Bliss

Created bliss is as substantial, if not more so, than accidental.

Occasionally events occur that keep us from our bliss, things truly outside of our control, it is in these moments that I find myself turning on the reserves and searching diligently for my own shred of bliss. Today, which was rather hard for me due to a series of events that are not truly relevant, to me, or to anyone else, I decided that I would take a gander at the web at large. I honed in on a few specific topics, also irrelevant; it was within this personal search that I came across a hilarious post that had me laughing so hard my ribs hurt (which isn't hard at the moment.) This bliss was brought on by the most ridiculous photo of a dogs head with a motivational statement attached: "Pee on babies, they won't remember" I suppose this can also be lumped into the "accidental" bliss, namely because it had no pertinence to the search I was doing, but non-the-less, I was in search of happiness, and wow did it deliver.

My advice to myself, and by proxy to you, is too search for joy when joy is elusive. We have all we need to change our current rut, we must only put a bit of effort, and allow ourselves to be receptive to such things.

For the contemplative

Inside my head everything happens. Everything I want, and everything I don't want. Everything that screams the truth and every other imaginable thing. With these thoughts, I feel most at home. I don't mind being alone, but I find myself wondering when I will stop being alone. The last few months I have wanted someone to share my world with, share my head with. I have quite the brain, always figuring out the ways of others, the way of myself. I am good at this. Very good at this. I strip down the walls that people build to mask their truth, strip down myself until I am nothing but thought, which is all we are anyway. We act on our thoughts, live through our thoughts, are hindered by them. Emotion, a byproduct of these thoughts, becomes the very product of our lives. To me, you think what you are, or are what you think. It is up to us to become our thoughts and share this legacy with the world. It is up to us to break down our fear into moments of thought. I'm not saying that fear isn't healthy...like one of my fears, miserable physical pain, this keeps me from doing things like attempting standing backflips and jumping over moving cars...this is a healthy fear, because even though we are thought, we are housed in a body that doesn't understand the vast opportunity of our mind. I am often misunderstood as rude or any other number of negative qualities, this is because people are afraid of themselves, afraid of their mind. Our mind is just a labyrinth we must master, find the path that gives us a reasonable and pleasant outcome. As with any labyrinth, fear is the opponent, if we allow fear to win we remain in that miserable and unending place. If we allow ourselves the power to know fear is but a byproduct of moments of thought, we are granted freedom, freedom from ourselves, and from the world at large. Given the option most people will acquiesce to what is "comfortable", what is normal to them...I think as humans we fear the unknown, and failure more than anything else. If one allows themselves to transcend these thoughts we are but birds floating over the miasma marveling at what we are truly capable of. There is one thing that I have not mastered with thought, and that is love of another.

I have made the life I want for myself, mastered my fear, and have realized I am capable of anything I desire in this world...except for a mate. This is not something my mind can materialize for me. I recently met a man who decided that he was ready to meet someone who would love him for everything he was, he did a sort of ceremony to will this person to him, this person was me...I will not go so far as to say I love him, but I understand him, I understand his journey and know that he will find his path, I am accepting and compassionate, caring and all other things a person desires as a human, there is one problem, he is afraid, he has not allowed himself freedom, and this in turn means it will never work. He brought to him all he wanted through the power of thought, and can't seem to accept what lies in front of him. I have done no such ceremony, and have little desire to do so, but I still find it fascinating that someone who had the power to do such a thing is too terrified of the reality of it to let it work. I too wish for someone who will understand me, who can follow the path of my mind, who knows my freedom and is free themselves. People continue to say that I am young, that I will find this person, and perhaps I will, but I feel as if I am old, I feel like my time on this earth is short, and I would like to spend as much of this time with someone who understands the journey as I do. Living life everyday to be free, to be happy, to take risks that help us grow, learn, progress.


