The Wish... (2013)

I did not have a new years resolution. I don’t do things like that.

I have hopes & progresses I wish to pursue, but I don’t think that resolving to do something on one particular day more than any other is a necessary thing. But then again, time means very little to me. Every day is a new year.

This morning I woke up – with far too little sleep. Dogs were barking, my mother lay next to me where she’d stayed the night, sharing my massive bed for one of the last times I would sleep in it for a good length. It was cold. Frost crystals outlining the window, which was unexpected.

I feel like I'm getting sick again. I was so cold.

I do not—did not—have any new years resolutions this year. No.

This morning, the bathroom was filled with a pale, breathy sort of light; vibrant and cool through the window payne. I stepped into the shower. The hot water hit me & I forced myself to take a deep long breath, pulling sleep, physical hurts, aches & scattered hyper-thoughts from my body & exhale them. ‘Ok,” I thought. “Just breathe; it begins now. One more day here. It begins now.”

Perhaps it was the window. I do not know. I do not care. But suddenly I was filled with one, single thought; filled with it:

...Let me be made of light.

Let me be filled with it. Let my body & my being here on this earth be the vessel that bears the light to others all around me. Let my body learn to heal itself—let me learn to make my body a healthy home so that it can bear light & healing to others. Let me now begin to be what I was made for. What I hope I can be made for.

Let me enjoy pleasures only in this world to give myself back to it; to make myself more of it, to bring me grounded into the world & know it as joy. To love. To make myself more for the being & the giving.

One thought. That became a prayer...

Please. Please..

...Let me be made of light.

Inspiration, anyone? Tieing lines?

Alright Hobbits, Muppets & wonderful creatures of all kinds...

THIS....is technically a 'writer's blog.' I have titled it such. On my website, it says 'See writer's blog:' and has a link to here that you can click. So it must be one.

I have been remiss, I feel, in posting or discussing what I'm working on in writing on here, so in lieu of the recent usual posts on ponderings, musings, current events & drenching tides of emotion... I am actually posting about writing today. Not much...but something.

I need to speak with someone. Or at any rate, get this the f*ck out...

I am writing a novel. And today:
I'm stuck.

This is Novemeber (apparently the kind of November that has an extra e thrown into it at that...nope I don't edit. Much. And it IS).

November: aka NaNoWriMo.

National. Novel. Writing. Month.   
(It really is. Look it up).

.....and I'm writing. Or trying. Kind of. I AM trying, though every time I seem to get a flow going, I am interrupted by an appointment & every time I suddenly find myself with time, my mind goes half blank.

I must admit I started my novel some time before this month began, in bits &
p(i before e, except after c)ieces  flashes, scenes, vague notions...

...and a GIRL. One girl. I had a girl in mind. She has many of the qualities I long for in myself, or feel (or wish, vainly) that I possesed....many similar odd likes/dislikes (or just oddities) to those of myself. But she is not me. And the more I write her, the more I know she is not me.

...And they are all me.

I feel torn between writing what is real & true...and writing a good story. Like I can't possibly do both.


Plot.   

...Is a silly, stupid, tricky thing.  And it's gettin' all wavy on me.

Mmh.  *(disgruntled noise)*

I write much better with other people or in a group effort. My inspiration thrives from other peoples energy & words: When I can turn to someone & say, "Give me a name." or "A consonant,  need a consonant...!" Or I propose a failing/contrived idea & someone says, well, how about we change this detail to __________ & this happens, and I can suddenly go, "No! Oh-ma-God I have it now! Thank you!" And begin to completely re-write the scene from a different person's point of view...

...I am writing this novel: Alone.

And right now, I'm stuck. Just: stuck.

No sooner do I find a name, than a month later, it tastes wrong in my mouth. I have a thousand scenes, but no way to tie them all together. A brilliant & overflowing (eh-hem)  vocabulary....until I need the words to describe or progress a situation & then its all 'ummmm....he-said......she-said....it felt like a.....' who knows, but something mundane & often repeated. Well, apparently EVERYTHING in this book happens 'suddenly.'


......o.O.....   (Double eh-hem). Dear God.

First it's Johny. Then suddenly, in the middle of hiking, I find out she has a brother...

.....she has a BROTHER?!  ....Ok. Well then why the hell hasn't he appeared til now? And what's his place in the REST of the book?! (Good name for him, though. Just came naturally, right away....good sign? I hope?) Then....ok, apparently she had a little sister (they had a little sister, remember? That changes the feel of it now, doesn't it?) ....who died? Ok. And it's her fault. Or...at least, she feels  like it is..........ok. Well....but why? And how? And.......are we ever gonna get to the plot/ If it's in there it has to have a reason....am I writing 5 different novels??
.....and then tonight: I discover they are TWINS??????!! Johny & her brother are TWINS?

What the hell am I writing?!

......ugh.

Exasperatedly yours,
~ G. "The Whistler"

....(nope. That's the OTHER blog, G.)

"Oy!"

An Artist's Work

"Finishing the hat,
How you have to finish the hat.
How you watch the rest of the world
From a window...
While you finish the hat.
_________

However you live,
There's a part of you always standing by,
Mapping out the sky,
Finishing a hat...
Starting on a hat..
Finishing a hat...
Look, I made a hat...
Where there never was a hat ."

I have always felt alone in my life. Not lonely, not sad, but alone. I think we all are. (It's not an uncommon theory-- I hear many people say so often). And yet,  we all strive for contact. That, as well, seems necessary for survival...or, at least, happiness.

It's a delicate balance.

Funny. I...have begun to work for myself in the last few years. Many people are inspired. Many people disapprove with polite smiles. Many of them look at me and say, 

'Oh, that's nice. But what do you do to make money? 

Have you done anything famous?

But...wait, what do you really do?'

You have to love it. You have to. I prefer a bit more stability. I do. But...re-making myself monthly; daily. Updating websites, designing business cards, frantically searching to make ends meet... I do. I love it all. Spending hours & hours a day, writing, choreographing, training, overwhelmed in the most lovely way with my ever-changing imperfections; striving for an ever-evolving ideal and sense of accomplishment. There....is, in reality, nothing greater than this feeling. (To me).

I didn't know that til recently.

