pass," whether it's good or bad, it's not meant to last.
My life functions in currents, waves.
Sometimes I'm really in the swing of it. I'm thoughtful, metaphysical, spiritual. I'm changing, making progress. I'm getting shit done!
Sometimes (one of which was when I started this blog, hence the name "The Desperate Situation Of My Life"), everything feels very well FUCKED. And it's little cherry will ever after be just a brown stain on a sheet.
Sometimes I'm a stoner. No need to elaborate on that one.
Sometimes I am super creative. Whatever medium, I am Mrs. God, omnipotent weaver of things, haver of ideas, sculpter of curlicues, whisker of sauces. Whatever.
Sometimes I am a drinking, gossiping, x-doing, girly girl, idiot.
Sometimes I just am, floating around, living hand to mouth, not just financially, but completely. Those times may be the worst. Like feeding and watering myself, until I die.
Sometimes I have to be moving. Where ever I am is wrong. That's the wanderlust, and I have no illusions that I'll ever be rid of that.
But always, I am a booty shaking, "nigga" saying, wanksta.
But that's just how I roll.
I am 1/32 black, after all.

So I suppose I have to forgive my pompousitude. That's just how I was way back then, a month ago.

Ice

Isn't ice one of the most beautiful and amazing, and let us not leave out, refreshing things on the entire planet?
I'm not talking about "bling." I'm talking about wonderful little morsels of frozen water. I'm talking about crushed, and cubed, and berged, and glacierized ice.
I think back to our Mexico adventure and recall craving and missing, more than anything, ice.
I'd say it's my favorite food.
Does it count as a food?
It is solid. I do crunch it with my teeth and then swallow it.
It rejuvinates, it reenergizes.
It's water, only infinitely more entertaining for my mouth.
But ice is also lovely. Extremely.
I've caught myself, staring into my glass of ice water or tea, in either a pre or post gulp trance. The light hits it just right, the color of the glass, the lemon wedge distorted by the smooth glassy pebbles, the sun reflected into a star that rotates along with the varying width of my squinting of my eye.
To look through the side of the glass, through the beading and dripping condensation, and the transparent mass floating at the top of the glass. Or the middle of the glass.
Depends on how much you drank.

I love ice.

Coming Soon to a Computer Near You

It's been so long since I've written here, but I am still alive.
I got so burnt out with writing, what with keeping up with my travel blog, and my personal journal, and those 4 post cards I wrote while I was in Mexico, I just haven't been able to muster any words.
But I feel it coming back.
Little bubbles of verbal inspiration.
A tiny little popcorn pop in the back of my mind.
I need to make space. I need to make energy.
Collect energy rather.
Whatever.
Oh yeah...Puppies and Butterflies.

The Flow

Why can’t I manage to keep all my writings together? I’ve been feeling I need to write for a while now, but some how my journal just hasn’t felt appropriate. Maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s that I’m too lazy to write things out with my hand. Auntie wanted me to come into her room with her and now I can’t help but be constantly distracted by an episode of Friend’s I’ve already seen. So now I’m in the living room, at the counter that separates it from the kitchen, with some buttered bread and a cup of green tea.
I’m trying to get myself in the right frame of mind.

