the Void

I wonder when I write these things... who are they really going to? Who will read them? Who will analyze them, like I have? Who will like them? Who will be brave and willing enough to critique them?

If it's no one... then I'm talking to the Void. Hi Void.

The good and bad thing about the Void is that it doesn't talk back.

Soo....

I've been thinking lately... about what I want in life. And really, my mind goes blank. Of course there are the occasional thoughts of possibilities... but unless I act on them, they really go nowhere. I'm 25. Let me say it again.......TWENTY FIVE. I have no career, no house, no social life, really, and i'm on a narrow path to a place that I don't think I want to go. Don't get me wrong, I am greatful. I am greatful for my parents who worked their hardest to pay partially for my undergrad career at Stony Brook University, for my sisters who, even on my worst days, are willing to take my crap, my friends for always being there when I needed someone to cry on or bitch at or even attack. I'm greatful for living. And living well.

If there is something I should be doing.... give me a sign.

So, I'll send this message out to the Void, in hopes that it will hear me... and maybe finally answer.

October.

The brightness of the sun, shining through the window on this candescent harvest day blinds me as my eyes open wearily. I find contentment with mornings like these. For an instant I forget all stress, all annoyance, all pain and breathe in that autumn smell of foliage and firewood. A light breeze enters the room lazily, lingering. I kick off my sheets to feel its soft touch upon my legs. “A bit cold,” I think to myself, but I don’t mind it. There’s something to say about October. I don’t know if it’s because in October Fall shows its colors, brighter than any other month, or if it’s the spirit of Halloween, but there’s something magical about October, something surreal. I can’t really explain it. And it is mornings like these that really surround me with that feeling. And this feeling only increases throughout the day. It seems to even heighten more when the moon peaks her bright red face out from behind Horizon’s silhouette. There’s something to say about October’s Moon as well. It feels, almost as if her gravitational force is pulling at me, making me feel light, even buoyant, like I could jump and never touch the ground again. Of course, the gravitational force of the moon is the same now as it is at any other time during the year, yet it’s still enchanting. I remember when I was younger I would believe that the moon was quietly talking to me, through her colors, through her beatific face. Each night I’d look up to her, hoping for something. I never knew what it was I was looking for. For some reason, though, my eyes, my head involuntarily tilted towards the sky. And in this vision I felt a surge of power rush through me like water races through a straw, abounding and swift. And even now the 11 year old inside of me still feels exceedingly powerful whenever I see that Moon.

The process of thought.

I've made mistakes numerous times in my life. Sometimes minute, sometimes great. Regret is something I don't like to admit to, but I find myself doing so on occasion. It's funny. I look at the past and wonder where the hell the time went. I look at the future and wonder if it'll ever be as good. Maybe I have a nostalgic view of how it "used to be." I wish I could understand it. I wish i can grasp it, pull it into my chest and hold on tight. Never let go. But there's a reason why they associate "time" with sand. It slips right through your fingers. You can't even feel it, until your hand's empty.

Someone I know very well told me the other day that he's realized one thing. Life's not about your past, it's not about making a future, it's about being around the people who make you smile, who make you laugh, who make you love. And I've realized that's it. It's about BEING. Just being. Because being is present. And the people you love who are present with you are all that really matter.

So in that aspect, I shouldn't regret a thing. Nor should I really worry about what's going to happen... because it's going to happen no matter what I do.

Clumsy.

And I'll grab hold of the wall before I walk out of the light, 'cause I'm not the falling type, no i'm not the falling type.

Wondering if this is ironic advice hidden deep within my subconscious.

Someone else's hands.

Just recently my grandmother was placed into the hospital. She was intubated, on a respirator, sedated and restrained all in the matter of minutes. I had gone to visit her on Saturday because she’s 82 and fragile, and at least for a while she was walking just out side of death’s gates. When I walked into the hospital room, I noticed she didn’t even take up half of the bed. The 94 pounds of her, laid, quietly under the covers. My grandfather was standing next to her holding her hand, telling her things will be alright and to go to sleep. I can see the fear in her eyes when she caught mine. Her hands were trying so desperately to remove the restraints so she could pull the tube out of her mouth that extended down to her lungs. So I mouth to her, “it’ll be alright, just go to sleep.” She closed her eyes softly, performed the sign of the cross, silently mouthed the “Our Father” and drifted peacefully off to sleep. At that moment, it hit me. That feeling of dread. That feeling of death. That feeling of wondering if this is it for her. And I realized then that her faith is what keeps her strong through all of this. And I don’t know how it is to feel as though it is in someone else’s hands from here on out. I don’t know if I can surrender my feeling of absoluteness and control over the idea that the end is the end. I realized however, in that hospital room, when she showed fear, she was thinking of life, when she showed strength, she was thinking of her life after death. How is it that faith can be this powerful? To give someone the strength to face death straight on? I’m a very anti- religious person. I believe that death is the complete end of physical and spiritual life. Our energy stays, but only stays as energy. And that when we are buried in the ground we become part of the earth, not necessarily part of a supernatural community living up in the sky, with all of the people who have gone before us. Everyone has his or her own version of what happens after we die. But I couldn’t help but feel envious, just for a moment, of the calmness that waved over her body when she felt her God was with her. And I wonder now, of my own thoughts of death and life after death or the lack there of, and if I’m going about this the wrong way.

