Flying Through Water

I finally tried surfing. I LOVED it!
So that part where the wave starts to lift me and my board gets me every time and I just look down at my hands on the edge of the board and watch the water fall from under me- so trippy. It made me miss a bunch of waves...
But I did catch 2 that gave me that extra buzz of adrenaline and really made me want more. I could have stayed out all day- that is, if my arms let me.

Blue Grass

So last night I went to see this bluegrass band play in town (that's Honolulu for those who don't know). It was such a cool spot! It was in this little old lady's attic, who was a Russian immigrant and had continued her husband's love of music after he died.
So the attic was this awesome open space with dark wood supporting a white ceiling and tons and tons and tons of people were there and they were all just there to have a great time listening to some talented musicians and hang out.
I never thought I would like bluegrass and always thought of it like country music's cousin with more fiddle. This band was awesome! I don't know if they changed my mind about bluegrass, I mean we can cross that bridge when we come to it, but they were so talented that I didn't even think about the music style after I got over myself.
I really needed that though. The atmosphere was so different from what I have allowed to loom over me that it reminded me of those first days of spring. I remember sitting in my seat in middle school feeling the cool breeze come in the window for the first time since the East Coast snow melted and imagining I was outside with the sun warming my face.

Broken

I'm addicted to tragically sad movies. Movies about drug addicts who sell their souls for a dime bag or about death and lost loves. The kind that dangle hope in front you even though you know from the beginning that depression, destruction, and desolation are the only outcomes. These are the movies that trick you with playful lines of music as the illusion of happiness floats in front of the characters. But everyone dies in the end-either literally or metaphysically.
It's the same thing when I see a bird with a broken wing or a dog with a limp. I know it's probably better off with a quick death but I only want to take the pitiful creature and cover it with cartoon band-aids and kisses. Even bugs with missing wings or leggies make me wish I could find a bandage small enough to fix them.

What a Do About Nothing?

I feel like I have wasted my whole week. It's not like I didn't do anything but coming out a week from a week ago, I feel like this week was wasted.
It's harder than I thought it would be to be out of school. Well, maybe it is what I expected, more or less. I knew the hardest part is that there are no deadlines. I like deadlines. They work for me, help me. I like the feeling of pressure as they come closer and the push to maximize time and get as much work done as you can in a short amount of time. It makes me realize the value of my free time and appreciate that freedom.
I feel like school helps me walk the path to where I want to be. Without it, it's like I forget how to get to that place and why I want to be there so badly. I KNOW I want to be there, it's just harder to remember why.
It's ironic to think that being out of school is so much more of a challenge than being in school. Or maybe it's not....It's only been a week since I've been back.

Bod

I've realized that my body is built to be strong and to endure. I am naturally built with muscle. I'm stronger than a lot of the girls I've worked out with and have had some boyfriends that I thought I could beat up, if I tried. My calves alone have led to lots of questions from male workout buffs (no pun intended) about how much I squat and what it took me to get those sweet muscles. But I've always had them. You can see them in pictures of when I was 4. It only takes like 2 weeks of working out to get some real definition back when I haven't worked out in like 6 months, too.
This all used to bother me when I was younger. I always weighed about 20 pounds more than other girls my size. I felt bulky and awkwardly unfeminine. To make matters worse, the eating habits in my home led me to be overweight. I always just ate whatever I wanted-and lots of it. I never really played outside either so my exercise was finding the remote and searching for more goodies to munch on. That's lifestyle. That was my life style for over 20 years.
So I've come to love my body. I can swim and run and lift and learn new exercises. I'm still not at a healthy weight, even when looking at things like percent body fat instead of BMI but I'm on my way. And it feels really good. I like pushing my body and changing my habits. I wish I had realized how good this feels earlier in life but, either way, it just feels good.

Aquatic Statue

Leaning back against the boulder, his feet are carelessly waiting on the riverbed.
His socks are like moss, a cascade of dark hair jets out from it's hiding place halfway up his calves.
The endless outpouring of hair flows over his ears and drips onto the arrayment on his arms.
His back is broad and muscular, bound by a black tee-shirt.
His voice whines in his nose like wind squalling through a narrow tunnel.
His trickling eyelashes splash when he blinks.
And he is unaware, thinking of what awaits him in his guitar case.
Perhaps his puddle of sideburns accumulated in the wrong creek.

