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The only way to my heart is with an axe.

The Telescope

The next few entries in this blog will be from random writings in my notebook that I purchased promising myself to fill one each month. One 70 page spiral bound notebook equals 2.29 pages to write each day to fill it. In three days, I've filled already a third of it.

I was outside sitting on the porch of the house I was staying at briefly in Knob Noster, Missouri; the state and town that I desperately wanted to leave a year ago and yet here I was, again, smoking a cigarette observing the obvious clues of autumn approaching. I watch the smoke curl up into the sky and here I see a star by it's lonesome flickering rapidly in the distance all shades of colors as some stars do. I immediately wish for a telescope so that I could get a closer look at what's happening light years away that is now reaching me at this point in time. I then remember that my father one year for Christmas purchased me a telescope and how excited I was to open it and try it out. My father was excited too; he started planning a star party and made many grandiose plans. It never worked. Fast forward to a year later. I received a nicer, more advanced model than the previous one and we were certain it would work. That one didn't either. I imagined he purchased these telescopes at Wal-Mart. 

I start to feel a sort of regret? Remorse? Guilt? I wished we could have shared that moment together and the many other attempts my father made to do things with me; I was his daughter and he loved me. The broken telescopes pay tribute to each and every time we tried to find an activity to do together. Frost-bitten air as I try to hold a shotgun up at 12 years old, the smell of dust and old men smoking, shooting arrows inside a similar smelling club-cabin, the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. 

My father sees me slipping away from him as I see the 12 year old girl slipping away from myself. I promise them both that I won't leave. It's a promise that I can't keep.

Mirror

A young girl explodes
Repulsed by her reflection
Screams at the mirror

There are no stars in the sky.

Tonight, there are no stars in the sky

Smoke

Curls languidly into the blackness

I hear a plane in the distance

But I cannot see it

I pinch at my flesh

And sigh in disgust

There are no stars in the sky

Lost and Found.

I often look back on my life and think about the things that I have lost: Jobs, family, friends, relationships, objects. Loss comes in many forms. You may lose these things forever or by a sheer stroke of luck (or determination), “find” them again. Of course, losing your wallet isn’t nearly as painful as losing a friend. Wallets can be replaced and not to sound pessimistic but so can friends. Maybe not that particular friend, but people come and go. I think of people as the subway; you miss the first train but soon another one comes 5 minutes later. I had a friend tell me this was a rather shallow way of looking at life but I like to think of it as detached.

 In Buddhism, a lesson that is very hard for me to learn in particular (and still to this day) is to not develop attachments to people, places or objects. Attachments are said to cause suffering and every human being down to their simplest needs and desires are to avoid suffering and seek happiness. For example, take someone who dreams of traveling. They have a house full of possessions, live a comfortable life, have a stable job and are content but not completely happy because they aren’t fulfilling an inner desire. But because of their attachment to those things, they don’t have the freedom to travel. Rarely, you hear of people selling everything they own and making a risky, life-altering decision. Ask those people later if they regret it? Unlikely.

I’ve thought about just taking a year off from my life and traveling to the East to study with the monks. Shaving my long, black hair off (an attachment) and being alone with myself. Truly be alone with my thoughts for hours on end. I wonder what person I would then become if I were to make such a decision. Medication, doctors, therapists, hospitals, drugs, partying, none of it seems to work for me. It feels like a last resort decision.

Limbo.

It's like this every time after hanging out with you. I hate hearing about where you are going. It's like a small puncture wound straight to the chest each and every time. I'm silent and I know I don't say much, and I know it's selfish. Why am I getting like this? I tried running away several times and here I am back at square one only it's not square one anymore. I'm way further down than I thought that I would be.

You tell me to stop running away from my problems but it's all I've ever known. You tell me to promise you that I'll face them when you're gone. But honestly, I don't know how I'm going to react when you are actually gone. I'm already embarrassed that I've expressed this much to you so far and here I was the entire time trying SO HARD to just be detached from you. 

 Sometimes I lay in bed some nights and wish I had never even met you or that you had never contacted me. 

But that's just me wishing my problems away. Again. 

Radiowaves

Something I wrote in literally 15 minutes; an unedited free write session.

I don’t quite know what it was

that pulled me to you, you're kindness

or your fire

That’s where you belonged

in the dry heat

of some Arizona desert

“I’ll meet you in the radiowaves”

you said

like a fool, I believed you

Empty parking lots

melted frozen yogurt

clutched in our hands

Hushed voices in white light

a silhouette

watching in the distance

We talked of better things

living different lives

wishing for anywhere but here

You held my hand

and yet I couldn’t help

but still feel alone