Sunday, March 21, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Wow, so many hateful remarks. Don't like the movie, don't watch it--that's my motto.
Personally, I loved the movie. The beginning and most of the middle of the movie kept me interested, but the end is where I became very intrigued. As a geoscientist, and soon to be a major in astronomy as well as meteorology, I found this movie to be FASCINATING. Whoever the writer or composer of this movie's script is I would like to meet. His thinking is very like to my own.
It is true. Mars was once quite like Earth is today. Put that together with the mysteries of Atlantis, several sentient psychic beings on this planet, namely one, Edgar Cayce, spoke on several mind-blowing topics discussing the intriguing possibility of an advanced culture on earth, way before any named Iron or Stone Age. He also spoke of a 10th planet in our solar system that imploded. Hey, where'd that Asteroid Belt come from that most scientists have yet to truly explain its origins with much accuracy? Remember, 500 years ago, people thought the world was flat, and that Earth was the center of the solar system. My, how things change.
Why can't people be of an open mind, and take this movie in a new light? Perhaps the writer is himself a very enlightened being--or perhaps a whisper in his ear was all that was needed. I believe that within the next century, most if not all of these topics will be thoroughly explained.
I would advise those with an open mind, (mind you, an OPEN and WILLING mind) to watch this movie with a new set of eyes. Consider the possibilities, enjoy the wonders of your imagination, and remember, NOTHING is impossible.
Hope you enjoy the movie as much as I.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
You're a different kind of Captain now. You steer the boat--tip it back upright when it tilts dangerously to the side; push the throttle so the waves rush away from the boat, not towards it; pluck your sons and friends from the sea like you would with a crane; laugh with them when they need it; lean against them when they need something to keep them standing; whisper advice in their ears--they will hear you; and watch over them.
Forever be their Guardian of the Bering Sea.
To the Family & Friends of Capt. Phil Harris:
Though you cannot see him, or touch him, he is still there with you. Instead of watching over you from the wheelhouse, he's watching over you from just a little higher up--or maybe right next to you. It may seem unlikely now and feel like just a bunch of bull, but you will see it. He will make his presence known. He was dedicated to you, his sons, his friends, his boat, and that didn't end when he transitioned from this earthly plane. On the contrary, his dedication has increased ten-fold. Now, he has the strength and ability to do things his physical body could not accomplish.
Still, it will take some time for the anguish to diminish and hope to regain strength within you. With the knowledge that he did not actually leave you (which you will only come to realize over time) will make that pain fade, and content will once again fill your souls. He loved and cared about everybody on the Cornelia Marie. Why would he ever abandon you to the cold, cruel Bering Sea?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
First, I showed my roommates that I can fight fire with fire. I don't think they know what to do, now. That, alone, would have amused me for the rest of the night. But no! There's MORE!
As I was walking to my Physics Discussion class, I decided I wasn't amused enough, and decided to start passing/kicking a piece of ice between my feet like when I was in soccer and we had to practice pacing a ball between our feet. I looked up just in time, breathless and grinning, to see a very charismatic man go, "Can you pass it me?"
I giggled and inquired, "Do you play soccer?"
"No," he smiled.
"I do!" I giggled and passed him the piece of ice. "Your turn!"
Him and his friend went off passing the piece of ice between each other.
I got to class early, so I waited outside while an earlier course played out.
Fast-foward until halfway through the class. After putting an excruciatingly eye-stabbing diagram on the board, my lips moved without me telling them to. "Oh, good God!" I groaned.
The class--even the professor!--burst out chuckling.
"Aw, it's not so bad," the Professor said, smiling, and thus began to explain the problem.
Fast-forward again. As I was walking to the shuttle stop, a song popped up in my head:
In my thong
And ain't nothing wrong
'Cause it's just a song!
There's more, but I'll leave it at that. I was in a wacky mood, all right. But I had fun, and that's all that matters.
Again, while waiting at the shuttle stop, I started kicking a piece of ice back and forth. Suddenly, a car horn honked, startling me. I looked up, and two guys, grinning from ear to ear, were shaking their fists, thumbs up, cheering me on. I smiled and waved, and continued on my charade. They drove by AGAIN, later--or it could've been somebody else entirely--and honked at me yet again, as I was still kicking around yet another piece of ice.