Something been coming up a lot lately. Feelings. Intuition. Hearing your heart speak. Listening.
When we were in Mexico, there were a couple of instances when I had a feeling about something, contrary to what my brain and plans were saying. I ignored those feelings, and found out after the fact, that I should have paid attention. They weren’t huge things. One, for example, was the morning, a couple of days before we were going to leave to come home, when we were supposed to go to this new beach, Borocho, to check it out and snorkel. I woke up feeling in a bad mood, like I didn’t want to go, even though I had wanted to the night before. But it was a sunny day, and we only had a few days left, which may not have been sunny, so I thought we had to go. My mood worsened and worsened as we got ready, but I didn’t acknowledge or say what I was feeling. When we got to the place we were renting snorkels from, the guy told us that he didn’t know how good the snorkeling would be because the water was high that day. But we rented and went anyway. And after paying the money for a cab that we found out later we didn’t actually need, and hiking down to the beach, we discovered that there was, not only no way we’d be able to snorkel, but we wouldn’t even want to swim there. The water was very turbulent. We ended up walking back to the beach we normally went to.
I should have listened. Not that this was a huge deal, but it could have been. If I can’t even listen to my feelings on small things, how can I listen when it will really matter? The more I ignore my feelings, the less likely they will be to speak to me. They’ll lose strength, as I am their only source of food, and I’m afraid, if ignored long enough, they’ll die.
I have to show them they’re needed and vital to me, because they are, by listening to them, and acting on what they tell me. Hurt feelings are not good. I’m hurting mine all the time. I know I’ve talked before about that little voice inside, when neglected, dying. I was referring to dreams, desires, and examples of people I know who have forsaken theirs in favor of “responsibility.” But that’s not the true inner voice. It’s just a small fraction. Your inner voice is those feelings. These things that speak to you, that can help you guide your life. To listen to this and to act on it is to be true to yourself. It’s not just about pursuing ideas that sound cool to your brain. It is so much deeper. If everyone were to listen to their voice, always, strengthen it, I think the world would fall into such a perfectly synchronous harmony. Such an intricate pattern, woven, not by the hands of our egos. A symphony conducted by inner voices, collectively, leading each person to where they need to be and when, guiding lives. I’m not talking about world peace in the Miss America sense of the term. I’m talking about the disarray this world is in, the dysfunction, the way it just doesn’t work while in the hands of all of man’s ego. I’m talking about the most fine and impossibly intricate machine...working. About every one being provided for, physically, emotionally, spiritually, in every way.
That little voice, it’s the voice of our higher selves. And all of those little voices are the voice of God. Not God personified, as a lot of people think of God. God, as in the All, as in the order that is the universe, no matter how disorderly or uncoordinated our feeble minds perceive it to be. There is a flow, like the wind currents of our planet, which is constant, and if gone along with, in perfect operation. But too often, we fight the current. We leave that perfect flow, because we think that we, with our limited brains, and our gluttonous egos, know what’s best for us, the right way to live.
But to listen to that voice inside, to feel our feelings and live by them, we give up our control. We are guided by something that knows all, because it is All. When we listen to that voice, we let go. We let go of that branch in the flowing river that we once hung on to so furiously, one finger at a time. And every time, our grip becomes just a little weaker, and life has us that much more. Until one day, we are led, we have no control, and we are living our lives as we need to be, not how we think we need to be. I finally understand, in this exact moment what it is to let go. I know what I need to do. I know how to live, and what I need to work on.

This reminds me of this part in Illusions when the messiah describes that what people perceive to be someone sent by god, someone to worship and follow, the messiah, is just some who has let go, and has, by the flow of the river of life, come to a place of people who are still holding on, and so they see him as coming from heaven, because they can’t imagine any other place than where they are, because they have never been able to let go and see. There is too much fear.