For My Post Modern American Literature Class..

Pool
I woke up with his bronzed arm in full view next to me. In his sun-drunken sleep, his chest rose and fell like the waves of the ocean. The sun had started its descent, leaving behind a shady calm. After the last few intense, heat-filled days, I sighed in the deep relief of the quiet air.
"Hey, love, how long do you want to stay out here?"
"You woke up! I thought you would sleep for hours."
He smiles his charming smile, and I lean over to give him a peck on the cheek, then the mouth. I lift his hand so that I can study it as closely as I study the emotions that surface on his face. He holds my hand as carefully and lovingly as a hen with her first egg, while I examine his scars. The pink vulnerability contrasts against his dark skin. I will leave him soon, I know. I am torn between the sweetness of his touch and the bitter regret in my future. He draws my eyes in with his and I can't help but beam across the breeze. After holding the moment a bit longer than comfortable, I say, "Let's go."

Studying
The glow from his computer cast an unforgiving white-blue filter over his face. His features, usually warm and pliable like a child's, seemed foreign. I kept half my attention on my homework, sitting sideways to face him on the cream couch, my toes tucked just under his leg. Every few minutes he turned his head to look at me. A smile accented his lips every time, as if he'd dreamt of me and was still surprised I ever showed up. The night air barely whispered freedom in through the window. In the dim light, his fingers moved quickly over the keys with mechanical precision. The tap-tapping a sort of beat that was sometimes unpredictable.

Park
We had been fighting, the heat closing in on us under the street lights. Our emotions sparked in the closeness of the space.
I had pleaded with him, begged him to leave me. Mild convulsions shook my body as I leaned up against the car; the tears streamed silently. He paced in front of me, back and forth like a pendulum. His brow tight with thought, I couldn't look him in the eyes. My own were seeded with mourning.
Finally-
"I can't lose you."
And with that, he drew his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace. I gave in, relieved that it was over.

Class
He brought her today. I saw him from across the room, between the heads occupying each desk. It was a few minutes before I saw that they were holding hands; I wouldn't have noticed her if they hadn't been, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.
He looked like a clouded memory. She looked like that girl on tv he once said he liked. I didn't understand his attraction to her at the time but seeing him next to HER, he didn't look boyish anymore.

Driving
He opens my door for me and guides me into the seat, his hand on the small of my back. I watch him, with a sigh, as he circles to the driver's side, but a smile plays on my lips. The sun has faded in the sky and orange and purple mingle in the clouds, a conversation I can't hear. A warm breeze follows him in as he slides into his seat. He starts the engine and automatically reaches over to place one hand on my knee, his silent claim. His eyes narrow to focus on the dimming street.
"Do you want me to drive, babe?"
He smiles crookedly and gently shakes his head. We ride in the ripe silence, each of our minds playing on different ideas.

Halloween
Our faces plastered with wide smiles instead of masks, we were taking videos throughout the night, well, he was. I wonder if he kept them. The pillow strapped under my dress had me sitting several inches taller than him as we drove to the party. His pillow was tucked in between him and the steering wheel like a homemade air-bag. All while getting ready, we had spoken to each other in our "old cogger" voices, mine always tending to sound a bit British. We called each other by our middle names that night, like 50 years of marriage would wear on the use of our first names, or maybe to distance us from the dream. We were giddy and boisterous, like two children who share a secret.
We met up with my roommate and her boyfriend, barbie and ken, and then mingled with the witches and Monty Python characters for a while. Later we drifted out to the gazebo and watched over the dying excitement. The noise still so filled our ears that we gazed in silence, his hand covering mine.

Vacation
I went away,
A week or more.
The snow separated us.
My days were filled with simmering anger when you didn't call.
You were always in the back of my mind, like a mosquito bite.
I wanted to scratch out your memory;
I wanted you to ache for me,
For my absence to finally unravel you.
But you did call-
I made myself tease you and laugh at you to show that I was strong.
And I missed you.
I was tortured inside.
I felt my day of renewal at hand,
My stomach in knots.
And then I saw you-
And felt nothing.