What? It's an entirely entertaining way to blow some time.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
I can't remember the first dream of that night clearly, but I do remember the last.
What I do remember of the first was that incest played a major part in the dream. Now, it had nothing to do with my family, but some fictional family. I recognized not one person in that dream.
The last dream, though, I consider much freakier than the first. It was very, very peculiar.
What I clearly remember was sitting upright in bed, in an odd position with my left foot tucked against my right knee, and my right foot inches from my right hip. I was also rocking back and forth unconsciously. More like tilting, rather. Kind of like when you're falling asleep in a chair, and your head keeps nodding, tipping to a certain point before you slightly jerk awake. But in my case, my whole torso was was tipping like that. Finally, after immeasurable moments in a trance between the state of wakefulness and sleeping, I remember a very sharp tilt jolting me awake. Numb and still becoming more aware by each moment from my sleep-ridden condition, I looked down to see my laptop sitting on my bed, directly in front of my legs, open and on.
Startled, I pulled it into my lap, and saw that a word document was also open, and in it, 71 pages had been written. I had written a mini-novel in my sleep.
Rather, it was like someone or something had possessed me in my sleep, taken control of my body and typed out this lengthy story.
What did I write?
I remember reading the first several pages, and as I read them, I was pulled into an alternate reality, where I was in that novel, watching the written scenes unfold. I was standing in the middle of an alien invasion. The more I read, the more I experienced.
A horde of aliens were invading the dimension I happened to be in at that moment. They moved through and past crowds of frightened people, almost dismissive in their attitude. For some reason, they were not interested in us. Whether they were just surveying the planet, or exploring it, or looking for something--not us--all of that changed quickly. As they were moving through the crowd, a couple of men attacked and killed some of the little, green, multi-limbed aliens, they turned from indifferent to vicious, and started killing everyone in sight.
When I read that part--was seeing that part--I yanked myself from that alternate reality (truly the best way to describe what I was experiencing) and back into my body. And in my dream, I remember lurching off my bed, away from my computer, but soon, the lure of curiosity and the desire to know what I saw, to validate that it was not my imagination, drew me back.
I remember avidly reading the rest of the mini-novel on my plasma screen. It was very startling. I cannot remember the whole thing. The last thing I truly remember was walking upstairs, into my Gamma's kitchen, and as I looked out the window I heard a deep growling. I turned to see one of those aliens standing in the doorway to the living room. When it rushed at me, I jerked awake.
A very, very unusual dream--even for me.
I wonder, still: What could it mean?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I was just sitting down at my desk in my college dorm room, listening to some music, watching a Supernatural clip here and there, when a hand pressed against the left side (from the top of my skull to about an inch above my left ear) of my head. It was an immediate electric jolt that shot through my body, causing it to jerk roughly. The affected area soon fizzed, or buzzed, or--I'm not really sure how to explain it. Kind of like when your foot goes to sleep, and then you have to get up and walk on it. Or maybe when you get a zap from your door handle or something else from static electricity that your feet caused against the carpet. But imagine that a thousand-fold, incredibly powerful, vibrating along your nerve endings but ONLY on a certain, designated area of your body--in my case, my skull.
It fizzed violently for a good half minute before diminishing to a subtle thrum vibration. Then, again, it stayed in that state for maybe a minute or two. Then, suddenly, instead of the odd sensation vanishing, that whole area flared painfully, like somebody had twisted my hair in their hands and yanked viciously. I am not kidding. It still hurts like fricken crazy, and this happened nearly 15 minutes ago.
Since the beginning of the semester, I've sensed something in my dorm room, but it was subtle--very, very subtle. And hey, I'm not bringing this up to my roommate that's, well, pretty much, for lack of a better word (or there are better words, but they're rude) is blah. That's not the way to start off the semester. 'You never need unsay anything that wasn't said in the first place.' A proverb I heard somewhere, once. And for this situation, very, very true.
Now that Blah has moved out, what I've sensed has gained power and energy. Every night when I turn the lights off, I sense it standing in the entryway/hanger/closet, strong and overwhelming. Half the time, I whirl around and flick the lights back on, my heart pounding.