Talking with some members of my family, who are Jehovah’s Witnesses, I find myself, when on the topic of religion, theirs in particular, being antagonistic. Very antagonistic.
I argue vehemently, but calmly, about their beliefs, not because I think they’re wrong, but because I know they aren’t their own. It doesn’t bother me at all, in fact quite the opposite, that some one should believe something different from me, but it does bother me when people think that their beliefs are a matter of fact and reason, when they’re really, always, no matter the situation, a matter of faith. They even profess them to be a matter of faith, quoting the passage in the bible that says that faith the size of a mustard seed can move a mountain (Matthew 17:20), and then proceed to prove their beliefs with other bible passages and quotes their organization has managed to scrounge up from the few scientists who agree with them. And the absolute worst part to me is, these aren’t even their own ideas. They aren’t even their own interpretations about what the bible means. They can’t even listen to themselves when it comes to their own spirituality. What ever the Watchtower, Bible and Tract Society (the Jehovah’s Witness organization) has to say on any given matter, the members of the religion take to be truth. Whatever the Jehovah’s Witness book called “Revelations”, a book interpreting Revelations, says about what something in the biblical book means, they believe, as though the book published by the WBT Society was also supposed to be inspired by God.
I hate to admit it, but it makes me feel a lot of disgust. Disgust and disbelief. They take whatever someone else thinks about life, spirituality, the bible, God, and go ahead and believe it unquestioningly. I don’t mean unquestioningly as in, they never researched it, or they weren’t intellectual enough about it. I mean, they never checked in with themselves. They never heard their hearts. They never thought to doubt it even for a second. They just closed their eyes, opened their proverbial mouths and swallowed.
And that is the problem with, not just Jehovah’s Witnesses, but all organized religion. It allows people to never have to concern themselves with it. They can shut up their hearts, turn off their minds, and be done with it.
This is a huge example of holding on I think. How are people supposed to live their lives as they should be, be true to themselves, if they can’t even think for themselves? If they can’t even decide for themselves whether or not to celebrate their birthday, have a blood transfusion, masturbate for chrissakes?
It’s really a little ridiculous that I should let it get to me. It usually doesn’t. I guess I just still feel strongly about it sometimes, having been raised with it, and having some of my family still going along with it. What got me on the whole topic, is yesterday morning, I was talking with my Aunt and her friend Tina about the whole business. My Aunt didn’t seem too much interested in talking about it. It really puts her instantly on the defensive. Tina was pretty open minded about it though. She told me about when she got saved when she was 8 and realized, when attending church for the first time, that that was what she wanted, she felt it, she started crying, and she believed. She believes, although she’s a Christian, that all roads, all spiritual ways, are different paths to the same thing, which is pretty unusual in my experience. She doesn’t try to prove her beliefs to any one, even herself, because she already knows in her heart. She has faith. She does like to study the bible, and different viewpoints on it, because she feels like she should be educated on her own beliefs. Very cool. Instant respect from me. Mad props.

Auntie’s birthday was yesterday. I made her a cake, which was okay, and some enchiladas, which were badass. The best ever.
I’ve been cooking a lot. I’ve made spicy orange chicken, peach cobbler, stuffed zucchini, all in the past few days. I love to cook. It kind of comes in phases. I won’t want to cook for a couple of months, but then, I just have to do it all the time.
It’s really interesting to me because, while I love to cook so much and feel that doing it is pretty vital to my life, it is in exact opposition to my love of the simple life, adventuring, spontaneity, wandering. Although, in regards to the simple life, I do have to say that some of the ingredients from each of the aforementioned dishes were found in a grocery store dumpster.

Oh the constant conflicting desires, the constant reevaluating of priorities. This is where my heart comes in. This is why I have to practice listening, and obey whenever I heat it speak. But whatever my destiny is, I do not want to be swayed by my own prejudices. I do not want to oppose what my heart says because I think something negative of where life seems to be leading me. For example, if life were leading me to buying a house, pursuing a career, having a kid, I don’t want to say no, because I am prejudiced against that way of life.
Enjoying cooking so much made me consider that last night? What if that’s where my life lead me, to living around family and friends, cooking all the time? Would I allow myself to do that? I think I am too attached to certain ideas of what I want my life to be, and too prejudiced to some. I don’t want that. I want to be completely open. Receptive. In the flow.

