Tag Archives: musing

I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.”

—Walt Whitman

The meditation on death is the meditation on life itself. When the cloud is about to be transformed into rain, it does not panic like us. Knowing that being a cloud is a wonderful thing, the cloud is also aware of the fact that becoming rain is another wonderful thing. So, when the moment comes for the cloud to become rain, it will sing happily at becoming drops of water falling on the vegetation, becoming part of the river, penetrating into the earth, and becoming a source of life for many other kinds of beings. It is a very beautiful adventure also. And then, sometime later on, it may resume the form of another cloud. No fear.”

—Thich Nhat Hanh, The Art of Mindful Living

A Thousand Yesterdays

D
   R
      I
         P
            drop

Let it all fall out.

I cry the tears for a thousand yesterdays.

I weep for Moments Left Bleak

W O R D S  still unsaid

Life --relinquished to the past--

            yet never actually Lived.

I’d sooner lose ALL inhibition

                        and pride

                        and forbearance.

      I’d cry the tears
                           and
               love the pain

Because it  F E E L S  better to
            ache, to seethe in
            misery,

      than to flatline thru to peril.

Lauren Rich
08.29.2013

Heavy Heart

I anticipated that I’d likely be hit by an emotional train as I face my shit and work through all the ghosts of the past that I otherwise tried to simply ignore. At least that’s how I’m making sense for myself why I’m all over the place emotionally.

It’s not easy being one’s own therapist, but I’m the only person willing to do the work and capable of doing the job. I couldn’t pay anyone enough money to take on the fucking enigma that is me without them throwing up their hands in defeat.

I could have done that; I contemplated it. But it fundamentally comes down to either taking my life or taking my case. I guess we’re all ultimately faced with that decision.

No?
.

I’m Not a Bad Person; My Brain is Just Sick.

Mental illness is hard enough to navigate without tacking on the godawful stigma associated with being “mentally ill.” The brain, like any organ, gets sick at times, yet those of us who are unlucky enough to be plagued with such troubles are forced into deeper, darker recesses of shame and humiliation should we be brave enough to reach out and say that we need help. I still find it baffling that I’ve not received a single “Get Well Soon!” card/balloon/bouquet/whatever despite multiple hospitalizations and disability leave. Never have I felt so guilty, mortified, and alone simply because I’m sick.

Emotions & Learning to Live

I miss my friend Emily. She’s been on my mind quite a lot since she passed away in December — only the degree to which she encompasses my thoughts wanes. Ebbs and flows of grief, happy memories, regrets, relief, and sadness, oh woeful sadness.

Dealing with emotions, particularly the death of a young, close friend, is not one of my gifts in this life. Truth be told, I’m horrible at it. I used alcohol, drugs, sex, whatever form of distraction available to escape any emotion. When the big emotions came, I went harder into partying. The bigger the emotion, the harder the substance. Now that I am sober, I’m having to relearn how to live. Not just emotionally, either. I’m learning – properly this time – how to be an adult. I have a therapist to help me with the emotional stuff, plus the support of my sober network. I now have a nutritionist helping me to learn how to eat right and take care of my body.  I see a doctor regularly for medication and checkups on my physical well-being.  I go to near-daily AA meetings to help in my sobriety. I need to figure out who/what I need to put in place in order to make some sense out of my household. Perhaps that will come with time.  It’s just so interesting to me that I could be so book smart and seemingly street smart, yet have no real, domestic life skills.  Part of what I’m learning is that if you can’t take care of yourself, you can hire people to help you learn how to do so. That’s been a refreshing realization.

I’ve broadened my social circle and let more people in to the depths of my inner world than I ever fathomed possible.  I’m learning how to be honest – truly, transparently honest (as much as is possible).  I’m learning to listen to my intuition. To trust in my higher power. To believe that other people really do care about my well-being.  I’m learning how to live.

So many of these lessons have been fostered by the people I’ve bonded with as a result of Emily’s passing. I wish that I could have forged these friendships and Emily was still alive, but that’s not part of the plan.  Things couldn’t have worked out this way without Emily’s death. That’s a hard pill for me to swallow, but I know with great depth of conviction that it is true. I’m eternally grateful for Emily. She’ll always be a part of my life and not just because of the tribute tattoo I got for her with her twin sister.  She’s woven throughout my social circle now.

I have a long road ahead of me, but I feel like the blinders are finally off. There’s a great forward momentum. I am growing, changing, and evolving. I don’t have to run away from emotions anymore. I will eventually be able to function in a loving romantic relationship, should the right partner present him or herself. I will be stronger. I will be able to achieve anything that I want.  I have hope. To summarize, as Carl Sanburg said, “I don’t know where I am going, but I’m on my way.”

Such Small Hands

The lyrics to this song caught me (via the image shown) before I’d heard the tune, but I dig it, too.

Crazy how songs find you in a myriad of ways.

