odd and ordinary observations

I am sitting outside in the sun with my gas station iced coffee, feeling the breeze on my body, praying this stubborn sore throat would heal already. I am thinking fondly of my best friend who does not want to be my best friend anymore. I am thinking of how close we once were, how much we loved one another, and still do. I still think of our friendship often. The good times, the laughter, the memories made together. The time we lay in bed for six hours one day watching Colin Firth's Pride and Prejudice series in full. We ate so many snacks that day. We did nothing that day, but I carry the memory with me like a precious gem close to the heart…a day I will always remember. We have so many memories like that—memories so simple yet will never leave me.

It is now 3 pm. My boyfriend is at work until 8 pm. I have more time to kill — funny how we speak of time as a commodity… something to waste, save, or even kill. I do not wish to kill time today but instead to partner with it, to dance in it, to admire its fluid nature and elasticity and invisibility. To honor it.

The sky is full of chemtrails. It is an art show, a glorious display. I am in awe of the sky and the big black bird circling the building.

I am entering the year with palms open, uplifted… expectant of good things.

The mouth is the most valuable weapon, the most treasured asset. It has the power to create or destroy, to damage or heal. We are souls with swords for mouths.

some words mean the same thing but don't sound the same therefore they're not the same. they sit in the mouth differently, roll off the tongue differently, enter the world differently... each word its own world, its own life-form.

everywhere there is life - life in the sky, in the body, in the soil. life in the air. you needn't fear death for it is an illusion.

I looked out the window of my bedroom into the backyard to see a huge tree, so close to the house I could almost touch it, reach out and climb into it, and in the tree was a huge nest — bigger than any nest I've ever seen. In the nest were two huge bald eagles and their eggs, their little babies waiting to hatch. It was remarkable. I wanted to protect them. The male flew to search for food, to kill something to provide sustenance for his female counterpart, but someone shot the beast down and killed him. The hunter carried him into the house; his body lay still on the floor, his wings still, his eyes still open. There was blood everywhere. I knelt before him and wept over his huge body. I wept for him, his babies, his counterpart who was still in the nest. I returned to my room and peered out the window to watch her. Keen, still, and watchful, she waited for her mate who would never return. I grabbed my mom, brought her upstairs, showed her the gigantic nest and the huge bird perched atop it; she marveled at the magnificent beast, promised me we'd do everything to protect her, to keep her home a secret, her babies safe. Then I woke up.

Yesterday I finished "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman. I'm still making my way through Leaves of Grass, but "Song of Myself" is a beast of a poem; in my edition, it was 61 pages long. It felt longer than that. I trudged my way through his listicles, marveled at his many words. One thing I enjoyed most about the epic poem was how he would loaf around one subject for many pages, indulging in it, until moving onto the next thing, while always homing in on the One Thing: the tension of how we are all one while also separate… the search for collectivism within individualism… how to balance the two. I believe this to be a great tension we still face, and probably will for many years to come… the tension between the collective and the individual; how you can be solely you while living within a community, how you relate to the community and it to you, and how to give and take and love while riding this tension. I loved how I could feel the conclusion coming a few pages prior to the final stanza. I felt his shift in tone. I knew the end was near. One of my favorite stanzas was toward the end when he said… "Do I contradict myself? Very well then....I contradict myself; I am large….I contain multitudes." I have said the phrase "I contain multitudes" many times without realizing it originated in Whitman's mouth. It was once my Instagram bio.

I am so tired. I have drunk an espresso and am working on my cup of home-brewed coffee, but nothing is working. I am just so tired today, so so tired.

sometimes I suddenly become aware of my name - that it's my name, that when people call out to me they only need to say one word and I'm there. then I become aware of the sound of my name: how it sits in the mouth, how alive it feels when it enters the world on an exhale, how it takes up residence in the air and lingers there. then I think of how my parents formed me from love, how I am made of love, how I am more than the name which love gave but the name still matters the same.

CLEAR PERCEPTION IS THE FOUNDATION for good decisions and skillful action. Confusion scatters your energy and undermines competence.

I am always in search of cleansing and clearness.