And I never see it with my eyes, but within my mind. Whatever this thing is, it is massive. At least 6'5" and just plain huge, like a body-builder or something, but well-muscled over its complete form. All I can see clearly--or sense clearly--is its eyes. And they are the most ferocious eyes I've probably ever seen in my experiences. They're not evil, just... burning with intensity.
I'm an intense person. I live, breathe, and act intense because my energy is at such a heightened level, that most people are like, "Whoa... she's eccentric." And not in the way that I'm odd, or weird, but that my vibes are very powerful. I find that most people act crazy around me, like screaming at the top of their lungs--when talking will do just fine--or running and jumping around like they're on crack--which I know they don't do. My hypothesis--which is further encouraged by other spiritually and mentally advanced beings--is that either these people are feeding off of or absorbing my excess energy which, for them, leads to an overload of their senses and they just go crazy, or they feel (possibly unconsciously) like they need to act in a heightened state of being just so they're able to be in close proximity with me, to be able to converse with me. So not true. Er, that was on the order of a tangent of the second degree, I think, but, anyways, my point is that this entity--whatever it is--is so intense in its energy that it is so intimidating that it scares the crap out of me. Well, not that much, but enough to thoroughly unnerve me. Back to tonight's event.
I have no idea what 'it' wanted. Whatever it was, it didn't get it--unless it was after my attention, then it got exactly what it wanted. I still feel like a thousand needles were poked into my scalp. Very painful, let me tell you. I still don't know what--or who--this entity is, and honestly, not what it wants, either. If it were evil or malicious, then I wouldn't be living in this room anymore...
Whoa, whoa, whoa...
Okay, touching... touching!
Uh, sorry, I had to stop there for a second. Something brushed from right below my left ear, along my throat and halting at the back of my neck. A slight pressure, soft and gentle, was exerted before it disappeared. Now there's that same electrical buzz on my skin, but it's greatly reduced in intensity and more like a gentle hum or fizz. Very, very subtle.
Was that a signal of encouragement: 'You're on the right track; I'm not here to hurt you!' or was it an apology of some sort?
Look at where I paused mid-sentence. What do you think? Apology or reassurance?
This just reminded me of other experiences that I have had, here, in my dorm room. My desk has a mini bookshelf right above it, and for the past couple of weeks, things have been flying off the shelf and hitting me in the head. Yesterday, it was my brush. I put it back in its spot, and shook the desk viciously. The brush wriggled, but no, it didn't come flying off of the shelf. Now, that's a little, maybe one pound brush. About a week ago, I had a 3-inch thick, very heavy hard cover book fly off, slam into the top of my head, and fall to the ground. After I stopped cursing from the pain, I realized that my head was barely an inch (in height) below where the book was resting and nearly a foot away from this miniature book shelve. If that would've just been nudged off due to vibrations of me bumping the desk, it would've crashed on my hands and arms, not the very top of my skull, and then bounce to the ground. Something had to pick that thing up and drop it on me.
Okay, this thing wants attention, clearly. Now that it has gotten my attention, what does it want?
And on that note, I've written way too much for this entry. Being verbose isn't a bad thing, but at times it's trying to the readers. And, apparently, I have much on my mind that I need to get down and out on paper, or in my case, since it's a blog, into cyberspace. Adieu, my friends. Another time, and hopefully soon, at that.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I didn't even realize what had happened until a bunch of girls ripped the Study Room's door nearly off it's hinges, and dashed to the window. Curious, I got up, and looked outside, down 60 feet to the intersection below.
At first I just thought it was a crowd, until some of the people moved, and I saw a woman lying half on the median, but mostly in the street. She had been hit by a passing car and her body rested 20 feet away from the intersection. Her friends were sobbing frantically, hands over their faces, while people just milled about, no idea what to do.
It seemed like an hour had passed before I heard sirens. I tried to see what direction they were coming from--all directions. It took a good 15 minutes before a cruiser arrived and moved the group people to the sidewalk.
Students in the room were going, "Aw, man, some girl got smashed! ... AWEsome! Anybody see the impact?"
"Yeah, exciting, isn't it? Wish I'd seen it happen..." another added.
Angrily, I snapped, "You wouldn't think it was so exciting if was you lying there, now would you?"
Of course, they thought I was just some crazy woman. Ha, maybe I am. Still, in this wayI believe I am sane. I couldn't help but be disgusted with these people.
