know

Take off all my clothes (I want you to know me)
Beat me with the truth (I want to know you)

The truth of who I am
The truth of who you are

Expose the purest elements for what they are
Untouched and unscathed by the facades of humanity

Let's plunge into the depths
Soar into the heights
Holding hands
Like we know each other

Never let go, never

what happens last.

She began pondering all the last moments. The last time she said this. The last time she saw this. The last time she did that. The last time she said that. The last time she saw their faces.

This is where the cruelty and beauty of life merge. It's so cruel that those were the last moments. But it's so beautiful that they happened.

That they happened to her.

Suddenly, everything that ever happened to her felt heavy, pressing against her soul, stabbing the crevices of her mind, gripping her body like a vice. She couldn't breathe.

This is what happened last time.

Her eyes flew open when the shattering of a million pieces whispered in her ears. All the moments, everything that ever happened to her were there, in pieces, scattered on the ground. Then she saw it.

Every piece was the first word, first page, first chapter of another story. These were not last things.

And this wouldn't be the last time He would remind her of this.

new

She opened her eyes. The unfamiliar scent that greeted her nostrils reminded her of something she never experienced. Her body was surrounded by a silky residue that resembled the after breath of an exquisite dream. She didn't know where she was, but she new exactly what to do, where to go, what to say.

She began to move her limbs, gently brushing away the silk that departed with an encouraging whisper against her skin. The familiar was infused with a glow she did not recognize, an unexplainable light that now painted her whole world.

Her hands were empty. Her bag was unusually light. There was no urge to hurriedly sort through the daily crowdedness of her mind.

She saw all the faces. She heard all the voices. She remembered the last two months. She wanted to cry out, but he was already holding her hand. This is what new feels like.

All things had been made new.

She recalled a promise of an easy yoke and moved forward in joy, embracing her freedom to always walk in peace.

REACHing OUT

She was so nervous. Her mind had already been fed with so much falsity and death. Life was dwindling within her. She closed her eyes, ready to submit.

Then she felt something brush against the cavity of her mind. She was suddenly infused. She reached out. She reached across the table and touched his face. She had been so nervous up to this point. She had almost given up.

The face looked back and returned the gesture. The feeling in the room changed from a sun-heated cement wall to a snow-cooled mountain stream. The affect was refreshing.

The pieces of cement in her own heart melted.

She was alive again. She had reached out. The face across the table was beautiful, was radiating with a soul loved by Love.

She felt even more Love herself. As she reached up and took His hand, Love smiled.

cycle

She couldn't believe it.

This trap was so easy to fall into. The same emotions. The same words. The same routine. How could she have convinced herself this time felt different?

She wasn't sure if she was embarrassed or frustrated or jealous. It was too soon too tell.

She stepped back from the cliff and looked up at the sky. It's size overwhelmed her. She felt the indifference of the clouds.

She stood there in silence.

resolution::empowerment

Full of his mind. Full of his soul. Full of his heart for her, for him, for them.

She had never felt so filled.

She began wondering if she had been empty before, if she would never feel longing again.

The euphoria faded, but the resolve remained strong. In this resolve, she moved forward.

Her demeanor was sobering, but her heart was happy. The resolve satisfied her soul; she met peace.

Wall People

She hit a wall. Except it wasn't a wall - it was a person.

But she had hit a wall.

When she stepped back, she could see his face, hear his words, understand his emotions. But when she stepped forward, she hit a wall. There was a barrier, yet he was so transparent. There was no mystery to anything she saw in him.

She stepped back again, and this time saw him more distinctly, sensing physical features of his body, of his personality, of his mind. He was so beautiful.

Again, she went forward and hit a wall.

He spoke with her. They exchanged many words. Their exchanges were clear, humorous, and brief.

One day, someone gave her a picture. The picture was of herself.

She was also a wall.

FREEDOM: fear's greatest nemesis

She was experiencing a cliche, but in this case, it wasn't a cliche. It was real. And it was happening to her.

It was pure irony. She was epitomizing a moment she had once strived to never experience. The moment of the weak, pathetic, and powerless. Here she was, weak, pathetic, powerless and ready to spit at the freedom he was handing to her.

