Owned.

I have been lost to the idea of contemplation. The point in cognition where you're thinking about thinking - about every idea that's passed the realms of putting thoughts into their particular place. I've been categorizing and making sense of what I can, while hitting the "delete" button on the rest. Thing is, I realize that the mental trash bin hasn't been emptied. I thought that there might be some funky happenstance occurring that I hadn't yet accepted. That maybe there was a glitch in the wiring that wasn't allowing me to fully rid myself of these pesky little thoughts. They encompassed all those included in the "what if", "may possibly be" and "would have, could have, should have" category...the "But..." situations.

At some instance in that realm, it occurred to me that it's all about what we choose to keep ownership of. What we accept as our own when it comes from the outside in. I think that we're highly sensitive-beings and more often than not, the influences of our environments bombard our beings with feeling and we process those feelings against what we think we already know. Against what portions of experience we have chosen to keep as our reference manual.
For instance: It has been said, thought and determined among the governing authorities that the placement of children on sleeping bags for an overnight stay with their grandparents, all in one room -- is unacceptable. The punishment was governed by authorities who referenced some arbitrary set of something-or-others and the Nay-Sayers extended me a feeling that I'd done something wrong. And for whatever reason, I've chosen to live with that feeling for almost two years now. Until...I see the local news present (because of the single-digit weather that's hit our part of the state in the last week) that the homeless shelters are above their capacity. People are coming in droves to find a warm place to sleep and some food to eat. The camera-man pans over the crowd, who seem mildly delighted that they've been offered such a refuge and then I see it...a gymnasium floor covered with 2-inch thick mats for sleeping on; a wool blanket atop.
"That's it?!" I think. That government-funded, grant-accepting homeless shelter is providing beds and meals to persons (which, by the way, I completely agree with) and the "bed" as it would be, consists of little more than a mat on the floor?
"And I've chosen to keep lugging around this feeling of inadequacy because some person on a power-trip and in a so-called capacity to 'judge' has suggested that I acted unlawfully by having my children sleep in a sleeping bag, one room and during a visit to their grandparents'?"

Here I'd been searching for the next thought process that might offer liberation - and the issue of liberation has been to simply disregard and drop those "thoughts" as they occur. They are no longer owned by me as I'm choosing to disregard their existence and pertinence.

Eyes Open and Dreaming: The Detriment of Insecurity

Eyes Open and Dreaming: The Detriment of Insecurity

My confidence wanes today as my eyes flutter in the scope.

In a not-so-distant past, I can remember dancing in the morning; for the nighttime brought me great insight. It seemed almost second-nature to wake in the morning with a noggin’ full of inspiration because of a dream. One that was recurring and full of elation. It was that of a little girl. Blonde hair, yellow dress and from ear to ear, a smile that could end a war. I would see her when I slept and I searched for her there in my slumber; always looking for anything to indicate her name.

Nothing.
In some instances, she was referred to as “sunshine,” similar to that of my father. Green grasses and that flash of yellow that kept me returning to quest for the little girl of my dreams.
And then…it stopped.

I got no “goodbye”, no “adieu” for now – nothing. I just didn’t see her anymore. I'm assuming this is because of the emotional whirlwind that soon came to pass. Probably had something to do with the onslaught of four-plus years of trying to get divorced. Most-likely – that was the reason. And…as with depression and upset, often follows a boat-load of insecurities and the only action of placing dreams upon shelves. No dusting. No reflection. Just depression without impression.
A recent reflection of mine as I endure to review my actions and how others’ actions have impacted me, I find that sleep is calling for my return as well. That I might be able to catch my breath again. The confidant, strong self took the reigns recently and aspired to forge through discourse. I let it. I’ve been coming awake and it’s good. But today…today I'm feeling myself slip. My confidant self, I believe, may have gone for a bathroom break, or out to lunch. Regardless, I'm somewhat lost, and so I question…why is it that as soon as I begin feeling inspiration once again, and I check my feet; they’re sturdy, as soon as I am about to exhale the deepest, fullest breath, it’s as though I run over (and slam face-first into the ground) a trip-wire that no one told me about?! Unsuspecting fool.

Maybe it’s a premonition (?) my dream – indicative of the freedom of a child, the innocence of being young. Maybe she’s something to come. I hope she is. That was a large part of those shelved dreams…children. Of having children. May be more of the attempt to prove that I am a good mother. That I am able to give life to something besides my failed attempts at “fixing” everything else...the extension of family and of love...of what it means to be truly loved.