Somehow, though, most people don't seem to understand. I think they do, quintessentially. But it makes them angry. Offended. Confused.

"Why didn't you call me? Why are you so reclusive? I can never count on you! Why can't you take care of yourself?" Then in the same breath, "Oh, look what wonderful work you do... Do more." And again, "When are you going to get a real job?"

As though the concept of putting yourself into your work & making your work about  yourself & your expression cannot truly exist. As though it's unheard of, when in fact we all long for it. (Or seem to).

If the thing that wakes you up at night or makes your eyes bright is carving things from wood...why wouldn't you do that? If numbers give you a thrill, embrace them! If to sing is how you awaken in the world, than by all means raise your voice! I think so many people envy actors, dancers, artists...is because it is the most obvious course of passion. There are nearly no tangible rewards but there can be glamor & beauty & expression.  But if the smell of baking bread leaves you lusting for flour & pan....I dare say your pastries would woo us all, were you to find it in yourself to let go of running a bank.

Perhaps some jobs would disappear. (Perhaps they need to). Perhaps we'd all have to chip in a bit more of the things which MUST be done that 'nobody wants to do.' But it is my experience that when you enfold yourself in passion, even doing the dishes or taking out the garbage becomes part of the ecstasy. And I see nothing wrong with a bit more art & passion in this world & a bit less greed. I want to live in THAT world.

And....

In the meantime. I always want to connect to my friends. I do. I want their company; sharing meals with them...laughing & venturing & connection.

But is it so foreign or hard a concept to grasp......that my art is my work? My life? My mistress AND my love? Because....my work is me?

Do I need a bigger salary to make you understand what it's like when I cannot answer my phone because I simply have to...

...'finish the hat'?

Love. (Or the thought of it).

(I wrote this some months ago).
 _________________________________________________________________

An unexpected occurrence.

I found out someone I loved (love) with everything I am....now loves another. I thought I would cry. (I suppose I did for a moment, but that was much later). I thought I'd feel angry...thought I'd feel lonely; like my world was crumbling: so soon? SO SOON?

But I read the message, again & again...and all I felt was...happiness for him. Not the restrained, "Oh I'm so happy for you now let me go hide in a corner" sort of resigned false joy.

No. I felt genuinely....incredibly...happy. It was............not at all what I expected.

Not at all.

I just sort of stared. And then I smiled. Uncontrolled.

It has nothing to do with me. I love him. And I got excited at the thought that he was happy & loved & being held & taken care of, with love. (Better, perhaps, than I could).

.............................................

What an unexpected thing.

Portland

It's November.

Portland, again. I am back in the land of dreary rain-winters, lights on buildings, silver sidewalks, trees & restlessness...

I don't want to be here. I don't want to not be here. I just...didn't want to be here so soon.

I want to be a hermit.

I actually find I don't really want much of anyone, even my friends, to know I'm here. I would rather go unnoticed-- come here to do my work, write alone in coffee shops, try somehow to continue working & raising money, perform in my show: focus on my work. And go an unnoticed shadow in this city of shades & rain. (Tango, of course, is the problem. How do I Tango incognito?)

...Perhaps I'll don a mustache.

It isn't a harsh thing. I love my friends. But all I want for a time is myself. I don't mind feeling loneliness in my own good company. I sometimes like it.

But my work. My art. Figuring this whole horrible thing out for school -- or giving up on it. I want to do it all alone.

I miss my bed.

I hope my roommates are not angry with me that I left so fast without a goodbye. I don't always think before I act, I fear. And it all happened so fast; all at once. I'm dancing; I'm injured; I'm dancing; I'm not sleeping; there's a ride & there may not be another -- so I pack, I clean, I'm running out of hours, I say yes & I go.

...it isn't til later that I realize this may not have been the wisest course of action.

It's an odd thing to know that you are deathly, deeply, sadly afraid of living your life out unnoticed & unremembered; unremarkable & at the exact same time to go through phases of longing for just that. Hmh.   *(I'm smiling).*

I'm glad to see my sister. I'm beginning to love my family more than just because they are my family. I really LOVE my sister. Miss my mother & father, even if I do not love always being around them...


Portland.
I don't know what to do.

It is also an odd thing to know that action is required; that your life is slipping by while you sit in coffee shops & just be sitting here, full of a softer kind of anxiety; worry, but just somehow fully happy & content to sit & spend hours...watching them slip by while you sit...and stare....and just look out windows.

I have so many things I want to do.

I don't want to go through the task of explaining, when my friends run into me here, why I am back again. I want to move forward. I am also happy with the ways in which I move forward; slowly advancing circles; curlicue paths; snaking spirals or interweaving knots of forward movement coupled with dramatic lines of straightness or dots of stillness to build momentum.

'People' do not understand. And I do not want to explain anymore.

I am happy in my life & I know where I am heading & that I am heading there; making progress. Isn't that enough?  (It should be. It is to me & my life is the one I am living).

Hello again, Portland. I'm glad to be working here, though i do not miss you. Anymore.

Hmh. How marvel-ous. Indeed, I marvel at it. How strange...

I've missed my sister. I hope my roommates aren't angry & I didn't f*ck that up again.

...I like being quiet. In the shadows. Without a name to me.
I have plans.

I'm back. 

Thought:

 

There is so much more in this world than we can possibly fathom...

...How strange. How sad. How amazing. How...beautiful.

 

A Choice I've Made

School...

Well. Hmh. Thoughts.

I wish I was going to school in January. I thought I could make it happen, but the truth is I don't feel right about taking money from my family & friends. As much as there is this insane part of me that always seems to think these impossible things (or reasonable things on impossible timelines) are...well, possible, it just isn't reasonable I guess. Still...this always optimistic part of me that wants to charge ahead and forge whole, new worlds & try to stir the blood of everyone around me to press on & do the same (as if we were waging some kind of epic battle for goodness) persists in believing...


...so, I guess I'm not going to school. It's interesting. I haven't cried this much or hard (in only a number of hours, mind you) over anything but a member of the male sex or feeling like I've failed the people I care about...in....I cannot recall. But a very long time, I would imagine.

But...sometimes it's time to...'grow up.' Or, well, at least check in with your deeper self & find out what actually feels right & good.