Well, for anyone who reads this, you just viewed part of my brain...hope you enjoyed it and could track it on some level. Til next time. ~H

Hopeful

Justin stands smoking a cigarette (he's 8,) on the corner of Kemp and Kensington. He wears a tattered blue Adidas shirt, black jeans, the right leg ripped from knee to ankle, and sneakers 3 sizes too big. He picks up a medium size rock, weighs it in his hand with a slight jostle, he then turns toward the garage behind him and throws, as hard as he can, squarely hitting the one remaining window. He laughs with the sound of shattering glass. His mother and some man he just met this morning come out of the house next to him, mother shouting, man with beer in one hand, cigarette in the other.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His mother yells.

Justin just stares at her.

"Get in this fucking house right now!"

On his way into the house he grabs the beer out of the mans hand, takes a long drink, and while returning it asks, "Hey man, can I have a cigarette?"

The man, nearly as tall as the door frame, tattoos peeking out from the edges of his clothes looks at the boy, then at the boys mother, she shrugs her shoulders. The man takes out his pack of Marlboro Reds, opens the top and tips two cigarettes into the boys waiting hand.

"Really, two?" Asks Justin.

As Justin walks into the house, toward his hovel-like room he holds back the tears welling up in his eyes. This is the nicest one who's come along, he thinks to himself, I hope he stays awhile.

Here it is again

That feeling of oblivion. The sense that something quick is at my heels, waiting for the moment I lessen my step. The dark corners creep ever closer. Something's got to give, and I'm not sure what it is; my soul perhaps, maybe my mind. Fuck. I have felt this dread so many times before, the first time I was 4; I thought that this feeling meant fire. Flames to engulf my life. It still manifests as fire, I thought I had come to terms though. Thought something within me had an understanding. Not the case. It seems the only reasonable thing to take the air out of me, my spirit, needs to be quelled, turned into something, something different, something dangerous, something that burns. I'm afraid of the dark these days, afraid of the things I can feel, but can't see. Afraid of the wind that brings me sounds of another world, one I have only one foot in. But where does that other foot reside? I feel but a shell, walking as if I belong, knowing I do not. I can't make sense of it anymore, the harder I reach, the further it retreats. Glass is beautiful, especially when shattered, fire can shatter glass. Chaos. Heat. Flame. Air. Hotter. Destroy. A cycle I no longer wish to engage in, no matter how familiar. When does the air run out so the fire will stop?

Transparent

She wakes to the sound of thunder. It rattles through her entire body and builds, growing as it reaches the inside of her chest, exploding inside her. As she readies for a shower, she wonders, if lightening strikes, is there any chance it may electrocute her, leaving her lifeless and seared in her dingy shower stall? She hopes not, it has been months since last she scrubbed any part of her one room apartment she shares with her edgy cat, and that is no way to be found, however fitting.

Wanting

Her days pass slowly, yet fly by at a pace much to quick. Looking back she realizes all she has missed, and her body aches. What was once a peaceful solitude has now become a blur of loneliness. Her life feeling empty and unaccomplished; she weeps. It has been three years since last she knew love in its beautiful state. Her body wishes for the touch of another, the laughter of a friend, the silent understanding of a lover. It seems like her life shattered away from her, dreams and all. When did her plan run awry, at what point did life slip past and leave her alone on this deserted dirt road?

Gentle

She sleeps peacefully in a cool room, a fan blowing the spring air into her sun-marked face. She wakes slightly at the sounds from another room. She knows where she is, but wishes she were elsewhere, knowing the one she will never have is so near to her. Lying her head upon the pillow that smelled of him, it took all of her to keep thoughts of what could be at bay. In her heart she knows it is best to leave this one alone, to lock her heart away, but she also knows, she never feels the need to stay this safe. What is it? She should never have let slip her secret to anyone; that alone let it become real, frightening, unattainable. If she had held it, him, in her mind and in her heart, perhaps then it wouldn't matter, just a passing phase like all the others...but she knows it wouldn't have mattered. He is different; the easy way a laugh escapes not only from her lips, but from the depths of her soul, the way her skin turned into fire in that brief moment he slipped by and brushed the small of her back, the way her eyes light up while looking at him and the playful nature that arises with no pretense, this is what makes him different.