 

 

juxataposition.

*SWACK*

damn. there it is. spelled out before my eyes. proof! and not some paltry imitation. no, i’m talking serious evidence that removes all doubt.

look! i just knew it! well, bully for me.

sometimes i forget that being proven right can come with such bittersweetness.

Glimpse into the past…

Lots of interesting things going on now in my life… and I shall post of these as soon as I can… needless to say, change is in the air. I am currently visiting Seattle, WA, for instance. Much more to come on these newest developments when I *can* discuss them publicly. For now, enjoy this trip into my past…I wrote it in a physics course that I was *thoroughly* enjoying. I later dropped this course, and I picked it up the next semester with a better professor. I saved the paper this was written on, and I eventually transcribed it for safekeeping. I came across it again while bored on a long flight.

[begin portal into lauren’s past…]

Stream of Consciousness spawned by the disdain for a 9 a.m. Physics course, Fall 2000.

“Sooner or later the things you own end up owning you.”
– Tyler Durden

Inevitably, much of a man’s stress can be attributed to some attachment to some entity he felt he needed to own as proof of his status—proof that his existence possesses value. Thoreau even ventured into this territory—especially with the words (paraphrased) “How many a man would retain his relative rank if he were divested of his clothes.” How pompous could we all be if we were still running around the garden– would we truly be wearing only smiles? But I digress…

Back to the threat of material gain. So often we presume that the acquisition of more money lends way to greater freedom. But we err in such aspirations… Money does not truly liberate. It gives the illusion of liberation whilst raping us of every essential freedom we’ve always clung to. Furthermore, an excess of cash has the tendency to draw more problems- socially, emotionally, even physically. The most dramatic risk is death—caused by murder or even suicide. Trust becomes an even less imaginable dream, as you’re constantly questioning each person’s allegiances to you. You can’t be sure if the one you love really cares for you because you’re too jaded to know if you’re even being your real self… or simply a product of all the things you own. You ask yourself, “Are my designer jeans a reflection of me or vice versa?” Would a boob job produce a truer reflection of my personality? Or would it merely show my lack of self-confidence and strict adherence to the vision society has created as the “ideal woman?” As I add more things to my physical appearance, do I become a freer person? Someone truer to herself? Or do the acquisitions pile up on top of me, suffocating that sacred purity that radiated around me as a child?

Am I really this lost? Must I lose it all to find me? Why does this scare us so very much? What do we really lose?

Compound this threat is the irony of owning things… insurance. A man can’t even destroy his own property without suffering eternal damnation from the great economic guru… the lawyer. Prices on our things… prices on our lives. Paying a company to “insure” our life? Placing a price tag on your partner and yourself via a prenuptial agreement… forsaking the spirit of true love in an attempt to insure your personality if your partner were to leave you… for without some price tag hanging from your ear, without a net worth comparable to gold, what are you? Who are you? Why do you matter? Why are you arguing with your supposed “soul mate” over which one of you has the greater intrinsic worth expressed in dollars? And how does the size or carat of a diamond express love? Does a larger engagement ring mean you’re more in love? Vice versa? Or is it irrelevant?

In a society bent on greater material gains…more things, better quality, “the Rachel” haircut… happiness somehow emerging as the by-product of your super-polished image. Spirituality becomes likened to Madonna—the Material Girl herself—promoting Yoga and chanting on her records. I seem to be the only one disturbed by this—-she made an album out of Eastern religion. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised… she did essentially the same with Catholicism. What it comes down to is that we want filtered Eastern thought—easy practices, relaxation techniques, and assured salvation—all served up by our favorite scandalous celebrity. Don’t get me wrong—Madonna may have grown spiritually, but I could honestly care less. What’s disturbing how we react to these things. How can portraying a pseudo-image of Eastern thought in our favorite pop-singing blonde bring us salvation? Are we this lost? Is there no help? As a race, are we just fucked??

[end portal into lauren’s past…]

Dancing with (Talking to) Myself?

Argh. I’m back to where I’ve been before… wondering whether it’s even worthwhile to post my random thoughts and questions to this little corner of the web. You see, I do have an offline electronic journal, as well as an offline paper journal… and I am more forthright and straightforward in those journals for obvious reasons… not wanting to lay it all out here and such. However, would that be preferable? Just put it all out there?

Because all these thoughts I post at random leave me feeling much like Billy Idol, although I am not dancing with myself but talking (typing) to myself. I dunno what to do from this point. Surely, I know that at least *someone* reads my ramblings… because I have the webstats to prove it. However, I do hope to elicit responses from some of my posts… Meh. I dunno. Just another rambling post to get something off my chest, I suppose. I’m just at the point now where I’m wondering whether any of it is even worthwhile. Perhaps I am just overanalyzing… but it’s another stream of consciousness meant to do something, even if it’s wrong, I suppose.