A Highly Evolved BuddhaChrist Hybrid

Today I am calm.
We are leaving Puerto Escondido in a few hours. My emotions are mixed.
I will miss the ocean, the very clean and lovely Pacific that slides onto these Mexican shores. I will miss it`s perfect temperature, it`s sharklessness. I will miss swimming alone at the end of the cove, god know`s what swimming beneath me, and feeling unafraid. For the first time of swimming alone in the ocean, unafraid. Feeling free even. Feeling held by her.
I will miss the quiet that comes over me, just looking out, the calm. Listening to the rythm of endless waves breaking, returning. Imagining the vastness, which I`m sure I can`t properly imagine. The grip it has on my heart. That feeling. I can`t quite understand it.
The ocean can change you. You can learn alot, you can learn everything from her, if you just sit beside her for a while, and listen.
Will I be able to live, landlocked again, now that I`ve understood this?
Maybe that is the feeling I get in my chest. A bit of my heart leaving, staying behind in those peaceful but powerful waters, waiting.
Maybe I`ve found a little piece of my place in the world. A clue.
So I am a little sad to leave. But I know I am leaving to find those other pieces. I am going to find my treasure.
Like they say, if you love something, let it go, and if it comes back, it was truly meant to be. So I have to let the ocean go, for a while. You can`t complete a puzzle with only one piece. And when I`m meant to, I`ll return, and there she`ll be.
In that way, I`m happy. For everything you leave behind, there is something new, and my "personal legend" awaits to unfold. And I know that all my Fatima`s will wait.
I just read The Alchemist again. Obviously.

So today I am calm.
Yesterday, I was not so calm.
Things were bad for James and I. There was alot of negativity. Something beautiful could have died.
But we cried and connected, and things are better now.
I learned that when two people who love each other, who are best friends, are each going through something, something that they have to go through themselves, something that will take them away from each other for a while, they have to be there for one another. They have to stay connected. They have to maintain and strengthen their bonds at that time, more than ever. I think that only when that happens, love can survive anything. Even if you can´t be together, be there. Don`t let it die, and don`t let the other be alone.
You know what I`m saying?
Maybe I`ll regret having written that for the whole world to read. Whatever.
I have no subscribers.

I`m kind of looking forward to this bus ride. This 40 hour bus ride.
Not because my best sleep is bus sleep. Now, I know this is hard to believe, but I actually sleep terribly on a bus. Crazy, huh? And also, not because I enjoy eating for each meal, bus terminal food, such as soggy tortas of cheese, one jalapeño, warm mayo, and a sad little piece of ham flavored processed meat food. Maybe my culinary sensibilities are a tad unrefined, I don`t know.
What I`m looking forward to is a time for reflection. Of few options for entertainment. I`ll probably write alot in my journal. And I always like that. I`m sure I`ll have a tremendous amount of epiphanies and personal revelations, which I`ll write about for hours, and then discuss with James, which will, in turn, lead to more revelations. I`ll probably be an entirely different person, a highly evolved BuddhaChrist hybrid of enlightenment, on arrival in Austin.
Forget the ocean and those cardial chunks of mine left to drift. I`m going for transcendence baby!
No, but really. I am looking forward to those long rides, those hours of no responsibility, when I can be left to dream.

If anyone is interested in seeing what I`ve been writing lately, click on the entry title for a link to my travel blog.

Ramblings of a Bored Ex Snorkling Trier

Bored on a hot day in Puerto.
I just want to type it all away, but I don`t feel like I can face the pressures of a travel journal that people might actually read. So Ì`m typing here.
Toni`s leaving soon for Finland, just a day or two before I get back to the US, so i won`t get to talk to her on the Phone. Why did I capitalize phone? I`m leaving it, so you can get a little taste of how things are in my head. Woo hoo!