As I watched the ambulance arrive, I couldn't believe that they weren't helping her. Well, yeah, they put her on a stretcher, and then into the ambulance--but they didn't go anywhere!
By now, pretty much everyone had left because, well, there was really nothing more to see, was there? I stayed and watched, silently encouraging the drivers to go, but the vehicle remained stationary. About 10 minutes later, the coroner showed up, parking next to the ambulance. Then I knew she was dead.
Turns out the occupants of the car had bailed out after they'd crossed the bridge. As the car was speeding from the bad part of town, I can surmise that it was stolen.
I found out later that the girl was a student residing in my dorm, and that this was her first year of college. Well, doesn't that just suck. I really feel for her parents.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Life is a tragedy we must all endure. A beautiful and daunting tragedy. The unknown is meant to be unraveled, and we each play a part in this grandiose plot we call Life. Yes, life is an ethereal tragedy, don't you agree?
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I wish I could cry. I wish the tears would fall. But what will not come, will not wither. So this pain I will keep inside, inside of me forever. And Life will carry me onwards, as if this moment had never even happened. What will I do when I have nothing but moments like these? When my life is nothing more than bitter memories, and heavy burdens that drag me down, that hold me back? How will I survive?
Friday, June 26, 2009
What shocks me is that when I have these dreams, and the moment I awaken with them fresh in my memory, I have absolutely no fear, or disgust, or repulsion flooding through me--just a sense of, well, dismissive wonder. It's later when I talk about said dream, that I become disturbed. The images are vivid, so vivid. One in particular that I will never, ever be able to repel, that I'm sure will stay with me forever is the one thing no one could even conceive of occurring, of seeing themselves.
The macabre of such a possibility--not to mention waking up gasping, fumbling frantically for the light switch, sure it's lying right next to you, waiting for you, you waiting for it--that this scene, this moment coming true is immediate, imminent.
Have you ever had an image, whether it was created in reality, in a hallucination, or just in a simple daydream horrify you to the point of near insanity, where it's the only thing you can see, either with your eyes or your mind? Well, I'm there.
There's something... surprisingly sensuous about spinning slowly in a chair, and watching your surroundings move with such fluidity that makes you want to believe that that one moment will never end. It is... utter freedom.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
There is a cancer inside me: my chest, my brain, my soul. An energy, soul-consuming entity that is intent on tearing me to shreds. If I could, I would take a knife to my body to rip this sickness out from within me. It has a name. Do you know it?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I'm SO furious, so out-of-control angry, that the only vent I have is to SCREAM. But, here's the kick--I can't do it in person, so, in the center of my hollow chest, a mini-me is standing on the beach of an endless sea screaming incessantly. There is no end, just a continuous onslaught of throat-tearing screams.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Probably not something I should write about on here, but, honestly, where else can I write this down? Definitely not MySpace or Facebook.
Here, I have anonymity. Also, a wide range of readers with infinite, non-discriminative point-of-views may help me here. I'm up for any comments you may have. Some help, please?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Usually when I have dreams about ghosts or the supernatural, they contain people I've never met before, but this one had my brother in it. Not just a generic "brother" substitute--his actual face, body, attitude, etc. Most unusual.
Also, (but not as unique) my mother was part of my dream, too, but distantly.
Now, it's odd, because in my dreams, the layout of houses, towns, rooms, etc. don't look like anything I've ever seen, especially in real life but here, here in this dream, everything looked exactly like it does in the town I live in.
Most of it is lost in the Oblivion where most of my dreams go, but I do remember the end of it--quite vividly. Is it possible that I remember just this one part because it's so... so shocking and unexpected? Or is it because the images that I saw are a subconscious realization of my brother's abilities--though he tries desperately to deny their existence? I wonder...
I suppose that is a long enough introduction/backstory, so I'll get into the whole point of this entry.
I was at the store, getting groceries for dinner. While I was entering the store, I saw Brian, and asked him what he was doing there. He told me that he had had Rascle (our missing kitty) in his car, but when he got out to get something to drink, Rascle escaped. He was asking people if they had seen him and was showing them a picture he held of Rascle.