My vestige.

That’s what I strive to return to. Return to finding my dreams and I do feel it welling – that quest for “sunshine”. Yet, I'm pausing because of what feels like inevitable doubt.
Insecurity.
They battle…A LOT! Dreams and Insecurity, that is.

For the record, I did happen upon an identifier for my sunshine: Thea –or- Chloe.

I like that. Makes sense to me. Makes me smile past my insecure frown. And I realize then, that there is much more of me that lies beneath the surface. I don’t speak of it all just yet ~ partially because of the battle that ensues and part of it because I'm afraid to hear that my dreams might not be shared.

Sharing dreams ~ that’s where the matter of life lies. And I so hope to share.

The Fallacy of Truth

Truth comes in several forms.

Truth may be absolute Truth, such as humans having a conscience, or the laws of science. Then, there is each person's personal truths; the truth that we believe as seen through the eyes of our experiences and our comprehension of those experiences. The essence of that personal truth may change, and actually, should change according to our growing cognition and how we're able to process our experiences as we grow.
In this respect, truth (as opposed to Truth) is fallible.
What we give power to today, as being steady and configured, may very well change by tomorrow.
In retrospect, how many times over the course of life thus far, have you felt as thought your understanding of your environment was truthful and that you'd figured out how to put round peg into round hole, only to find out later that you were holding a square block...and that you'd made it fit?
This is where the component of change takes the stage. There is a point of reference which suggests that people don't change.
I believe that they do. At the least, that they are capable of changing.
I think that this element of change comes from the upgrade of personal truth. When we are able to reflect upon our basis for belief and reconsider its components, we are also able to modify with new insight. Modifications, through seemingly small and insignificant can become monumental ingredients to change and most are derived intrinsically - in finding pleasure from ourselves. The opposing force being to placate our search with posers of pleasure.
In similarity, changes in personal truth may well render negative results, or digression. Reaching a point of depression, on might place no value in self, which would potentially extend outwardly from self into what that moment's truth is.

Within that truth is the tendency toward change.

That truth may come on suddenly, as with a tragedy or glimpse of death. These sudden and abrupt scenarios often give glimpses of inevitability; causing immediate change. Or the change may be a process of months or even years. When it occurs, it is as if waking with new eyes. Slowly and in masterful intervals, our change is threaded within every situation we've ever attended. Time in this place is but a concept to be set against our definition of time in our truth at that moment.
Essentially, isn't that our quest?

To search for truth (and Truth)?

In that way, our quest, or journey is an ever-evolving and rotating set of definitions which we apply to the moments we live. Each moment is integral to the process of change; to the search for truth, even if that truth should (and probably will) change at some point down the road.

I pondered this as I walked. Stepping up another space, I awaited my turn at the register. In a robotic-like and contemplative way, I step forward, place my items on the counter, reach for my wallet and pull from it a crumpled ten-dollar bill. I hand it to the cashier. She places my items in a bag, gathers the handles and with an outstretched arm proclaims: "Here's your change ma'am"

And at that very time and space I thought: "Isn't that the truth..."

Me, Myself and I Meet Meta-Cognition

Language exists beyond the words that define it. language parallels contemplation and reflection. it exists within the passage of time to be expressed through song, dance, interpretation, emotion and expressive ingenuity. if I would paint a picture of my very location, it would be that of a woman, standing atop a stack of three hat boxes. the uppermost one, slightly crumpled and faded. The bottom two decadently adorned, holding each a head. Each head filled with the contemplation of a thousand scenarios. arms outstretched, she would be fitting her neck with the most delightful of the three heads and making another attempt to steep her thoughts in the tincture of some newly harvested lucidity.



There exists no bumbling of derangement, no clash of personalities, simply the fitting of cognition from one mind to the next in order to get an even-tempered flow of mental activity. The language would be ever-present, yet not involve any verbose. It may be a passive comprehension that what had just occurred had been a culmination of nearly three decades in the making. At which point, any on-lookers would nod in agreement for they would have just witnessed a union. And like any union, congratulations would be in order. Me and myself would hold silent to their own stylish curve. They would graciously occupy the space that is hat box one and two; the foundation for the faded exterior, knowing that they would each gain a turn at being worn again. Right now however, it was "I" that filled the void.
Free-floating remnants of thought would hang in the air after it had escaped from the richly-colored and lavishly stocked hat boxes, carried on the wind until captured by "I" and toyed with.


