Twenty-Six, shall we?

I begin again, at the beginning, twenty six and fully here. I have gratitude and a deep tremulous journey ahead. A journey not outwards, to you, or to the world, but inwards into my self. Because I do not feel that different, and I suppose age goes hand in hand with time, and if you don’t check the time you lose yourself. I want to lose myself in this beginning and only want to emerge again at the end. 

Losing yourself begins with recognizing that there is a story you tell yourself, one that is fed by all of your upbringing, your culture, your fears, your passions, your dreams and your wildest desires. You could live your entire life telling yourself and everyone else that story. 

OR

Your could live your life free from all those conditions. Imagine your life Free from boundaries of a single story. Imagine living obnoxiously and inherently to the point of elation. Imagine being able to love yourself, faults,fears and all. Imagine being able to demand and attain your own freedom, not from the chains of the world, but from yourself. 

Twenty six, is young; but I am both very young and very old. I was born yesterday twenty six years ago, but every day after that as well. Time is time as long as you bound yourself by it. Time is free of judgment and it is yours from beginning to end; you just decide where and how to locate those points. 

“Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end; then stop.” Lewis Carroll 

Here.

My arms are fire and my head is set free. I close my eyes and I ask, one question becomes a thousand, and I am back at square one. No real answers. But then I sense the flame and it pushes me face first inward, into my deepest fears. The memories, the inadequacies, the needs from love to acceptance, all of my failed pursuits, they dance around me as I flare my arms at them. But those are fears and they are not real, they are not me, they do not control what I am, who I am. I torch the first fear, then the second and I realize that there is nothing in there, just air. Empty air. Until the fear of insanity comes running and howling at me, am I insane? No. Just another fear, the most powerful one of all. So where did all my pain and panic come from? No answer, nobody in that room. Nobody behind the steering wheel, nobody holding the pen. So I sit back and I let that let down happen. I hoped for a mastermind, I hoped that I would get to face a stronger opponent, and Yet here I am, baffled. What lay inside when all the fear is gone? How would I live when it’s no longer about avoiding fears and reacting to them? Where will I go when I stop running? Who will I become when I simply am ? 

Words roll out like red carpets beneath the feet of worshipers, and I cannot hold them back. As though prisoners have been let out. As though nothing can ever be said again the same way. Words form and collapse right infront of me and I am letting it all slide, no filters or fillers, nothing to add and little to subtract. A complete cycle of renewal, nothing is pale and everything is sincere. I set this space free, my arms are fire and my words are here. 

Wishing Words

I wish I could write better stories, ones that would sway you into that parallel world of meaning, of clear beginnings and rightful ends. I wish I could provide you with mental images of severe beauty, the kind that moves your entire being, yet still manages to anchor you in an aesthetic serenity. I could write about moments that shake your senses, moments that you almost believe are yours alone, moments that stop your mind for a split second and you are in absolute surrender.

What if i wrote to you about the few seconds in between your last conscious thought and the beginning of your dream, where your mind softly switches and you have no control but to exist elsewhere, in a self composed dream as your body lay still, resting. How do i begin to describe the warmth of a hug when you truly need it, or the intensity of a push when you don’t see it coming?

I look for words everywhere, and when i find them I stop for a second and then I panic, because how do i possibly bring to life something so subjective yet absolutely intimidating. I suppose that is the quest for meaning, the eternal pursuit begins and ends with putting words to thoughts, and emotions in hopes of transcending a flawed perception of reality.

 

 

Our life 

So as far as I know, time has not stopped yet. I approach the second half of my twenties with everything and almost nothing figured out all at once. For starters, the worst days end, and so do the best. I am grateful for both. Somehow we sail through, both too silently and all too chaotically as though we get to do this all over again differently. 

Some days are so similar that I lose all meaning between days of the week. So I make a decision to remember minute details like the smell of the freshly watered sidewalk or the white dust on a construction worker’s hands. And then when I think back I realize that those days and those thoughts will add up to being my week, then my month and eventually my year. So why does it matter? Because I get to recognize elements of my story as it is happening, and believe it or not there is some wonder in that. 

For a second I get overcome by a sense of melancholy, a fleeting realization that this right here, right now is it, for the time being it is all I have. But then I submerge my mind with presence, with absolute existence, being drenched in reality and still having the ability to step away from it is what makes us human. It is what conscious human life offers us, all we get to do is choose, maybe even simply dance in between our life, and the story we tell ourself about it. 

The Un-learning process

Why do you do what you do? What takes over you when you say yes or even when you say no? How little do you know yourself? And do you believe them when they tell you they know you and will do what’s best for you? 

I keep digging, I’ve been digging ever since I was 13 years old, and I’m approaching 26, still trying to understand. I have tried exercise, and love, I’ve tried depression and isolation, I’ve tried meditation and travel, I’ve tried so much, and I keep going back to this: I don’t know shit. >>sorry for the profanity<<

I don’t know why I say yes when I mean no, and I don’t know how to smile when I’m upset. I dont know how to lie when all I can see is one truth and It seems that nobody else has a clue.

So what do I know? 

I know that we all struggle, each to his or her own capacity. We all love and adore: people, pets, things or places; it doesn’t matter as long as we are willing to love. Everyone has a bunch of theories about life, and so do I; except most of which seem to work for some time only, up until it’s rebuttal time for the universe. 

So my dear, what do you do? Do you live in fear? Absolutely not. Do you plunge right in? Ofcourse. Because nobody knows And the more peace and tranquility you invest into that incessant case of uncertainty the softer your ride will be, and without doubt the more entertaining your life will get. 