My father offered to pay for whatever amount of tuition I could not raise myself. This....was unspeakably generous. But...truly, his words & a list of 'Goals for My Year in California' that I found this afternoon made me stop & think. Does this college program really give me what I want?    Yes.  But...yes & no. Not a yes the way most people would look at it but  an outstanding yes to me.

However. I don't feel right about getting there by barely scraping by; by having to 'borrow, beg & steal' as the saying goes, from my friends & my family to get there. If I have to give up all that....all my honor & what feels good & 'in integrity' to get there....then it's not right. To me. Honestly....it's like...the lesson I have learned I think from my mother: she will do ANYTHING she must do to get the job done. And she is over-worked, over-burdened, over-saddened, and often times lonely & miserable, I think. She would argue otherwise & I do not mean to put her down. I think my mother, in fact, is quite noble & valiant...and yet, unhappy. That cannot FEEL good or right.

To me.......well, I think I need to do this myself. I do. It's something I've never done. There's too much, otherwise, riding on the shoulders of myself & other people, too much to be indebted to....to ever be easily or otherwise successful. the cost of it all is too great.

So the answer? I have to man-up & get a job. (No easy feat for me, for many reasons not going to be explained here, but not to be overlooked or brushed under the table, nonetheless). Which leaves me with...? Me. I am sad. I have been crying. There is a feeling of loos...but, I can breathe easier. And in the light of my room, through my tears...I still feel...good. And I see the promises I made to myself when this journey south began. I will make it & make it well. One step at a time.

School feels right. Feels important & important to do now. But all choices are right. Even stillness. Even sadness.

......I think I may have just grown up a little.
        (Breathe).

Honorable

"Life every man holds dear; but the dear man

holds honor far more precious dear

than life."

~ William Shakespeare

.   .   .

It would seem I have no honor.

I have lost it. Or forgotten it, somewhere. Or, in my upbringing, it was somehow mislead or squandered. Perhaps my honor is just a bit confused.

Perhaps I never had any to begin with.

.   .   .

INTEGRITY. That is...a very big word in my family.

My parents both took part in the Est training (or 'the Forum") when they were younger & both agree it changed their lives incredibly...though now they would both refuse to take it again, feeling as though they have retained all the answers & keys to the universe that it unfolds...

...(Perhaps less the sincere, simple, honest, COMPLETE element: Happiness)...
 

At least that, that is my observation & speculation, but let me not admit impediments to my elders, nor their better judgment & learning through experience in this world. I am only an ignorant child, unknowing in the ways of hippocracy...Eh-hem.

See? No honor. No respect for my elders. It would seem.

...Cheeky monkey that I am.

.   .   .

In any case: INTEGRITY. This was a word to be held over my head from infancy.

...If, per say, a child lied about the completion of their homework (stating it was done, when it was not in fact done), this would be dishonest & not in line with INTEGRITY.

...If that same child were to tell the truth, however, that despite sitting alone for long hours in their room, no parents at home (too scared to ask for help, anyways for fear of bothering & being yelled at), staring at the paper & books, reading over & over again, not understanding the words, and said instead, "I can't seem to get my brain to work right...no, it's not finished..." Again, they would not be in line with their INTEGRITY, because obviously they were daydreaming, sidetracked, just not trying hard enough...watching TV. Not paying attention. Just needed to try harder.

...If after threats, cajoling, promises, more threats, that child still did not complete their homework, but told the truth: "Have you finished your homework?"

"....No."

They got a beating. To get the message across.
The message that they were 'doing something wrong.'

Now...if you were that child, wouldn't it be better to lie & get only one really bad beating then to get one every day, because you couldn't get your brain to 'work right?'
No? Not in line with your honor?
 An excuse? When you are...Fifteen?
...Twelve? Ten?
...Six?

INTEGRITY can be... a very heavy word.

Anvil-like. Even.

.    .    .

HONOR. I love the idea of honor.

I want it. If someone could help me find mine, I would gladly take it back & cherish it.
But of course, that's silly. We all know (from reading books) that once a man (or woman)
has lost his honor, it can never be retrieved...

I have always wanted to be a 'man of my word.' I loved heroes in stories. I wanted to be one. The villains may have been more interesting (at least in Disney), but....in real life, lying...cheating...hiding...it makes your stomach hurt. I don't like it.

...And yet, it would seem, I am a 'dishonorable man.'

I used to like to boast that my word MEANS something. And I want it to. Badly.
'I keep my promises.'

Sometimes I even believe it.

But it must not be true, or I would not be so easily shaken when my honor or word is questioned or I am proved, through accusation, to be as my Father LOVES to say,
'Out of INTEGRITY.'

I have..........spent almost my whole life, trying to make others happy. 

Even at my own expense. 

(Usually at my own expense).

I was shown that this is how you are supposed to be in life.
Even if you are miserable. Even if it kills you.

....And yet.

I am also constantly ridiculed & scolded, even when I am trying to be a man of integrity:
 I cannot take care of myself. I neglect my health, neglect my friends, am unreliable.

They say I never do what's best for me, but cannot hope to succeed if I do not.
 I am often told that I cannot hope to make everyone happy,  but whether I try to to that or try to take care of myself, I seem to 'let everyone down.'
No matter what.

.   .   .

In the reality of this world, in application, there are certain things you are supposed to be able to do. They are generally expected of you:
 

- Be kind. 

(Well......except behind so-n-so's back. 
She's a b*tch! She deserves it).

- Be honest.

(But, ya know, a WHITE lie...that's...well, that's not REALLY a lie).

- Communicate.

(You really need to answer your phone more...don't you know I've been 
trying to get ahold of you for the last five minutes?!

Hey! Put down that phone when I'M talking to you! 
That's disrespectful! Be HERE now, please)!

- Take care of yourself above all else,
or you cannot help anyone else. 

(Unless of course we are talking about ME. 

You need to pay attention to me when I need you: NOW)!

- Be mindful of & respect all living things. 

(Well...not animals. They don't count. Oh...well, 

I mean I believe in no cruelty to them, but it's just ONE hot dog, right?
It's not like I do this EVERY day).

...What. Is. INTEGRITY?

.   .   .