The worst part of all this was that this moment was a culmination of choices, choices she had made knowingly.

She felt like he hated her, as he nailed up the boards that forever barred them from each other, that cut her off from every emotional and physical connection they ever shared.

He hated her. Life was over.

The fear blinded her from being witness to one of man's greatest acts of love.

partial death: the non-peace of pessimism

She experienced a mix of feeling pensive and careless as she stepped across the threshold, observing the movement of her feet.

pensive: There are so many ways this could go. There are so many ways people are going to react. I need to choose my actions wisely.

careless: Why should it matter? This isn't even worth my time, energy, or thoughts. I'm just going to let it happen.

Feeling pensive, yet feeling careless.

Yet inside of her was a black knot. The negative energy emanating from this thing was growing and oozing with each new idea that fed her pessimism.

Pessimists are so hungry. Always wanting more, never satisfied. Contentment is a foreign concept. Years of the finest education couldn't teach the pessimist in the language of peace. Pessimism does not preach peace.

Soon she was wracked with anger and darkness against those around her. It swelled up around her and swallowed her soul.

She looked up. There were two faces in the distance, smiling. More people appeared at the top of the hill. Everyone looked happy. She was no longer swimming in pessimism. She found herself being lifted by something higher, something brighter, something that made her feel light inside.

The voices of joy turned the right corner of her mouth towards heaven.

simultaneous EMOTION and learning to DANCE them

She felt simultaneously disappointed and fulfilled. She didn't walk away empty-handed, yet she still found herself in a state of discontentment.

The breeze caressed her quivering soul. Soon she was being washed with rain.

This feeling was not foreign to her. She had experienced it before, had successfully ridden this wave. But here she was again, learning to dance the dance.

The dance between shattering and laughing.

The dance between crying and screaming.

The dance of two experiences that feel so close but never seem to touch. The collision just never comes.

It frustrated her but, at the same time, relieved her mind.

The sigh that escaped her throat was a mix of ecstasy and anger. The dance music caused her to shiver.

IMPATIENCE - the restless mind manifest

Impatience can be a bad thing, and it can also be a good sign. She experiences both.

The problems arrive in subtle packages. She can't tell if she's angry, nervous, or overstimulated. Impatience is so subtle.

It's bad when others around her feel the pressure and brunt of the moment she's creating within herself.

It's good when she sees the goal set so clearly before her that she can almost taste it. When she's standing on the thresh hold of accomplishment. When her dreams are about to come true.

The subtlety always takes her by surprise. She's learning the dance of delight and composure.

isolation: the ANTI-human experience

She wants to be helpful, but she's so tired of helping. She's doing this because the arrogance only isolated her, and she doesn't possess the capacity to harden herself to isolation. No one does.

Well, the ones who do become criminals; and she doesn't want to become a criminal - not now, anyway.

Isolation breeds everything that has ever corrupted humanity. Isolation is the reason people can walk down their street, their faces loving everyone who passes by but their souls hiding behind a wall of hate. Shrinking behind a wall of hate.

Hatred never produces strength. It only kindles the flames of fear. The one who hates is the one who is afraid of life.

And that's why she helps - why she'll continue to be helpful even when it begins to wear itself on her face. Because isolation and hatred are not for the human.

"You thought life dwelt in you alone but I have drawn aside the veil of delusion, and have let you see that by doing evil to others you have done it to yourself also. Life is one in them all, and yours is but a portion of this same common life. And only in that one part of life that is yours, can you make life better or worse - increasing or decreasing it. You can only improve life in yourself by destroying the barriers that divide your life from that of others, and by considering others as yourself, and loving them. By so doing you increase your share of life. You injure your life when you think of it as the only life. You injure your life when you think of it as the only life, and try to add to its welfare at the expense of others lives. By so doing you only lessen it. To destroy the life that dwells in others is beyond your power."

-Leo Tolstoy, "Esarhaddon, King of Assyria"

individuality: to BE or not to BE

Sometimes it feels good to be an individual. Sometimes it feels really good to give it up - to give up the individuality, to lay it down and be a part of the crowd for once.

To let your voice ring with the others as one.

To let yourself be lost in the wave of people, letting your body move with everyone else, causing one fluid motion for the stars to look at.