When I left the store, Brian was still standing out there, showing shoppers the picture of Rascle. I was the last car to leave--I had plenty of groceries to pack away. As I'm driving out of the parking lot, and down the street, I see my brother standing in the lot, talking to an elderly woman. In shock, I recognized her as our maid that had gone missing about two months earlier. (We by then--in the dream, remember!--had gotten a new maid, a much younger girl with honey-blonde hair.) Her long, thin, dark brown hair was twisted smartly up in a bun at the back of her head. Her sharp eagle-like eyes stared straight ahead, gazing into an open (and empty) field across the road. They were standing about 10 feet away from the soda machines that lined the store's outer brick wall.
I knew immediately what had happened, and turned the car around to explain the situation to him. I could sense his frustration growing. I pulled up and parked not too far from him. When I walked up to him, he turned and said, "She won't tell me if she's seen Rascle! She won't even look at me! What's her problem!?"
I sighed and replied, "Brian, she can't see you. I'm blown away that you can see her."
"What do you mean, "you can see her"? Of course, I can see her! She's RIGHT THERE!" He turned, his arm raising to point his finger at her. His jaw dropped in shock, and his arm froze. "Wh-where'd she go?"
"Brian, in a sense, she was never here."
"What do you mean? I was just talking to her!"
"I know who she is, Brian, and I don't think she's alive."
"What are you talking about?"
"The woman you were just trying to get a response from worked for Mom and I, helping around the house. She disappeared a couple of months ago, and I haven't seen her since. Up until now, that is. Brian, I think she's dead."
"She can't be dead, I was just looking at her!"
"Her ghost. You could see her, but she couldn't see you."
"I can't see dead people!" he declared, turning white.
I almost laughed. "Well, you just did." I eyed him for a moment, musing. "Brian, don't be so shocked, it runs in the family. I've been seeing ghosts most of my life, and Mom since she was a baby." I told him.
He glanced at me with the widest eyes I'd ever seen.
"Don't you remember the stories she's told? And remember Mikel?"
"The man you 'saw' once in the doorway upstairs, and you were so scared you flew all the way down them?"
"How do you know his name?"
"Because, Brian, I've been seeing him for nearly two decades. I first saw him when we were two."
"How do you know his name?" he repeated.
"He told me."
With that last statement, and his terrified & bewildered expression, my dream began to fade away.
Moments later, I woke up, thinking, "Whoa..." Since when have my dreams ever been as real, yet, as not real as that? What I mean by that statement is that my dreams, well, they're always a mystery (in origin). Very rarely do I have dreams that have any immediate and obvious relation to things I've seen or experienced in real life. Usually, they occur in places unknown, with people unknown. So, to have my actual brother and mother in a dream (especially together) is out of this world--so to speak.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Plan numero uno: Move the hell outta Dodge, and go (hopefully) to Milwaukee to acquire a Bachelor's Degree in Geology (and maybe even in Atmospheric Sciences). DONE!
Plan numero dos: Move to Colorado, near Boulder. Possible Vail or Colorado Springs.
Plan numero tres: Become a Professor at a college nearby.
I know--those will take time, a lot, in fact.
Other, nearer goals are:
Numero uno: Get a job and make some money for the fall. DONE!
Numero dos: Take a trip to Apostle Islands with my mom (and possibly my brother).
Y numero tres: Send some photographs in to a museum in San Diego and achieve recognition.
Monday, January 26, 2009
How can I feel this way, when I love myself for who I am?
And how can my insides feel like a barren wilderness, when I know I have so much to offer to my friends, my family, the world?
Maybe it's the love I never received from a father who never cared...
Of that I am sure, but... could it be for another reason as well? I don't know...
What I want to know, though, is why when I decide to finally cut myself free of him (several times) that soon afterwards an event occurs that causes the scars in my heart to be torn open and the savage agony to be felt anew?
How can he have such power over me? I know what others would say, "He doesn't have the power or the control. You are the one giving him your power, power over your emotions."
Okay, yeah. So? That I know. What I need to know is how to change it. When I know that, I will finally be free. I just hope that knowledge comes soon, before it is too late and the hole in my chest consumes me. Then I will be nothingness, a black hole of misery.
But, will it even matter?
This world is made up of billions of people. And each of us, we are just made of dust. That is all we are. So when I have faded, either in misery or through time, there will be nothing left of me. Not even reminders that a woman who felt, who loved, who lived in pain, ever existed.