In the last few moths, I have agreed to some things. In the 'real' world & in my friendships.

I have had to break a few of these 'promises.' None of them easily.
 I don't like it. I don't feel good about it. I haven't known what is best to do.
I try to go with my gut. But sometimes even THAT gets confused.

NOW...

If someone offers you the chance to do some work in one place (but it doesn't pay much) and you agree to take it, but then you get offered a job that is a quarter of the time & 4x the pay, will let you spend time with your family (some of whom are getting very old & frail), allow you to see friends you haven't seen in a long while
& in all ways is adding to your general health & well being...what do you do?

To keep your integrity, would you stay with the first job? You would, right?
Even if it means you have no real means of financial support...you go back on food stamps...you have to borrow money from your parents to buy TOILET paper.

...No?

Ah. The sensible thing is to turn down the first, offer help, make sure things will be ok & know that this is how business works in the real world.....yes? No?

What?

Ok, that doesn't work for you. Another scenario then:

You offer to do a favor for a friend, so they can take a much needed vacation:
you will watch their house & pets.

Then a job (again) calls & offers you $1,000 to come work. It would conflict with your previous agreement, but (again) you have nothing  lined up & are a bit worried about the poverty line being so close. This is also your JOB:
you need to be able to take work when it is offered to you,
living contract to contract.

INTEGRITY. You gave your word. Kind of. You said...sure I can do that for you.
So you would say, 'No thanks. I can't take the job.
I offered to watch a friend's house for two days.'

But now you have no money for school. No resources to live off of. No employment.

And you just said no to your one & only job offer.

If you were to call your friends & family at this time to ask for support, and they ask you why...and you proceed to tell them that you DID have a job offer of $1,000 but you had to turn it down because you offered to watch a friend's house for two days...and by the way you are gonna need to borrow money for food, necessities & the gas $ you need to get to the next thing you promised to do.........what do you think is their response?

Good for you! You stuck with your integrity?

OR

What the hell is wrong with you & why can't you take care of yourself?!

...Take a guess.

Say you take the job: also giving your word to them.
When your friend freaks out because they now have to find someone else to stay over,
will breaking your promise to them to honor your friend be any better?

.   .   .

I just went to see my best friend's show tonight that she directed.
Why? Because I love her dearly & I am proud of the work she does and I KNOW from personal experience what it is LIKE to feel unsupported...

I also know what it is like to look out into the audience and see even ONE friend's face there. It means the world.
 

THAT means more to me than anything; knowing I can give that to her.

...(See? I'm selfish. Even doing that for her is for me. No honor at all)...

THEN, I stayed after to help her take down the set & clean.

Did she ask me to? No.

Did I want to? YES.

Was it because I am selfless & like hard work? No. 

Do I like folding chairs? F*ck, NO.

...(Do I feel guilty because I'm boasting about it right now? YES).

So, WHY? I did it because of two things:

1.) I LOVE her. I have two hands.
rAnd for once, there was something I could do to help.

2.) Someone did that for ME.

...Now. This same day, I was accused by a different friend of not being out of integrity.
By someone I care about & want to help.

It must have hit something REALLY hard, because I have been a mess of tears & half-imagined & re-imagined conversations ALL DAY since then, defending myself to thin air, overrun with comebacks, challenges, apologies...

(L'esprit de l'escalier).

...all the reasons why I am in the right. Which makes me question why I feel the need to so stalwartly & passionately defend myself. (Unless I really am out of integrity).

Luckily I have learned enough in the past two years to 

not press the send button. EVER. 

Or this might be a whole lot more mess than it is.

...I have given my word once...twice...three times over; am trying to learn to take care of myself & be mindful of everyone & everything. I want to live like the heroes in my books who treat their word & honor with more weight than their LIVES.

...But what if everything crisses & crosses & then no one's happy?
Well, someone will be, but I guarantee it WON'T be me.

Who's word am I to honor above all else? The one to my employers? The one to my friends? Or the one to myself? If I cannot honor them all....what good am I?

What good is my word?

...But as I said, I have no honor. My word means nothing. And, in the end, as throughout my entire life, it seems the only thing I am accomplished at? Is letting people down.

Most of all...myself.

The whiny teenager without integrity will be putting herself to be now.
...WITHOUT ANY SUPPER.

.   .   .

"Confidence... thrives on honesty, on honor, on the sacredness of obligations, on faithful protection and on unselfish performance. Without them it cannot live."

~ F. D. Rosevelt

Goodnight.

Repetition in a Moment...

Love: noun

1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

3. sexual passion or desire.

4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

5.(used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like):  

"Would you like to see a movie, love?"

Love.

...Have you ever thought to look it up?

I am stuck on replay. Love.

I am stuck in words & their meanings.

Love.

I am stuck in silence.

Love, I am stuck in emptiness. 

It is sticky & revolting, Love.

I have lost your necklace, Love.

You will not speak to me, Love.

WHY DO I STILL CALL YOU LOVE?!

Why has it been so long?  ...Love?

I don't understand. Love.

I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand.

Love.

The word is aching & dull.

Love. 

The word is sharp & tearing.

Love...you call someone else: Love. Love. Love Love. Love.

Love.

 

Does love mean nothing? Love? 

Are promises washed clean away if you just change your mind? Change the word? Can you, really? Or is that why you say nothing at all?

Love. We are different people now. 

Love. You've made us strangers, now.

Love. You love another, now.

Love.

What am I waiting for?

Love, what am I longing for?

Love, what am I looking for?

No one. Feels. Like you.

Love... But no one feels like you.

Love. I am patient, Love.

Love. I am waiting, Love.

Love. I will always be...

You are not coming back. Love. Never. Love. Never. Love.

But what else can I do...?

Love?

I am stuck on replay, Love.

I love all of you.

To me you are the nearest thing to perfect, when we touch, Love. When we listen, love. When we feel...Love. Like it's always, Love. Always, Love.

I am always, Love.

Always, Love.

I don't want to hold you in my dreams, for fear of hurting the one you love, now, love.

I want to let you be hers, Love.

Let her be yours, Love.

I am not part of it, Love.

But I love you. I am here. I wait. 

I wait....

I can't help it, Love.