"I" has created. "I" is being employed and "I" matters.

The Unwrapping

I don't personally feel that the action of unwrapping gifts gets enough attention.

The act of receiving a present is something that we take for granted. We might shake it a bit, fondle it, tilt it side to side; listening for some obvious noise for a clue to the contents. The actual action of unwrapping the gift however, is lost to the greater desire to see what fills the question. "What is it?"

I propose that there exists an entire meaning of plausible retrospect in spending time contemplating each tear, rip or mauling of that gift. What is our best effort at undressing something new that we've just received?

On this proposal, I return to the substance of my unveiling 2009. Certainly, it may be suggested that my attempt at unveiling is happenstance a little too late, but I'm recognizing that it occurred and that's where the power is. The recognition. Call it a shifty sabbatical, a minor excursion in mental-leave, or my vain attempt to take on the world all by my little self. Whatever it be named, I was absentee for nearly three quarters of a year!

I'm baaaack.


Let's see: January 2009 was beleaguered by an angry woman of scorned divorce who couldn't reconcile with the demons that she fought within = ME.
February brought a touch of ranting and tidbits of happy justification when I buried my head into quotes of strength and power.
That didn't hold out through March however.

March 2009 - was somewhat tumultuous. My birthday month -- and I couldn't seem to gather enough power to see that I was fast-approaching 30. That maybe I should be saddened by the prospect, or elated at the nearing of some right-of-passage. Whichever perspective, I just couldn't gather it. I didn't really care.


April came and brought with it a handful of friendly laughs and spirited attempts to be ever-optimistic.
I threw what is promising to be the first of a yearly "Effin Pity Party"

This (I'm hoping) will become a weekend of tents and testifying to the martyrdom of self - maybe just for the weekend to let out what little pity we can gather for ourselves. Attendees shall be prepared to assist in offering pity to other members and expect such in kind. At current, the list of attendees is all but five - but we're funded by an entire society, so I think it'll get better with time.

And then, there's May, June, July...and through the Summer. Work. Work. Work. Good work though. I busied myself through the Summer months getting in touch with shoving all aspects of my building anger and contempt deep, deep down inside so that the outside world didn't have to contend with the issue that I was becoming. On the "upside," I found out that the depths of my irritability run far deeper than I would have ever guessed. Outwardly, I felt pleasant enough - showing just glimpses and peeks of what was hiding beneath. But inward -- I was hardening like stone.

The light - the pieces that held me together through the year were the unravelings of happiness and of family. The moments in Summer when the tire swing hanging from the largest Oak tree in five counties, it rested at the end of it's support. As if waiting to be played with...


In moments of losing it all, of losing my breath and finding it hard to breathe...I would look toward Heaven. And there, I would catch myself from falling. That sky; those clouds, they lifted. They floated free and unwavering from their purpose.


It is lifting.

Of all the times that I wished to float freely above my problems; my worry - I can attest to finally finding some peace in the unwrapping. I can say that I'm able to breathe without stuffing issues and without holding back.
The time unwraps itself. Sure, we assist when we push and beg and plead for answers. But we're coaxing in all the wrong directions. I scan through the pages of photos from a few mere months ago and realize that time is passing too quickly. That I've neglected to really breathe as an active, living soul. I've resisted a lung full of fresh life thinking that I was cognizant of being able to "stop and smell the roses" but my application failed miserably.

I'm stopping.

I'm letting go.

And I'm going to appreciate unwrapping the contents of the life I've been given.

Sometimes it's Worth Giving In

The matter of timing is what it was all about. That I'd fought so hard to find serenity when serenity was there all along -- I'd simply misplaced it with the fortitude of my quest for justice. Justice doesn't always come with pushing so damn hard that you've numbed your feelings to the world. Often, it doesn't come with that at all.

Therein lies my lesson. The one that spit back at me and said "Stop!" I'd exhausted all resources that I didn't have at my disposal, and then I lay there, in disbelief. How had I come this far to be thrown back into the deep end? How?

I'm starting over with no expectations less those I place upon myself. Rather; self. To view through the eyes of someone unguarded and without prejudice. Especially, the eyes of someone that doesn't judge "self" with such disrespect. That's where I think it will bloom. A small and subtle bud will begin to appear. I'm betting that by Summer, I'll be amazing!