Not that it matters. If there were others who did remember me, even if I became a very historical person, such as Susan B. Anthony, if I am to fade into dust, then those who remember me will as well. We will all turn into nothing but tiny windblown particles that will have existed for just a moment, to be lost in time.
No, it does not even matter...
I have so much to offer; so why do I feel so barren within?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Stunned, I watched, twisting in my seat, until I could no longer see them. It's unusual to see just one bald eagle. I saw three!
Three bald eagles, flying together through the sky.
Now, that's a sight to see. I doubt I'll ever see anything quite like that ever again.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
My uncle "died" November 23rd. But I do not consider him "dead". Yes, his body, the shell that carried his soul, is gone; his soul has been released from its physical cage made of flesh and bones. He is free from pain, and from suffering which he had endured for much too long.
I've been thinking of him lately. I know he's here, that he's watching. I can feel him.
This makes me wonder, if more people had my... sensitivity... would we as a race be so afraid of death? Consider it an end to all things? No, my friends. Death is just the beginning. From there we can see the past, the present, the future--all occurring at once--and we won't be afraid for there is nothing to fear. We just are. There, in that state, there is only the now, not the later, or the earlier, just this one moment in time that we are experiencing.
But that is just beyond the curtain, something we can't see--most of the time. Some people can see beyond the thin barrier, and what we see we almost never understand. That, therefore frightens us, and can give us more fear about our afterlife rather than a comphrensive understanding which will eradicate all confusion, hesistation, and terror.
Hey, I'm just like anybody else: I see many things that frighten me, mostly because I don't understand them, others because I know there is no way to protect myself from them. I mean, locked doors don't hinder those beings.
I believe the Dawn of a New Age is upon us, I truly do. It will be a while in coming, but when it does, I know many doors will open, possibilities will bloom for our species and the planet as a whole. Life as we know it will change.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Yes, a heart can be broken. And that break may be healed, some way, some how.
But what if a heart isn't broken? What if it's just fractured?
I wonder... Could it be healed? (To answer this question, step out of the box of preconceived conclusions. Don't follow step after step. Skip a few. Take a leap forward to find the answer, then go back to the theory and look at the result with newly opened eyes.)
Or could a heart be torn apart so violently by someone's actions, someone's deeds, that it can never be fixed? Would it be better to fall into a consciousness of nothingness, that is to say, a silent and willing release? Rebirth would be a better word, actually.
Could someone go on living when there is no life to live?
Is the dawning of a new day the death of the prior? (Or does it just meld with other days of past to resound as one moment, united by time?)
This is what consumes my mind at times.
Can you see why it is hard for me to connect with many people?
How can I talk to people, completely give myself over to them, if my musings are far more... What is the right word? Not advanced. Not scintillating.
No, I don't think there is a word for it.
Ha, how stupid of me. There isn't a word to describe what can't be described. How could there be?
I am resilient; I am strong. I know this. So why do I feel the way I feel at times? Why do I contemplate things, certain concepts most people can't even conceive? I guess the only answer here is that there is no answer. Some things are just meant to be contemplated, not really known.
Ah, Life's Mysteries.
I will remember this day for the rest of my life.
Maybe not the date, maybe not the exact time, but the moment... This moment will never be forgotten.
I wish I could go into detail about this, but I can't. I can't... I can't tell you.
This feeling, this aching pain in my heart... it's not something anyone could ever understand. Not until they feel it themselves.
How can tears, something so small, feel so heavy, so hot?
Is it a psychological perception? The thought that they are heavy and that they burn--is it because your heart is heavy and consumed with sorrow? Is this heaviness racking my heart due to a release of burdening emotions?
I don't know.
And... and I don't think I want to.
Sometimes, just sometimes, things are better left unknown... unsaid... forgotten...
After years of being told I’m ugly, something to be despised, I believed it. I believed that. I believed that no one could ever love me because I was so disgusting to look at. After years of an abusive father, and endless days of being tormented by school bullies, I thought myself as not worth the price of air, to be lower than the scum on someone’s shoe.
It’s taken me a long time—a very slow process—to change that belief.
It started out slowly, little pieces of glowing disbelief, here and there. Once every great while I would look in the bathroom mirror—in the middle of getting ready for school or some such thing—and stop in amazement. I would see somebody I didn’t recognize. Who was this olive-tone skinned, vibrant chocolate-brown haired, flush-pink full lipped, intelligent eyed girl’s reflection in the mirror?