I am always yours, love. I don't even want it anymore

I am another person now. Only a memory. Nothing tangible. Only words...love.

Just a pillow. Love. An empty pillow.

Love?

How am I waiting, love? When I have let you go. Not even 'friend.' No.

...Even though I'll never feel your love again. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. My love. My love. My love. Is gone. My love. My friend. My love. My love.

Somehow you do not exist...anymore. 

But I still want to (not want to) let you go.

Hello, Love.

Goodbye, Love.

...Hello?

The Point

The point is not to write the right thing. The point is just to write. The point lies not in knowing how to dance, but in dancing with every part of you. The point is not to sing like a singer, but to let your voice be free. Then you will do all things well. You will.

...Right. I had almost forgotten.

The point is not to write the right thing. The point is just to write. The point is not to dance perfectly, but to dance with everything in you. The point is not to sing, but to let your voice be free...and listen.

7am - Note to self.

Sometimes you leave a small, elemental piece of you behind, somewhere...it pulls at you & tears at you (sometimes for a very long time)...you may always love it & always want it...but one day, you wake up at 7am to find...somewhere along the way, you are made all new again & it would not have been possible without letting go.

Maybe we are just made up of many little pieces, after all.

...Good morning, world.  :)  I'm here.


NEXT:   Massage school...  (think good thoughts, affluence & cross your fingers).

Invisible

When I was a child, I used to sit in the front row. Front row, center.

My mother played Carmen or Beatrice; always beautiful with a tongue full of poetry. My father played Falstaff or Dogberry, or the role that made him 'the most hated man in Portland.'

Stories. They told stories.

I loved stories. (I love stories).

I would sit there, in the audience, giddily happy & waiting for the lights to dim; engulfed by the intoxicating smells of wine & coffee & perfume that only ladies of a certain age seem to own & bathe in. The sounds of discourse & laughter. The sounds of the orchestra tuning...

I would sit there. And...listen to the women next to me or the older couple behind us, leafing through the program remarking, 'Oh! ____________, we saw him in...! He played...!' or 'Have you seen__________ before?! She is so beautiful!'

And I would have to stifle with all my might the urge to jump up onto my seat, stand up straight & waive to the audience, shouting: THOSE ARE MY PARENTS!! MINE!

.....instead, I would sit quietly, smiling, giggling as though I had the greatest secret of secrets. I could enlighten them to the fact that the daughter of the stars they worshiped were sitting right next to them...but I was far too shy.

And I knew...or realized, very quickly...it wasn't about me. I....was nothing. It was them. They were the stars. And the fact that I could sing & dance & act (and had, even at 5, 10, 15 years old) was unimportant. I was.....a nobody.

...But I was lucky enough to be their daughter.

I think this knowledge has shaped my entire life.

Who are you, if you are nobody?

I am told I am a good actress. Could be a great actress. COULD be. But I'm not. And it has nothing to do with my acting. But with who I am.

...And what I'm afraid of.

I sit in the car. And listen to my sister & how many people worship her & love her & want to be her friend. She is fun. She is skinny & beautiful & what's more she is driven. And what's more than that: she's an actress. People love you when you are famous. Even if it's only in a small town. They want something untouchable. They want something beautiful. They want art & story & the life they seem to think belongs to that. Funny though, how even the professional actors I know still seem to be trying to find that in what they do... 

My sister is in film & on stage. In 2 years in Portland, most of the entire community knows who she is. In 7 years, a handful of those same people might say hi to me & most of them would still refer to me as 'T________'s daughter.' In Ashland & elsewhere, I'm my 'L_______'s daughter.' My new name now is 'M__________'s sister.'

At the moment, I am in a friend's house. A friend who has nothing to do with theatre or film, at least not my connection to her. Her kitchen is inhabited by a few people I do not know (roommates & such) and they are talking about a television show, filming in Portland; how one of their friends has become a production assistant. 

I had to bite my tongue. I had to bite my tongue & swallow hard to keep from saying: 'I was almost called in for that! You know I'M an actress too! I...I...I...?!' 

I had to swallow hard & keep from saying that my ex-boyfriend, who will not speak to me anymore, just guest starred on the latest episode...  What his name is. I had to keep from starting that conversation...

        .....which would only lead to, 'oh! you went out with HIM?! He's so beautiful, he's so wonderful! You went out with an actor?!'  

         Famous. Fame.

...Which leads to the conversation where I start to cry because of what love is & what it's not and what I miss & who I am....and what I haven't said out loud, yet:   (Not even to myself).

          ........about what one person can handle. Jealousy. And being invisible.

I am eclipsed. And I am fighting to be seen.

I am trying. And I am failing: because in the end, it just isn't me.

I want to be important. 

And I am out-shadowed by everyone close to me in my life. I could not be that one more time. And I cannot compete. I do not want to compete. I want to have attention. I want to be special. We all want to be special.

But I don't want to fight for it. I want it because of who I am. Because I deserve it. And whether I love to tell stories or not; whether I am a good actress or singer or anything....or not...has nothing to do with it. I am trying to be someone else.

I want to be me.

I am overcast by other people's shadows, in my life. But I am larger than that. Greater than that. I want to be. And I am. A everyone & anyone is. I don't want to be a shadow. I also don't want to fight for the light. 

       .....I want my own.

I can sing & dance & act. I am a visual artist & a writer. And a martial artist. And a chef. And a good friend (sometimes, or try to be). And good with kids (or try to be). Good with animals (mostly).

So....why do I feel like I always have to put myself on display? Like I am worth nothing. Like I have to prove myself to someone. everyone.

               

When you are not special; when you are not famous: who are you...?

Hello. My name is nobody.

Nice to meet you.

I don't want to be that........But I don't want to try. 

I want peace & quiet. I want love & to explore. I want passion & living.

               I want you to know who I am.

... Because I'm me.

But most of all.....I don't want to be afraid.

Of  'Nobody.'

Unhealthy Addictions

Repetition.

Love: noun

 1.a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2.a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

3.sexual passion or desire.

4.a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

5.(used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like): Would you like to see a movie, love?

 

Love.

 

...I am an explosion, waiting to happen.

I am not...cleanly drawn between the lines. 