Mediums

So I have finally discovered the magic of photo editing! I only wish I had photoshop and knew how to use it. If I had unlimited funding, I would probably buy an awesomely expensive camera and spend a year or so learning to take and develop and edit my own photos. I know there's that saying "A picture's worth a thousand words" and it's sooo cliche to say it (or type it) but I sometimes think that's very true. And I'm a writer! I got my degree in english and have spent years of my life agonizing between various things I was working on and the thesaurus.
I do pretty well with writing and getting my ideas, and sometimes feelings, on paper but I really wish I had more artistic ability. I can find colors that go well together and do some really cool things with makeup. I take pretty decent photos. To take a blank sheet of paper and create a whole picture from an image or idea befuddles me. I will stare at that paper and can only start when I have something to go off of and then it's a distortion of the original. It's really kind of funny too because I have SUCH an imagination. (It's called ADD). When people are talking to me and telling me stories about their day, I see all those things in my head. It's like watching a movie in your head, you see the important parts very clearly but the background fades away. When I really think about it though, it's like I am half seeing and half feeling them. The only way I can think to describe it is that the pictures are fuzzy but what I feel in them and through them makes up for it.

Cry Baby

So I watch Grey's Anatomy. I was introduced to the Anatomy a couple years ago and after watching 2 episodes, I went out and rented the seasons I missed. I admit, I know.
The other thing you should know is that I am not a crier. OK, I wasn't really a crier until recently. When I was younger, I wouldn't even cry by myself, let alone in public. I got to the point where I couldn't even make myself cry when I wanted to get all those emotions out. I would sit in front of the mirror and try to stare myself into submission but to no avail.
I've been softened over the years. Now I cry, sometimes. Probably no more than like twice a month so don't get all excited, but I have a few different things that will draw those tears out: if I'm really REALLY sad, if I'm having a spiritual experience, or if I have a really great conversation and feel like we've made a genuine connection- that one is my favorite.
Then there's Grey's Anatomy. When I watch that show, it's like someone stepped on my foot, told me my cat got run over, and then cut a pound of onions under my nose.
I don't know. I don't get it.
That's all.

Competing Charity

It seems to me that at the very hint of competition, charity disappears. To me, they seem exact opposites. Let me give you my definitions; it will help a little.

Charity: the desire of one person to help another being out of love and, in the act, forget oneself.

I think this is any and every situation where we feel we should do something or say something to another person because we deeply KNOW it is a selfless act that will help that person in the way they need it the most. I want to note- It is sooo hard to follow this impulse! I just had a feeling today to say something to a family member that was simply a thank you and I didn't do it. This person has done a lot of work for me and my whole family for the holidays and I have seldom volunteered help without being prompted. To my knowledge, a sincere thank you may be the sign that this person has not done all this work in vain. Outside of my knowledge, this person could have a bunch of problems and need a simple message of: I see you, I hear you, and I love you. I don't have a good excuse for not saying thank you, though I'm sure I could come up with a whole slew of excuses that are just waiting to make me feel better but the fact is: I had the feeling I should say it and I didn't because of my own weaknesses.

Competition: using a comparison of oneself to another person in order to emphasize one's own strengths and the other person's weaknesses and create a hierarchy with one's self at the top.

I think this can be any tiny, tiny inkling of resistance to another person's needs and vulnerability. It doesn't have to be any action, though it usually leads to some competitive activities, whether in gaming or in every-day activities.

While I don't think that every motion that is not charitable towards another person is strictly competitive, I do think that competition is either at the base of the movement or will evolve from it.

And think about all the topics that, in their very nature as we use them in society, encourage competition! Religion, race, politics...

I have seen that you can talk about any of these edgy topics under the guise of philosophy without the same depth of competition, if we are willing to let go of those indoctrinated communications that we are so used to.

Maybe it is not even so much the label but the way we have become accustomed to communication within those labels. We get stuck in these ruts of seeing only the path before us, and if the other person does not travel in our same path of dirt, we simply are blinded by the dust of our own frantic feet, as we try to make our destination. We become so focused on the things we want to say or things we think that we leave no room for the views of other people and that literally eliminates truth from existing in our experience of that conversation.

How many times is that our experience in everyday life? What are we missing out on because of it? How much do comparison and competition interfere with the charity that we are all capable of?