Sometimes it really does feel good to be a part of the group.

happy tears: life's most beautiful paradox

There are times when she's so happy she could cry. It's as if she's in the place that releases everything positive and beautiful inside her soul. And it exits in the form of tears.

Sometimes there's nothing else to do but cry.

It's like there's an inevitable force everyone needs to eventually reckon with in life; and when it comes, the only human expression possible is that of tears.

A waterfall flowing from the window of our souls.

play: methodology and therapy for life

Watching a father and daughter play, daughter chasing father, father running from daughter. The scene reminds me....

...it reminds me of a time I was chasing my father. I was the daughter, playing with my father. My father ran from me as I laughed and reached. Then my father fell. He fell backwards. His leg was bleeding. I remember his leg, bleeding in the bathtub. I remember feeling sad, feeling guilty for all my reaching and laughing...

The child who tires of running and singing is a child who was taught that life is only sadness and strife and dissatisfaction. This should never be.

life: everyone's story

So life isn't always easy. Things don't always make sense. People don't always care, or at least don't know to show it. Sometimes life sucks.

And sometimes the stars can't even compete with the clouds' haze. But it doesn't keep them from coming out at night.

So it should be that way for us. Humans. We're meant to live. Just like the stars are meant to shine. We must live, embracing life, enduring life, fighting for life. .

We must keep on living. Life is a gift. Live it.

the story of the afeared and the unsaid

It's not even worth it at this point. Why should she even try? Right now, she's miserable, but it's only for a few more weeks, right?

Right. There she goes. Procrastinating life. Again.

What was her problem? Why couldn't she just reach out?

She simply doesn't feel wanted. Bottom line. And she'll never know if they want her unless she says something.

Oh, the things we leave unsaid. Just a bite of bravery would motivate her to do it. She's just scared. She's so damn scared.

Abraham Lincoln to the rescue: another true story

It was one of those moments when you wonder whether or not this really is all in your head. Whether or not you really are making this up. Whether or not this is real, if it's really even happening.

It's just that bad.

She sat there, incapable of masking the gloom that painted her face, tainted every physical feature of her body, even graying the strands on her head. She tried to remember the last time she felt this way and failed. But still she refused to believe...

...blatant refusal never heals a hurting soul, but human souls always seem to lose some amount of intelligence when things like this happen. What was was this, anyway? She didn't even know what has happening.

In times like this, no one ever wants to say anything. But every one wishes someone would say something.

Then he broke the awkward silence.

Thank you, Abraham Lincoln!

humor: a story of failure first, then success

She was just trying to be funny. She thought it was hilarious, so the offended reactions took her back. Took her to a place she didn't like to be. But there she was...

...here she was. Feeling like an ass, wondering if perhaps maybe she was wrong. Maybe her joke wasn't funny after all. Maybe she just needed some space.

So she went and found her space. She even found her audience. She heard their laughter. People took pictures. It was hilarious! She was hilarious! The joke was funny after all.

She shrugged away the uncomfortable feelings of uncertainty and insecurity from before and embraced the limelight. There she was; she had pushed through.

This was her time, her place, her joke. She smiled. It's comforting to find out that you're funny after all.

false victimization: a true story

And so there she sat. All alone. Not because she wanted to. Not even because they wanted her to. It was because of human things. Trivial things. Things that come about due to insecurity, miscommunication, being human.

She sat there until the cloud cleared, until every one in the room had made an exit, until all the empty chatter no longer filled the room. Was she a victim? Perhaps. But victim of what?

A victim of friendship maybe? Of misdirected words? Silence? The reality was this girl had victimized herself. There was no reason in the world for her to feel this way, alone, unwanted, dejected. She had friends. She was well-liked. Successful. Talented. Smart. But here she sat. A victim of independence. A victim of her own selfishness.

She was stuck. It was impossible for her to reach out now. Nothing seemed possible at the moment. Everything was much, much too big for her to handle by herself. She didn't want to touch anything. But was needy, oh so needy. This girl was wanting in the worst way.

She wanted love. She wanted friends. She wanted to do something.

Then the phone call came. Two phone calls. And she missed both because her phone was on silent.

She was dumb, so dumb.