I am like a child. Temper tantrums, kisses & ice cream. Scared of the dark. Scared of monsters, shadows & homework.

A hug makes most things better.

Perhaps that's why I cannot balance when I' holding someone else's hand.

I am broken. But i don't need fixing.

I....Love. 

 

I love. Quietly. Violently.

There must be something wrong with me.

(I know there's nothing wrong with me).

But I am caught in repetition. The way he smiled. A laugh. A kiss. An ache.

A word. A promise.

I am caught in silence. Some part of me still lingers back there.

It's like a scab I can't stop fingering. Because I don't understand: WHY.

As though the WHY would make it better.

Why do you not love me? (I do). Then why will you not hold me? (Silence). Why won't you speak to me? (Silence). Why can't we be friends?

All these questions have answers, answers more than you could give. And I know them, now. I feel it always, but I can see it too: I know why you had to leave. I know why I did, too.

 

But that doesn't make it better. And it certainly doesn't make better the after-life.

 

It's like a magic trick. I love you. I am part of you. Then suddenly: ta-da! Gone. Without a trace. Without a word.

You treat me like a stranger. You pretend you do not know me.

That can't be right...

That can't be right.

I must have...missed something. Somewhere. Did I get the wrong book? Did miss a line? Did I turn the page too soon?

I am past-tense.

And so are you. No future. None. You've made that sure.

And yet....some part of me keeps waiting for the shoe that will hit me in the face.

When I saw you loved her, I was happy. Happy for your happiness. Happy she seems kind & beautiful. From what one can tell from a picture. But happiest of all because...for a moment, finally, I felt like it was over.

I was left in a still-life, waiting.

The worst thought in the world to me was that you would never be in it, again. Not mine. Not for me.

That was utterly worst.

But worse than that was the waiting......knowing you might come back. And I wouldn't know what to do. Because I would always say yes to you. Always.

In fairy tales, there are happy endings. There always are. In life, too.

Just perhaps not together.

In fairy tales, the hero isn't cruel. In fairy tales, the heroin isn't screaming.

There is so much more to learn, my friend. I am...sad & tired of being stuck on repeat. I am patient. I can wait. But if together never comes, I hope they love you well. I hope that you are loved. I am sorry it cannot be me. I am sorry I could not do it better. I am sorry...I could not be more...than I am. But...I am me. I am Me.

Love.

At least it's over, now.

The Architect

I have built my castle.

And herein, I will stay.

Walls high around me, safe in my mountain of clouds & memories.

Cold in the air does not chill me; I see only blue and sky and sleep. Warm & comforting.

Words cannot touch me, only pass through the aether, gently echoed, almost inaudible; far away and soft, like lilacs on the branch or feathers on my cheek.

I can stare down the parapets, entranced by birds & never feel the knowledge that I fall.

Too solid, I. Sitting in my castle.

An endless monarch, half asleep in silk and quiet sheets of paper.

You cannot touch me, now.

Not now.

Self-indulgence.

I think I am full of self-pity today. The moment I wrote that I got a little disgusted, so I suppose I will only write for 5 minutes.  (I am all for truly feeling your emotions, but I also think one should not encourage such habits as self-pity).

Here I am. On a couch.

I am surrounded by beautiful women. SURROUNDED by them. And, you know, it's an odd thing...   How many think they are....NOT. The children I teach: it INFURIATES me to hear 10, 11 year olds...older, sometimes even younger go on & on about how fat/ugly/unlikeable they are. DISGUSTS me. Not at them, of course. At our world. That makes women feel so imperfect. Makes EVERYONE feel like they are unnatural & not up to par, just so we can promote the sales of products.

..........and yet. Here I am. Sitting on the couch. Staring at pictures of one of my friends...and trying not to cry. But all I can think is: why not me? I will never be pretty like her. I will NEVER  be skinny like her. Plenty of people tell me I am beautiful...and yet. It's not enough.

She is one of the girls who walks in a room & jaws drop. And all Ic an think is: why..why, God/World/???, WHY can't that be me? I've never known what it was like to be skinny enough to show my mid-drift without starting to sob, later, in the bathroom. I've never known more than a handful of days where I didn't wake up to look in the mirror to wish there was SOMETHING I could do to FIX me...

That seems so.......incredibly wrong. I don't want to be jealous or scared of every woman I meet because of how beautiful they are. And I find them all beautiful. Why...not me?

Some days I feel like I'm pretend. I am a pretend good teacher. A pretend actress. A pretend dancer....  Pretend pretty.  Pretend smart.

Like there really is nothing to me of any value or substance. It's all just a show. And if anyone were ever to scratch deep enough to see beneath the surface.....they would know it's all wrong. All of me is just an act.

But I am afraid to become anything more.

I think I am afraid that if I...................really embraced/looked at/found what I want/who I am/want to be.......what I want to really pursue in life...   That it wouldn't be anything I ever thought or believed. It would have nothing to do with who I have been in my life up to this point...  And then...what would I do?

What if, to truly be happy & comfortable in myself & feel as though I am not living a lie, I would have to throw away everything I believe I am & have always been? What if I would never be perfect/known/noticed?

What if I were just a nobody?  And what if I were fine & could be happy that way....for life?

What if then, I would be perfect? What if I already am?

PERFECT at all times?  
 Beautiful all times...?

Why is that so earth shattering a thing to believe?

And why am I so unacceptable.....to me ? 

Strangers, the silence & the desert...

 "I do believe it's true, 

There are roads left in both of our shoes,

But if the silence takes you, 

Than I hope it take me too..."

~ Death Cab for Cutie

 .        .       .

It is some time ago, now, that I realized: this sort of ache & longing, emptiness, 'in-completeness' (though that's not really quite right)that one feels cannot be satiated by connection with another. It cannot be given to you by someone else because it does not lie in them; it lies in you-- the emptiness AND it's fulfillment.

Wine cannot quench it, food cannot satisfy it...but I find that, even for me: art, passion....the act of living (things I am told are the panacea to such a state of wanting) cannot seem to quell my hunger...

Only build add to the fire. A momentary gratification that leaves me tired and alive...but in the end, wanting even more.


.........I know. I have written about this feeling often.