Just remember to be as good at Un-learning as you were at learning. 

What it feels like

Do you want to know what happinness feels like? Do you wonder about the abundance or even absence of joyful moments in your life? I could ask away forever, but I won’t, instead I am going to share what happiness look like for me, because who knows? It might help you find your own.

He is the love of my life, and it happens that love decided to embody itself in his name for me. It is a joy to wake up and close my eyes everyday to the blessing of loving and being loved. Every time we meet, my heart swells and beats a little more gently. Those are moments of joy.

The day I discovered the wonder of mindfulness and meditation. I close my eyes and breathe in and out just as Thich nhat hanh teaches. I am swallowed by a silence and a sense of mercy unlike any other and it keeps getting more incredible every time I practice. I find joy waiting for me inside every time even if it were in the company of sadness. The joy is real. 

The joy out of the high of exercise. The sweat, the emancipation of fear, the blood pumping into places you didn’t know existed in your body. Happiness envelopes that state despite every challenge.

I cannot change the cards I have been dealt, but I sure as hell can get creative. And that is how I plan to live. Creative in my sadness and creative in my joy. What is being human if not experimenting with emotion and activity? 

Lotus 

I still am the same soul underneath it all, except with more years, more truths uncovered, some disappointments, some achievements and so many conscious breaths.

Days move and I move and life moves, days end and the night begins; just for me and my words. I peak through its curtains and I am summoned in. There is so much love for me here, inside. The dark is not scary, fear acknowledges me, and I nod, we have had our adversities, but behind these dark veils, there is only grace and fear only bows to that.

Inside this night I hold not just my own heart, but the hearts of loved ones, I hold their names and their spirits dance and swirl around mine. The motion is circular and the light is present within exploding like millions of fireworks.

The truth is mine, and I know, I am one with my being, this is the space I have been cultivating. This is the light I had been probing and this is the night I had been trying so hard to befriend and uncover.

Like a single lotus in the groundlessness of concrete I set my self aside and plug into the night. Consciously and carefully I find that ends meet, fear settles into faith and I unfold and dissolve letting life in.

Gloriously 

Story upon story, my mind plays and skips across roads and thoughts less traveled. But then again, the roads I have travelled keep on teaching me, grilling my stamina and testing my willingness to accept the gloriousness of being so small in such a brilliantly huge world.

My heart is heavy sometimes, and my choking anxiety hits hard, but on most days my peace prevails, fed by the beauty of shores, lakes and sunflower fields.

The stillness of home feels as it should, but the pumping heart keeps pushing my eyes open, I can’t sleep; there is so much to see. So I put myself in my bed after days of sleeping on planes trains and cars, using sign language to try and describe the confusion of being so thrilled and so lost all at once.

I rest my case for now and leave some of my words here, I must release the rest with my eyes closed and my mind open. The soul glares with color and summons me to slow down and rejoice. The high of adventure sways my fingers into a halt, and I pull myself from this practice into a deeper one.

To be seen

Possibly you think of me before you sleep, probably you don’t, and that’s ok. At least one of us does. When have I become so diplomatic? So soft spoken and easy to sway just as your wind blows. I know exactly when, how and why . 

The beat remains and the pounding gets deeper and sharpens my senses. Things are going to change, we are probably going to change, and only we will know. So let’s live today and continue exactly like this. Today, nothing needs to change. 

I sit on the steps of the front door of our come what may life and I stare at you twirling and becoming beside me. You extend your arms to me and I cannot but come to you. We wrestle to the ground and laugh as we crash. My bruised finger amuses you as you pretend that your eyes cannot see the blue. 

I start to explain where the pain is and how you can’t relate to it because it’s not yours, as you stare into my serious eyes with student like attention. Am I really lecturing you about pain? So typical. Yet you still go ahead and bring me a bag of ice you put it on my hand and ask me to continue with a smirk. 

This matters. The bag of ice, the smirk, the listening… it all counts to the fact that you see me. That is all that matters, and don’t we all want to be seen? 

Mortality: The ceiling 

Like a little bodied statue I stare at the ceiling. One of many ceilings and walls I’ve faced and knocked down, this one refuses to move, it refuses to let me through. I let go and decide to just lay there, maybe now I see the big picture, maybe now I see the truth. Maybe this ceiling is keeping me from completely fading away and losing touch. 

I trace my thoughts back but I have none, I have gotten too good at quieting my mind, I have become stronger and less concerned with my body. The dread remains however. The unyielding and unrelenting need to belong somewhere to something to someone, and to feel infinite remains like the strongest emotion, the most powerful thought to ever exist. I cannot come to grips with mortality, not yet. 

I stare still and remain in my body, feeling an utmost safety in it, fearing the thought of ever losing it. Fearing the day that I let it go and crack the ceiling. Why is there no infinity right here and now? Why can we not have that? Is that the biggest ego of all? To want it forever? To have continuous return? Why is it excruciatingly painful and dreadful to be so close mortality and still refuse to see it?

Is this the highest feeling of love? Is it the newfound appreciation to every spirit surrounding yourself that gives you the courage to do this? Gives you a purpose and a light? How much have we forgotten to be able to be here today? How much are we blinded from that let’s us sleep at night and not crawl back to our mothers. 

I find my dark friend laying next to me, and together we look up at the ceiling. We hold eachother, I comfort him with my hope and with my light, while he confronts me with the truth: my mortality and everyone else’s, and our never ending pursuit of a single extra moment of being awake and breathing together.