I’m very, so very hungry…can you feed me? Pretty please?

Think back to all the plates of spaghetti you’ve eaten in your life. Remember the ones that were really filling and then the plates that were just ho-hum. Sex is just like eating spaghetti. It’s filling and tastes delicious and you want more of it.

Some chefs can only dish out the same for every person. Endless rounds of just pasta and sauce and leave you craving garlic and meatballs. Some chefs get fancy and sprinkle on the parmesan cheese and give a side of garlic bread. A few chefs will ask you how you like your spaghetti and sever up exactly what you asked for. And fewer still, will ask you to take a chance as they blindfold your eyes and feed you.

So, how do you like your spaghetti?

What is hope?

As I laid down to sleep a snippet of a thought drifted in. Hope was a flower. And then I fell into dreams. I named a flower hope and watched it bloom and then wilt before my eyes. It brought forth no seeds and thus died. How could this be hope if hope can die?

As I watched the wilted flower, it was turned into the earth to become the rot that nourished a different flower. This one bloomed even bigger and brighter. I saw that there were other flowers around that wilted and died. But this one bloomed and seeded the ground.

In dying it became like the rot before it, nourishment for the next generation of flowers awaiting their chance to bloom and hopefully seed. From its seeds, stronger flowers grew and bloomed. Some seeded and others did not. All in their time became the rot that nourished the roots of the next generation.

This is hope. It lies not in the flower nor in the seed. It lies not in the rot or the ground. It lays in the cycle of life continuing on.

Returning to Buttercup fields

Photo on Best RunningPhoto on Best Running

I have always loved flawed human beings.
Their frailties hide their strengths.

I was not raised in a home where love was a vital force nor was it strong enough to be felt. I’m not sure where I developed my understanding of love. I do remember reading one Chick track..the one called “Somebody loves me” and I burst into tears the first time I read it. The second time made me angry and the third time, there was a sad wistfulness that the child had finally experienced the emotion of love even though they were never shown it.

That track has stayed with me. It’s weird as actual love wasn’t shown at all anywhere in it. It’s left a special sore spot for me. Maybe that was the subtle point of the propaganda, to expect no human being can love. It’s hooey. I can love. But more to the point, I can act on that love. I just have to be aware that I too am a flawed human being.

In my own life, I never realized my story of the buttercup field was a story of untold pain what as I child I didn’t know what to do with. It was something silly that was brushed off but at the core, I was horrified that my love caused hurts, even if it was unintentional. That love could cause pain flew in direct opposition to everything I believed then and in many ways since. In that I rejected love can indeed cause pain, it left me with the impossible situation; of how can it be love when it causes pain to others. Is it necessary for me to let go of the rigid definition of love or shall I simply blame it on operator error? Either answer does not matter. Nothing would change with either one.

I have to forgive myself of my own self-convicted sin of over-picking the buttercups. I learned that lesson and never over-picked any plant again. I also have to forgive myself for being afraid to love because in the course of love I may hurt the one I love. This is the lesson of love I failed to learn as a child. Love is strong enough to bridge the gaps, to make whole that what was torn and broken.

Perceptions

good_bad_quote_shakespear

Years, that quote above has driven me nuts. For the longest time I’ve continually argued that the thought is missing a key element. Even digging into Hamlet and seeing what it is actually referring too, does lend a bit of support to my view.

I guess you could call me a believer in an absolute morality, that good and bad are concrete forms and in a sense unchanging. In a strange way I am actually describing that I am capable of believing in something so strongly that my views and thus actions are unwavering.

Yet, perception is something I’ve been deeply acquainted with sense I was a child. I was in the third grade when I wrote a paper dissecting the advertisement and marketing principals used in grocery stores. Okay, I’m still marveling about it all these years for it was so accurate even after all these years.  I was the bullied child from my classmates because I was marked by adults as “strange.” As I got older and learned how to manage perceptions better, I walked between sub-cultures in high school without concern of bulling or any problem arising from it.

I’ve often been puzzled by my perceptions. For who I am and where I have been, I should have been faced with heavy discrimination, bulling, sexism, sexual harassment, and other varied form of shit piles. I do believe there is truth in the phrase, we often create our own troubles. And far too often we have our nose right on the tree truck and still unable to see the forest all around us.

Perceptions are like viewing a specific rotation of a kaleidoscope. Rotate it a single degree and the view changes, morphing into something markedly different than before. Life isn’t static. It moves and changes and having a single view of anything feels disingenuous.

We get to choose how we perceive the world. We choose to put on one of a hundreds of different coloured glasses instead of trying on various pairs.

I look back and I end up chuckling. I expected no issues of being a woman in the working world and I had no problems, for the most part. Until I encounter people who believed women in the working world were some kind of problem to deal with. That’s been pretty much the lesson; it’s not a problem until someone takes their problem and tries to make it yours.

This is something I’m looking at in my life. I first acknowledge that I can choose what my perceptions are for any given thing, issue, problem. What are my perceptions? How can I change my perceptions? What needs work? In what way will this change benefit me?

It’s not easy pealing my nose off the tree so I can see the beauty of the forest around me. I’m working on it. I hope you are too.

Helpful and Related Articles:

DO YOU CAUSE YOUR OWN PROBLEMS?

Schools of Thought: The Madness of Consensus

Life Isn’t Good or Bad; It Just Is

It’s been weird lately. It’s not just you.

The 6th of March arrived like a fire tornado, burning the underbrush everywhere it touched. My life was turned inside out in a matter of hours. Things that had been hidden were now, painful, revelled. And I, I suspect like a lot of us, were sitting down wondering what the heck just happened.

Mercury, that fancy shoed smooth talker of a planet, enter the House of Aries-right after leaving the House of Pisces. Communication moved from emotions to self with all the power of an advancing army. We got water burning! Boy, does it feel weird!

This isn’t a retrograde. I suspect that the Jupiter retrograde on the 8th gave this whole thing a kick in the pants. This is a giant recipe for change and there is plenty of energy to do it. So, what are we waiting for?

Do we sail these winds or what?

Help! They had a buttonhold on me!

It’s Friday again.

I think my roller-coaster stopped to let a few of my marbles off. Nothing like going up an down, up and down till you beg for mercy. Mercy!

I started planning this post a few days ago. Between wanting to pick up the gratitude journal again, which really needs to complete the switch to Monday instead and wanting to start a new journaling project; I’ve been ruminating.

I haven’t been pleased with a bushel of things in my life. All of them alone are minor quibbles but like dust-bunnies, they multiplied and ganged up on me. I’ve been held hostage for years by these things! Threating me to be that last dirt dish in the sink..a sparkingly sink…gasp..or to be that one Lego on the floor that makes sure I step on it first in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom…the horror..or even to be that one more thing…that breaks my back…’cause surely I can carry it all on my own. I yanked out my secret weapon! Back you, beastly feigns! I’m waving around my living room with a pen in hand as I start sword fighting with these beasts. And I laugh! I laugh! Deep and full rumbling belly laugh and BAM! glitter rains down all around me.

Teehee. I laugh. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry over all that spilled milk that missed the glass. I’d rather laugh than walk hand in hand with sorrow.

That new journaling project I’m wanting to work on? It’s about self-compassion.

Stay tuned good folks out there and give it a go – laugh!