I once thought it belonged to me & me alone. Then realized it resides within all of us, we merely have varying degrees of it's awareness & different addictions, vices or aides we use to 'cure' or 'mute' it. Or....so I thought. Now, I am unsure.

Perhaps it IS just me. Perhaps there is something wrong with me after all & I am just uncomfortable in my own skin; needy...perhaps I have 'childhood issues' or have not truly found my 'bliss.' Maybe it's just a constant state of spring fever or delusion or an inability to face my problems. Perhaps.

I think not, but I don't know, now.

I DO know..........I have connected with strangers of late. No matter how closely or distantly....

It is THERE. It is strong. And it is devouring me, now.

I worry about the decay of my body. That's an ugly sort of sentence, I know: leaves icky sorts of images...rot & death & smells & dust & age. But I do. I worry there is so much in me & at the rate my body is deteriorating, what should happen if I am still vibrantly alive at 60, still full of hunger & burning....and my body has all but destroyed itse;f?

I have lines. On my forehead...   They were not there before.

I will be 30 in a year & 1/2. This should be a big deal. In some ways it is; in some it is not. However, I do feel myself, I think, transitioning out of 'my youth'...and into....? The next stage of it? The next age? The next era? The next stage of it ALL....

But this hunger remains in me & will not be satisfied. And the more art I do, the greater I realize there is capacity in me for art...but also the greater the void does grow.

I have, as I said, become more & more aware of late....that it cannot, cannot be filled with someone else. It makes me sad, but also relieved. At least it might prove easier to traverse & navigate the waters of love, intimacy, connection...sex...friendship.......everything...now that I am at least aware of it. I am fully & completely aware of the fact that I alone, ONLY can give myself what I desire. The expectations are fading which makes the connections that much more easy & enjoyable....but also less..........fervent. ('I need nothing from you; you cannot give me what I want, only compliment & amplify my own joy & company for a time'). And I realize that I like, very much, my own company. I have....everything I want...in me.

How surprising.

But this also....saddens me. What can I do? Where can I turn? What place or thing can I seek to feed this hunger? This...wonderful but unbearable emptiness?

...................There must be something, right?  (I keep telling myself that).

I feel like it must be so...but what if there is not? I walked away from my closet just now & thought....what if there....IS no 'reason' for being alive? What if we were wrong? Is this what people cling to in religion? A hope for & a reason for this maddening emptiness? And the capacity to justify being right?

I hear the wind outside, and something in me stirs...that seems far more.........tangible than gravity. I am drawn to reach for the stars, in the most literal of ways. I am often driven absolutely mad by this sudden certainty of how vast the world, the universe & being alive actually is...as though my whole body s far too porous & delicate a substance to contain the explosions within me that want to reach out & become part of everything, again...

.......and how does one say that? How does one live that? Is life, merely the answer for it? The only cure: to live. Fully. Utterly. COMPLETELY...live? And by living, to fuel the fire until you cannot stand but seek again for air?

I looked up the word elixir. It's a good word. I like it. I like the way it looks & sounds & feels on my tongue...

 ....the example in the dictionary was, of course:  'Elixir of Life.' There are many stories, of course, about an elixir of life... I was surprised, however, to discover that the word elixir does not me potion, but instead: CURE. A cure for life... ??

How odd, I thought. Is life so horrible a thing, one needs must cure it? I'm sure they meant for aging, so that one should never die.... (Though with how much so many people complain about having to struggle & stumble through life, a cease-aging substance seems like the last thing that would be on one's mind).

Perhaps someone, somewhere....when they coined the phrase, felt a I do now. They felt this yearning & dreamed of a compliment, an easing, a 'remedy' for this wonderful, terrible longing...

In the definition, it also defined elixir as a 'cure-all, often ineffective'... Life, perhaps, is it's own elixir. I suppose. One could say so, yes.

.............But the pulling is so strong, to go... I think, feel deep within....the answer MUST lie somewhere. Somewhere in the stillness. Somewhere in the rustle of leaves or your first dreams as a child or the nightmare you cannot recall; somewhere in the way the stars aligned one night or in a memory half forgotten or a tapestry of  elements woven so intricately they cannot even be seen....somewhere.... there MUST be a key that unlocks it all. And brings an electric sort of...  Peace.

Somewhere.      (Or...perhaps I am simply mad).

They say to go up, one must hit the very bottom; to find the light, you must walk through the darkness....  So perhaps. Perhaps I'll seek my answers in the desert: far, far from the cradling arms of pools & streams; from  waterfalls, wine & sweeter company...

Perhaps....  Somewhere in the silence & bareness & heat.... Somewhere in so much seeming death & nothingness....  

There my elixir lies.

The story so far...

I am afraid this blog has turned into a, "What's up with G. today" sort of account more than anything else...

Hmmm.

But there you are. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a computer than to people. And...well. That's how it goes, I guess. So... What's up with G. today?

LLC. Limited Liability Company. How do I become one? Why SHOULD I become one?

I came here to dance. And I have done hardly any dancing since I arrived. I feel as though much of me is transitioning back from a corporal outlet into an intellectual & verbal one...but that could just be my brain chattering away. More painting. More writing. More... to say. But less substance & direction.

I think perhaps I have hit the point where I am tired of being afraid. And tired of being distracted & whining. (Finally).

So that leaves us...where?  Well.

Dance. I seem stuck in all my exploits, all these fragments of thoughts, actions & choices surrounding me. All pulling for my attention. But I am standing here staring trying to give them al my focus & at the same time, barely moving:

  -  Do I learn to take care of myself first? Have you had enough water today? (No). Sleep? (No). (Why does that take up so much attention & energy...oh!)

  -  Writing? Scripts are due. Deadlines are passing. Cannot write? Or don't WANT to write? Who is making you DO this?  (Well...Me). How do I even find things to submit to? What's the point if I cannot complete even ONE project?

  -  Art & Design? 12 pieces of half-finished clothing......does not equal ONE finished item. But to really do it justice, I need to become friends with my sewing machine, take a class, find more fabric...on & on & on). Painting? 3 finished paintings & some half-made drawings with the INTENT to do a few series, does not make you an ARTIST. (What am I waiting for? Where will I get the canvas? When is a piece ACTUALLY finished?!)