Some relief...

I've had serious doubts about my ability to write well lately. I believe it's because I'm surrounded by people who exude excellence when it comes to the written word. I'm not fond of this feeling. But if it's for the sake of art, what makes writing "well?" The foremothers and forefathers of breaking the mold of perfection and propriety of the written word, would probably be rolling in their graves hearing me speak of writing "well". Because standards are just road blocks to the imagination. And propriety itself is really only there for me to antagonize. It's moments like this that remind me, that as long as I'm putting forth the best of me, it shouldn't matter what others believe of my work. The definition of art has changed over time. Some critics believe that without criticism, art cannot exist. Some believe that art is determined by the experience of the audience and not the motives of the creator. It has been questioned in history, whether the written word is considered art at all. The fact alone that we have many different perspectives on art makes me believe that art itself does not want to be restrictively defined. Nor does it need a societal purpose. Art should always be individually defined because it CAN be. It is constantly changing, because we, as individuals are constantly changing. The art that I supposedly produce right now, or don't according to some, is RELIEF spilled on a page.

So here's my relief.

Say it, don't play it.

Can I just express my frustrations with people who can't ever say what they truly feel? I don't understand it really. I mean there isn't enough time to use words indirectly. So say what you feel. Say what you mean, and mean what you say! Is that too much to ask for? geeeesh!

Stone into sand.

I was talking to my friend Jessie today about the always confusing situations that occur throughout our everyday lives. We were discussing, in so many words, the unforgiving toll these confusions have on our minds; whether it be our logical, emotional or spiritual minds. I was so aggravated even by the thought of us spending precious time talking about them that I came to an epiphany. Things don't need to be set in stone, and even when they are, they can be chiseled out. We pretend things are important when really they are not. Decisions that seem perpetual and unchanging, can be moved in an instant by life's current, transformed like a rock turned into sand. There's no need to worry because worrying only stops us from doing the things we really want to do. And there's no reason to hesitate to do the things we want to do because precious time is all we have, and moments are all we'll remember.

Tick tock.

Ever wonder where the time goes? It's a passing train going at 116 miles an hour. There's no way it can be stopped. And if we try, if we use all of our power to slow it down, we end up plowed over. And another thing, I was thinking about this in class today (obviously not thinking about the content of which I am studying). We spend so much time wondering and worrying about time. Think about it. If we're not worrying about our future, we're stuck, like a fly to fly paper, in the past. What happened to the present? It's a pretty nice gift. Even though the present isn't here for long, I think maybe we should learn to appreciate it more.

A lesson to be learned.

I have recently heard of the passing of someone I knew in High School. He was my sister's ex-boyfriend and I believe too young to die. It's interesting. When he and my sister were dating I hated him with a passion. I found ways to make his life a living hell. He wasn't a saint either in his ways of treating her and me, but now looking back I realize how stupid I was. Why is it that when a person we dislike is alive all we do is bring them down and then when they die all we do is bring ourselves down?-- probably because I'm learning that life is too Goddamn short, and that all the idiotic, pointless things we think about, overanalyze, criticize, condemn; they're not worthy of our time. And that time is priceless and extremely limited. I go back and forth in my head, wondering, if I was just a little bit nice to him, maybe things would be different. And quite honestly, I don't know if I feel guilty because of his death or because of the way I treated him in his life. Sounds selfish of me, I know. Worrying about how the way I was to him and how it influences the way I feel about his death. But people are just people, they are mortal. And the truth is, people die all the time. But when it's people we know, people we've shared life with, we realize how closely death is to all of us. Maybe I should learn from this, I mean, I think I'm already learning. Hatred is a such a strong concept. I feel at some point that hatred can turn into whatever we let it. And now, Ive realized that hatred is just a waste of our time. And that life should be just moments of compassion, laughter and love. It seems too late but, I ask you T______, please forgive me for all the hatred i've shown you. And may this lesson stay with me always.