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Ray, as of today I can't say things will ever be the same
The deep just got deeper—and this probably won’t be a problem for you. There’s a part of you that longs for the quiet intensity of strong emotions, even if you sometimes push these feelings away. Now, however, you may be asked to go somewhere in your feelings. If you don’t resist the flow, your life can be enriched by your experience.
Lately I've been hit with how much time has passed and how quickly. I turned on the coffee pot and stepped down the hall to the shower, and when I looked at Sophie stretched out on the green-striped quilt covering my bed with a naked tattooed back peeking out from behind her wagging tail, I just thought, what would I think of this a year ago, if I were shown this image? And that's even the exact language I used -- not past tense, but present tense, as if the self of oneyear ago or five years ago is still actively living, still repeating those moments as if stuck in time.
I keep thinking about what I was doing two years ago at this time on this exact day, which was basically laying around the apartment after arriving home from a long 10 day road trip to California that was filled with lots of intense emotions. I know a lot of people have been and will continue to write various looking back on the past type musings because of this whole anniversary thing. I don't doubt that I'm influenced by the collective unconscious flashback, but personally I'm not interested in revisiting anything specifically, in part out of respect for those people that were actually in NYC and were significantly effected, versus the other 99.9% of us who just had various mental bubbles popped. I'm sure it seems self-centered and shallow to only think about my own life in the context of memory, but to me it's just honest. I'm the only thing I know. And frankly, it seems self-important to do otherwise.
I'm constantly and continually effected by everything in this world. I focus most of my journal on this idea. I like my observations to resonate with others but I certainly don't think them as an absolute authority or even the most correct interpretation.
So many random thoughts going through my head while I'm writing that seemed cohesively linked but on paper the connection is not so clear. I think in part because my brain is actually remarkably quiet and just occasional bursts bubble up, rather than the constant chatter and ongoing dialogue that usually is occurring. Somewhere, somehow, a switch got flipped inside of me.
I often describe my emotional state as a spiral, though it's generally in a degenerative sense, as in, I'm spiralling out of control because of anxiety or fear or doubt. But I think it works in a positive manner too. I circle around and revisit the same place, the same near breaking point in my psyche, but I push through and afterwards there's this glow, this feeling of peace and relief. I move up to higher level, probably circling around to go through the same process again but bigger, better, faster.
I'm probably not making much sense, and I'm not trying to be cryptic or speak in generalities for fear of saying specifics or avoiding the topics. The day-to-day struggles are obvious and haven't changed: dealing with a job, waiting for grad schools, adjusting to a new home, coping with a partner moving in and her own stress, juggling friends and social obligations, etc. These things I write about on a small scale on a daily basis which seem to just be the choppy waves on the surface of this deeper well. But it's hard to write about the quiet underneath. To understand why I can stop and stare in the mirror in the bathroom and ask myself who I am and wonder at how familiar I am to myself, yet also a total stranger who intrigues me. To capture what it's like to move through crowds and feel how people see me. To sit and stare out windows that give me visions of alternate universes or even the same universe with just a different take.
Sometimes it's easier when one thing preoccupies your vision and your brain. To write about being in love. To think about moving your house. To rant about fcked up political situations. To make to-do lists because your life has been reduced to a series of tasks that must be accomplished because you're either sleepwalking through the day or it's too overwhelming to cope with larger issues so the only way to stay alive it to keep hoping.
But what about when it's all of the above? When I stand at a bus stop and I start to have idle thoughts that being "I wish..." but nothing follows? Because, what's the point? And I don't mean that in the cynical way that phrase often gets spit out, but more in a genuine question posed. I find myself floating into a space where I just pay attention.
Lately I've been hit with how much time has passed and how quickly. I turned on the coffee pot and stepped down the hall to the shower, and when I looked at Sophie stretched out on the green-striped quilt covering my bed with a naked tattooed back peeking out from behind her wagging tail, I just thought, what would I think of this a year ago, if I were shown this image? And that's even the exact language I used -- not past tense, but present tense, as if the self of oneyear ago or five years ago is still actively living, still repeating those moments as if stuck in time.
I keep thinking about what I was doing two years ago at this time on this exact day, which was basically laying around the apartment after arriving home from a long 10 day road trip to California that was filled with lots of intense emotions. I know a lot of people have been and will continue to write various looking back on the past type musings because of this whole anniversary thing. I don't doubt that I'm influenced by the collective unconscious flashback, but personally I'm not interested in revisiting anything specifically, in part out of respect for those people that were actually in NYC and were significantly effected, versus the other 99.9% of us who just had various mental bubbles popped. I'm sure it seems self-centered and shallow to only think about my own life in the context of memory, but to me it's just honest. I'm the only thing I know. And frankly, it seems self-important to do otherwise.
I'm constantly and continually effected by everything in this world. I focus most of my journal on this idea. I like my observations to resonate with others but I certainly don't think them as an absolute authority or even the most correct interpretation.
So many random thoughts going through my head while I'm writing that seemed cohesively linked but on paper the connection is not so clear. I think in part because my brain is actually remarkably quiet and just occasional bursts bubble up, rather than the constant chatter and ongoing dialogue that usually is occurring. Somewhere, somehow, a switch got flipped inside of me.
I often describe my emotional state as a spiral, though it's generally in a degenerative sense, as in, I'm spiralling out of control because of anxiety or fear or doubt. But I think it works in a positive manner too. I circle around and revisit the same place, the same near breaking point in my psyche, but I push through and afterwards there's this glow, this feeling of peace and relief. I move up to higher level, probably circling around to go through the same process again but bigger, better, faster.
I'm probably not making much sense, and I'm not trying to be cryptic or speak in generalities for fear of saying specifics or avoiding the topics. The day-to-day struggles are obvious and haven't changed: dealing with a job, waiting for grad schools, adjusting to a new home, coping with a partner moving in and her own stress, juggling friends and social obligations, etc. These things I write about on a small scale on a daily basis which seem to just be the choppy waves on the surface of this deeper well. But it's hard to write about the quiet underneath. To understand why I can stop and stare in the mirror in the bathroom and ask myself who I am and wonder at how familiar I am to myself, yet also a total stranger who intrigues me. To capture what it's like to move through crowds and feel how people see me. To sit and stare out windows that give me visions of alternate universes or even the same universe with just a different take.
Sometimes it's easier when one thing preoccupies your vision and your brain. To write about being in love. To think about moving your house. To rant about fcked up political situations. To make to-do lists because your life has been reduced to a series of tasks that must be accomplished because you're either sleepwalking through the day or it's too overwhelming to cope with larger issues so the only way to stay alive it to keep hoping.
But what about when it's all of the above? When I stand at a bus stop and I start to have idle thoughts that being "I wish..." but nothing follows? Because, what's the point? And I don't mean that in the cynical way that phrase often gets spit out, but more in a genuine question posed. I find myself floating into a space where I just pay attention.
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see you friday.