  -  Dance. Well. Dance. Auditions. But I do not go to classes. I want to. Money is a huge deterrent. Choreo? (But I need dancers! No-- I need training! I need....school? I need...I need... a studio? I need....ugh!)

So.....let's find all the things KEEPING you from doing what you want & let them occupy your time & thoughts, standing in your room, staring at your projects...instead of DOING them. Let's focus on boys & your weight & cry...shall we? Much easier than facing yourself in the mirror & committing all your energy to pursuing your endeavors.

I think not. (Not anymore, at any rate).

I feel lost & confused & overwhelmed. What to do?

It feels like someone should have taught me this... How to organize your time. How to be your own motivation. How to look past the fear. How to...just DO.

I feel like I am back in grade school, being yelled at by my parents for not practicing the violin. Crying. Unbearably uncomfortable in my own skin; my throat tight, wanting to hide, feeling like a failure...  While somewhere in the background I remember LOVING the sound of the music, the feel & shape of the instrument, the drive to keep going past hurting fingers & callouses, past the wretched squeaking, the 18th time I hit the wrong note, past the strain in my neck & arm from holding it up, the pinching in my chin, gritting my teeth-- driving through, until I get it right! Into the satisfaction afterwards...until I force myself to play it a second time & make a mistake again; (telling myself at 9 years old, "When you egt it 3x through without a mistake, THEN you can stop!"). But I cannot feel it now. I cannot figure out WHY I can't seem to practice consistently for 1/2 an hour each day. What's wrong with me? Where's my progress? While my parents yell at me & lecture. (You know, you'll never be a first chair violinist).

The story is the same. Always.

Here I am. Writing in a blog. Wanting the world to disappear. Wanting to have time stop: be left in a lovely, peaceful vacuum, where I can have silence. Not speak for days....time just holds it's breath & I can think slowly & clearly...Ok.

One...   

Sit & write my screenplays & poetry. There IS no Facebook. Friends & family & noise do not exist. Neither does the refrigerator. Your back doesn't hurt. You are filled with water & food & content-- there is no need to stand up...for the equivalent of next few hours, all you have is the writing. The words. The story. Words flow easily & the story weaves itself. You can see the characters, there is no worrying  about the climax of the story or where she got that idea, or if it's cinematically possible.

It is. It...is.

Two...

Stand up, and suddenly your room is large. You have enough floor space. Your back & knees & feet are not shooting with pain, you just have you & the floor & the music. When you need them, a dancer appears. You can see yourself & you are completely in the moment. If you need to stop & focus on warming up & building yourself & your own strength, you do. You can. And your body & mind remembers what to do: you need no teacher. You are grounded & turns happen and your core is strong while the rest of you reaches, expands & fills the room, gracefully like water. You have NO trouble remembering your choreography.

You know what to do.

Then you film it & submit it to 20 different schools & festivals. You raise the money. You have shows. You shoot a film. It....is good.

Three...

Eat dinner. And f*ing enjoy it. Go outside and breathe.

Four...

Come back & spend the 'evening' in your suspended world painting on & on & drawing to the music. Create 20 different pieces...they are full & empty you of the ache you feel & the need to show the pictures in your head to the world.

Canvases appear. There are no mistakes. Put them online, call 3-5 different galleries and 100 different coffee shops in the city.

Your work is being shown. Your work is being sold. (The fear & loss you suddenly feel about letting one of your pieces go forever...is minimal. And spurrs you to create more).

Five...

You go into your sewing room. Look at all the half finished pieces. Ingest the manual on on how to run your machine. There are no screw-ups, you break no needles. Your lines are straight, you understand the ways of cloth, the secrets & intricacies of how it falls, how it's made & made to last...the shape of the human body.

Subtleties & detail.

You finish an entire line to be put online. You finish half of a new wardrobe for yourself. They are...beautiful. And unusual. And lovely.

Six...

You sing. And it is...good.

Seven...

Somewhere in between...you are outside, and calm. Serene. You take up your bow & arrows...focus for hours, only on the target, dancing & shooting, over & over. You are not afraid of horses. When that is done, you lift up your sword & run through thrust after thrust, parry after parry. You are like a water dancer, moving gracefully & grounded, drop the sword & a staff appears. Drop the staff, and there is the whip; a part of your hand, made of circles...like Tango...like you. Always moving in circles.

Drop the whip & use your hands, until your muscles ache with happiness & the incredible feeling of being.........well-used. Of strength. And grace. And moving well. Focused & calm.

You remember how because it is ingrained into your muscles and your bones. And spirit. As though these arts had always been a part of you & who you are, in this life & every other.

 Eight...

Tango. You go to Buenos Aires & dance with all the people you dream of being like. Dance as though it were always part of you, as though you understood the moving art of connection, seduction, passion & pain. But most of all...the connection. And grace. And beauty. You live there. And every person you meet, every dancer you dance with...you understand & can hold close for the space of the dance. And feel.

Nine...

Somewhere....within all these things....in your week-long, month-long, year-long suspended 'day'....you go outside & are free to wander the world, travel...your body filled to brimming with the knowledge & completion of all you have done....ready to make more. You meet new people...speak new words...learn new languages, and somehow the languages are already birthing within you. Language after language, aware of the customs, accents & nuances. Free to travel ANYWHERE, a part of the geography of EVEY country you visit. You love many deeply, eat well-- so many foods & spend days & days seeing this beautiful world, climbing hills & mountains, bathing in waterfalls...fallowing the moon & stars & sun. Alive. And in love with life.

I...want to be the best at everything. Play instruments. Create, create, create...act & be asked to act in my own works & in stories that change the world in beautiful ways. I want to help create them. I want to be of use to people & help the world embrace life; travel far & wide. And....live.

So...how do I arrange my thoughts? How does one take the first step? next step?

I guess....an LLC license...and....dance. Just, dance. Dance.

.................................(sigh). 

    Maybe I need Aderoll. So many thoughts. So many steps. So much confusion....but if I could just see through it. Maybe I need a drug. (They never said teaching yourself how to live in this world would be so hard, so challenging). But.....I really want to do this on my own. I really want it to work. Guess I'm going off Facebook & e-mail & boys for a while. Can I please do this, now?