Yes, it started slowly. Only in the last couple of years has this feeling, this thought, this belief began to bloom, expand, proliferate. Instead of it happening once every couple of months, it began to happen once every month, then several times a month. Now, it seems as if every time I look in that silver-coated reflective surface I see what I thought never existed. My beautiful soul and my intelligent mind were not hindered by an ugly physique—which is all most people look at—but enhanced by a beautiful body and an even more beautiful face.
And now, now I whenever I think of this, this transformation, I can feel a warm golden glow inside my chest. A better way to describe this is to imagine a black hole, an empty space full of self-loathing and insecurity. But, suddenly there’s a little shining star, the size of a grain of sand, just materializing out of nowhere. That little star dispersed light into the darkness, creating a glimmer of hope, a minute trickle of the dawning of the inherent truth that could only be found in time and within one’s essence. With time, that little sparkling star grew to become a radiating sun, bigger than a sizable mango. A flickering, flowing sun that burns with self-satisfaction—not pretentious, but a sense of confidence, of trust, of certainty in oneself—and hope and love and above all, serenity. Serenity in being true to myself, in being content with who I am, and being unafraid to walk my own path. That is what this epiphany has laid out before, and within, me. In my mind’s eye, I can see this sun revolving in my chest; I can feel—when I focus—the heat, the warmth, and the intense yet gentle feeling of being whole, at one with the Universe, at one with myself.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
(In the video, you hear me state, "...then waking up next morning only to have your car get stuck in the driveway because it (the snow) is all back there again!..." That actually happened, people. Now, about a week or so ago, the temperature rose above 40 degrees, so a good amount of the snow melted. It has snowed so much lately, that there is another foot--to say the least!--on top of the snow that melted and froze again when the temperature dropped to nearly below zero!)
Snowplows. And their drivers. They. Drive. Me. Insane!
Ya think they could be more considerate! Actually, I bet they get their kicks pushing several feet of snow into people's driveways. More specifically, I think they look for driveways that appear to have been shoveled, not snow-blown. They probably already have those houses memorized from either earlier snowfalls this year or just past knowledge--that's what sucks about living in a small town. Everybody knows ya, so you really don't have any secrets. Now, here's today:
(When I say 'neck', I really mean 'chin'. That's how high that snow pile was. And again, I stop the vid too soon and cut myself off. Duh!)
That last video of the snow pile was of the sidewalk of the house kitty-corner to our own. It was probably about, I don't know, maybe a foot and a half of snow? Ours is a good five feet plus! We shoveled nearly a foot of heavy snow yesterday just to have an added three and a half feet of hard-packed give-me-a-hernia snow that had been pushed/piled back into the bottom of our driveway. Pisses me off to no end. And while my brother and I are heavin' and hoin', there are people everywhere, flaunting their shiny--probably friggen brand new--snow blowers, smiling inwardly as they push it along their 10-foot long sidewalk and very small, flat driveway. Grr... Sooooooo frustrating...
Thanks ever so much, Mr. Snowplow. Have a nice Christmas...
What did I do? I dashed inside, put socks and my boots on, threw on some extra shirts and a sweatshirt, grabbed my camera, and headed outside. I took a picture, then looking at it, realized pictures wouldn't do the scene justice. (I was thinking of putting a few on here, but they are butt ugly and completely ruin the scene.) I tried a few more times, determined, before thinking, "Duh, I'll just record it!" This is the outcome. (You'll hear me talking in some of it.)
I don't know why there's a dotted blueish purple line going through the middle of my camera screen from the lamp, and I didn't want to mention it in case it didn't actually record it, but it did. Bummer. Yeah, I know the streetlamp itself is pretty ordinary and somewhat ugly, but what I was really talking about was the orange glow of the light itself. The actual recording captured the scene better than the photos did, but still not good enough for me. I really need a damn good camera/camcorder that can get really great footage of things in the dark, as well as capture the true colors of the environment--something this camera will do at times, but usually won't or can't.
