greenstorm | Meditation: Free Write

Freewrite. Total time twenty minutes. Begins now.

Well, here I am. I haven't done this for a very long time, haven't sat down with a mandate to simply write, to get the words out, to let them spill without any attention paid to their effect, to the audience, to the feel for them, to anything. I don't think spilling is the correct metaphor. They flow.

Tillie's livejournal finally set me off. Love, she said, and then she described it with my words. Love. Everything around me is love. Love, Beth said in her livejournal. It rings me like a bell, this synchronicity, no metaphor is intended, the ringing sound is audible. I watched a movie with Juggler tonight, Syriana, and it's a fantastic movie. Fantastic is a word I trained myself to use-- all the good big ones are: awesome, fantastic. We are what we do, and if I do happy, than I am happy. We do what we are, if we're happy. I told that to Graham this morning, poorly. Our selfness should not just inform our actions at a remove, but instead should be such a present and overriding force that it moves us, physically picks us up and flings our hands around. This is why I dance-- it's to remind me how to channel myself, to give myself full control over myself for awhile.

My life is a cradle spun of love.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say without an audience. I want someone to inform, I want someone to lift and fling into happiness with me. I have here a removal from responsibility, a seperation from the effects which are my goals which are me which inform my actions. I have a space here. I have nothing to fill it with, except--

Sometimes I remember that I love some people more than others. That is, sometimes I remember love for one person more than I remember love for another person. Do you know what I mean?

I took Kynnin's picture out of my wallet at the party. I took it out, the picture which had been carried on me every day for eight years. What did it feel, they asked me, and I said-- nothing. I said, that's the point. A kite is nothing without a string.

Once in awhile I feel free; the rest of the time I don't think about it. I populate my world with one-liners, with clever crafters of words. It's a statistical unlikelihood, but there it stands. I populate my world with the creative, with builders of worlds. I populate my environment with the things I always wished existed when I was a child, but which I didn't at the time believe in. I make the world I wanted to grow up into. My world is here. It's made, it forms under my hands like clay on the wheel-- don't look too closely or it'll spin away, you'll forget to centre it, it will be on the walls.

Will my world be on the walls if I look too closely at it?

Pause. Breathe. What is self-doubt? I used to feel it. Now there's too much me there.

This morning I spoke with Graham. We lay there, and I said, I think I'm already enlightened. The trick is holding on to it.

God is supposed to come and take you up to heaven or something, fully clothed, poof, you're gone. I'm still here. I'm still. Right. Here.

I wonder what belonging is, anyhow? Let's go to cathedral grove soon, Juggler says. It's closing down in the new year, there are people living in the trees. Careful, I said, if you take me I may never come back.

My world is informed by one-liners said in passing. I am a comic book, a series of stills and speech which fits in text bubbles.

I am, I am. Internet memes. I am a badger. I am blue eyes. I am a casette tape. I am Adolf Hitler.

Who are you? Where is the otherness here? With so many people, where is that sense of being surrounded ub aliens I grew up with? When Kynnin first came into me, when he first broke down the walls and cared for me, it was the strangest feeling. He was an alien, an other, a different person. I was lonely then. Looking into someone's soul for the first time, into their eyes for the first time, was a shock. It was an opening. It was a needle under my skin, and the rush followed it.

Now we're just people together, and I'm used to you. I'm used to the world being full of people other than me. I'm used to being close to them, and used to being far away. Huh. Huh. Things really do change. Things change.

What do you say to that? We'll adopt kids one day. What do you say? Can your future knock on your door? Can you live there, walking along in the present, all dizzy and confused, in a haze of static and pretend images?

There will be breakfast tomorrow. It's family dinner, breakfast for dinner, a collection of loves and joys all nourished together. How do these symbols come into my life so strongly? How can the fabric of reality not tear, the metaphor goes, how can some sort of a veil not be ripped from us and show the gears of the world when we so much as blink? Why aren't the4y visible, why can't we smell the oil? How can it all be a feeling? Where is the line between internal and external?

The world is all love. I have nothing to say. My toes are cold, except where they're warm against my skirt, and I'm hungry. I almost cried today, and then I almost cried today. I said, why is it that I'm being so good, and doing almost everything right, and yet I've still managed to mess up everything that can take messing up, and yet nothing is wrong? There were so many layers there. And Juggler said, what do you mean you didn't think you could do this, you seem so with it.

I'm with it. It is a thing where you do your best, where you fail sometimes and succeed only at things you never tried in, but things which are inevitably better than you could have guessed at, had you guessed they would come about. It's a good thing to be with. My toes are warming up. I wore sandals today, the boots were so heavy. Sometimes the music takes me over and I freeze, I stop, I can't move. I'm tired. I should take care of myself more. 'Should'. Oh, where it my moral imperative? Do or do not do, there is no try. How ridiculous it feels for such wisdom to come about. How ridiculous it all is (the music drumrolls and I drop). Is this sort of an experiment in joy? In quirkiness?

I bought a hat that's furry and stands up tall off my head. It looks ridiculous. Someone else owned it once. I love stories.

I am constantly underestimating people.

Do you know? I'm not a secret anymore.

It's time to end.

Love you.