I am moved by lens flares and light refraction and rainbows, not the ones bent across the sky but the ones you find on the wall or floor of your room, the ones you can hold in your hands…rainbow spots…

I come to you asking questions because I have so few answers and even if you have answers I don't there will always be answers neither of us has, so what do we do with that unknown, that mystery, that closed door? Well, me, I sit at the threshold. I knock. I peer through the keyhole. I wait. Even when no one answers the door, I am content; I know one day I will cross that great, mysterious threshold and I will see beyond the doorframe and look into a place I've never seen, and all will be eternal bliss, endless light, forever day. I will never see it all, I don't think. There will be doors that lead to rooms containing other doors, and doors that lead to corridors full of windows, too, and it will go on forever like this, so I accept that I will always knock and wait and peer through keyholes and cracks in the frame, and this is my great joy in life, the great pleasure of existence.

Saying similar things to someone else isn't a sign of copying necessarily; most of the time, especially when one is acting and creating and speaking from a pure heart, it means you're on the same wavelength or tapping into similar frequencies. One doesn't invent the words or ideas or thoughts that originate in one's soul; they're either recycled from somewhere in history, when men molded symbols into words and formed alphabets and languages and postulated ideas, or they come from God who speaks to and through all, not just one. To think you own an idea or word or phrase, or whatever It is, is to be so consumed by pride that you cannot see the beauty in sharing ideas or fathom the freedom you'd feel once you finally release the need to own the thing you don't, and will never, own. We don't own anything in this world. It is, we are; that is all.

I look at things I wrote one or two years ago and cringe. I suppose someday I'll reflect on what I'm writing today and cringe, too. There may always be a cringing that occurs when reflecting on past work, when examining who you once were or what you once thought or the tone you once held or even the words you once used, but if cringe is ever present in the process of evolution, it's natural to assume that creating many cringe-worthy things will lead to the creation of many non-cringe-worthy things, and that is a hope to hold onto. One mustn't allow the cringe to deter one from one's work, passions, pursuits, goals, or destiny; one must persevere in the face of what is deemed cringe, and in fact, make friends with the tender, ugly thing.

Watching people from the window as they walk through the snow, hand in hand or holding their dog's leashes or alone, as the precipitation begins, makes me feel thankful and warm. It might be freezing rain falling, or sleet, I can't tell, but I'm glad to be home with the heater on. A car just drove by; just one car. A man with his two leashed dogs walks by with a beanie on. Another two people pass wearing puffer jackets and beanies. Now no one else. It is still. I wonder about the sun. I think about the sun, how it's somewhere up there beyond the thick sheet of grey, and how, without its presence we would be nothing but frost and ice. I think about my mother who's housing her mother right now through the storm and how she's having a hard time being around her for long, as her memory curdles like month's old milk. Another car passes by much more cautiously than the previous one. I think about how glad I am to not be driving in this inclement weather. Sometimes it's hard to write about yesterday but I can tell you what I see, to the best of my ability. I see water dripping down the inside of my cup. I see another car pass—this one seems much more brave than the last one, but not reckless. I see a clean living room and, in it, a couch covered in neatly positioned pillows and nicely folded blankets. I can also tell you how I feel and what I think: I feel good in the warmth, grateful for a home with a heater, content with how clean my space feels now after finally putting away the Christmas tree and vacuuming and placing the pillows and blankets just how I like them; I think it is nice to see the birds still flittering around even in the cold. I think my boyfriend's voice sounds nice from the other room where he's talking to the friend he's gaming with. And again, back to what I see: another man with a leashed puppy; this one's white and appears to be wearing a sweater. I think it's funny when dog's wear sweaters like humans. Another car; this one, red and daring. I think about how fascinating it is that if I shake my bottle in just the right way I can create a water-tornado; it's not even that hard. Another car; black, cautious.

In the distance I hear sirens. This morning I heard on the news that, across the eastern half of the country, nine people died during this snow storm…devastating. I wonder if the deaths could have been avoided, like if they had stayed home instead of driving in such inclement weather. Some tragedies are senseless and random, which make them all the more difficult to navigate; some tragedies, though, can be avoided if wisdom and prudence are present. Foolishness leads to death, especially untimely and unnecessary death.