James and I tried to snorkle today, and it went terribly. I woke up with the feeling that it was going to work out terribly, and I didn`t want to go, but I ignored my feelings. So it was terrible. I don`t like snorkling. It sucks. I just like to be in the water, no crazy or fancy contraptions attached. Just me.
When will I ever be happy where I am? Will I ever be in the "right" place?
I just keep finding myself feeling eager to get home, to get started what I "need to be doing". But I know that when I get there I`ll only be eager to get to some other "right" place where I can do what I "need to be doing." When am i doning what I need to be doing? I`m always forgetting that I always am. It`s so had to be in the moment.
I suppose that`s the allure of weed. On some occasions, no matter how few and far between, you can get that feeling of total absorption in the moment, in whatever your doing. Usually I just feel paranoid, but I keep on truckin` none the less, looking for those ephemeral moments, tose slippery moments, of actually being present in my own life. I guess that`s the allure of drugs in general. Your mind becomes sharpened to a single point through which you can look at something. Not sharp in the normal meaning of the world. I would hardly call any stoner who can`t remember what they said 3 seconds ago, sharp.
But I have been there. I have made things, I have heard music, I have had sex, I have played games. And I was there, entirely, for each.
Always "chasing that dragon" as it were.
Whatever. I don`t want to type about drugs anymore. I don`t even want to think about them.
I just want to stop thinking about the future. Skimming over the now, I know there is so much that I`m not absorbing. At this rate, I will neve fill up this sponge. I will be constantly be thinking of and seeking the next bucket of water, when I always have a full one right in front of me. I will let my hand dangle over the edge of it, absent mindedly dipping the tiniest corner of my sponge in, as I day dream of the right bucket, that will fill my sponge the way it "needs to be", until water runs in streams down the side of the hand that holds it, after just one good submersion.
Talk about a run on sentence.
That`s the thing about writing. While I may not be accutely aware of everything around me, I am totally in the moment of what I`m writing. I`m thinking of nothing else. I am there. And who`s to define what`s appropriately " in the moment" for anyone else? Not you. Not even Buddha.
I guess it`s things that you can become lost in. That you can lose yourself in. If you are absorbed, it`s a kind of meditation. Your thoughts are gone, your ego, well I don`t know where the hell it is. Any thing that can do that for you. Except TV, and as much as I love them, books. They are just replacement realities, gossips, things of that sort, to involved.
It hurts me to say that about books. It really does.
I am a hopeless book addict, and I never hope to recover. I love to read. I love language, and I love to just let my self imagine someone elses world. And I learn new words.
But I don`t need to try and convince anyone of why reading is good. Everyone thinks it`s so good to do anyhow. Everyone "wishes they had more time to read", feels guilty because they don`t like it, because they spend more time watching TV. Reading, to a lot of people, is a sign of intelligence. But people don`t make the connection. Movies and books are just different degrees of the same things.
Escapism.
Reading is overglorified in our culture. But also it`s not.
A love of reading indicates, alot of times, a love of learning, a certain precociousness, and I suppose that does say something about intelligence. But wasn`t Einstein dyslexic? I doubt he loved to read. But no one denies his intelligence.
I`m sure it goes back to the beginning of the written word. Used to be that no one could read, except the educated, such ad priests and nobility. No wonder it`s still glorified so much. People who don`t read, maybe, somewhere deep in their psyche, relate themselves to the peasants, to the uneducated.
My uncle, for example, can`t spell "I`m", but he can build an entire house out of his head, no blueprints; he can rebuild old cars completely, improving them along the way, he can even do calculus. I`m not even sure if I just spelled calculus right.
So in a nut shell, people are all stupid.
I just got to rambling. I said I wanted to type.
But my internet time is up in 3 mintues, so I have to be done.
Peace out.

Thanks Blogger!

Regresso...click here for what I`ve been writing.

I don`t have alot of time left in the hour that I`ve paid for at the internet cafè here in Puerto Escondido. I haven`t posted in so long because I`m traveling and so I, naturally, have been posting on my travel blog (see link). But this time I`ve had in Mexico has really given me alot of things to write about, taught me alot. These sort of things I don`t believe belong on a travel blog that sends out a notification, every time I post, to my family and friends. I`m not so sure how interested everyone is in being spammed with writings on my personal revelations and view points on the world. So it will be here, unobtrusive, waiting, for whoever is interested. We`ll be back home in about 9 days, and then I`ll get started.