In the second vid, I tried to capture the angle of the snow and the serenity of the moment. I probably should've shut up more, but in the third one I barely talk. Here I tried to show the amount of snow falling even in the darkness, but again, didn't work out quite the way I wanted it to. And yes, I really did this at 2 in the morning! Actually, it was the perfect time because there weren't any cars zooming around or kids yelling--it was complete silence (except for my voice, my footsteps, and the hum of the streetlamp.) But, standing out there a while, I began to feel the cold, especially in my fingers.
In the third--and last--vid, I just tried to get the snow without any sound, but you could still hear my breathing, the snow crunching under my feet, and the fingers moving around trying to get a better grip. "Looks like static, doesn't it? It's snow!"
In a way, the snow coming down kind of made me feel like I was flying through space at warp-speed. You know, in Star Trek when they're trying to get away from someone or something they hit that button and all of a sudden the stars' small dot of light becomes a streak and you shoot forward at hyper-speed? Or maybe swimming through a stream with a lot of bubbles being pushed by a current. Hmm...
A little footnote, here: Remember how I said we've gotten over 30 inches of snow so far? Well, add what we got last night, another 4 inches, AND what we're getting right now. Yeah, right now. I just looked out the window to see it snowing like fricken' crazy and another 2-3 inches of accumulation on my car. Damn it.
This experience is actually fairly old (in days, that is); it happened at the beginning of December during our first snow. I was running a little late for classes and, lo and behold, a few miles out of town there were at least 7 cars backed up. I saw flashing lights ahead and though, "Uh oh, who went into the ditch this time?" With a glance, and to my surprise, I saw several people running on the highway--one who slipped on the ice and tumbled into the ditch. When I did my double take, I saw this. (I knew nobody would believe me, so I took pictures.)
It was then I got to thinkin', "How the hell did the horses get out?" And it's not like one horse said, "Hey! I'ma gonna jump over this slightly broken fence and make a run for it." No, I counted at least four horses on the run. Four! I think some idiot left the gate open.
I would've been mad if it hadn't been so comical. Seriously, there were so many guys chasing these horses who, probably moments before had been pulling a Braveheart, thinking Freeeeeeeeeeeeedom!--with an Scottish accent, of course--before being sighted and herded back to their pens.
See the little pinprick of a guy to the far right in the picture? Yeah, that's the copper. Mr. Cop over there got a little sidetracked and, instead of directing traffic, stuck around to watch the little horsies get herded back to where they belong.
Not somethin' ya see everyday, so I don't blame him.
Friday, December 19, 2008
My blog title, and any references to my blog title, are being changed due to some annoying error.
Instead of looking like this: "Space & Time Aligned" it now looks like this: "Space & amp; Time Aligned". I'm pretty close to pulling my hair out in frustration. So for now, I'm changing my title to be "Space and Time Aligned". I would really like to change it back the way it used to be.
Can somebody help me with this? Any help at all would be appreciated!!!
I feel strong like a living glacier, carving its way through a mountain valley. And I feel... I feel like the sun, blazing with light, holding the Universe in place with my gravitational pull.
I feel free...
Snow is swirling all around me--snowflakes dancing as they fall.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
2. Laugh and giggle when something amuses you, no matter how silent others demand you to be.
3. Continue to be your weird self even when others are looking at you warily.
4. Create your own path instead of always following others.
5. Always be open to new ideas, even when they're not open to you!
6. When someone asks your age, don't be afraid to tell them. Hey, you've gone through a lot of shit to get to the age of 53--be proud of it!
7. When someone bumps into you and snarls "Excuse you!", smile serenely and reply, "Hey, nice to see you again! Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime!" Wave and walk away, leaving the person's open mouth and perplexed expression behind you.
8. One day, instead of going to work or school, play hooky and take that small road trip that you've been wanting to take for such a long time. Memories of adventurous excursions will last forever.
9. When someone tells you you're wrong, realize that the only thing that' s "wrong" at that moment is someone telling you you're wrong!
10. Just once, dance in a thunderous downpour and feel the rain wash the past away. Start your life all over!
What does this really mean? To have a sense of place. By definition, your "sense of place" is the place where you connect with nature, with a certain landscape. For most, it's where they grew up, or frequently went to on vacation. It could also be where their family lives. For example, you live in Wisconsin but the rest of your family lives in Oregon. So for you, your sense of place is Oregon, not Wisconsin.
For me, it's an entirely different matter. Though I've lived in Wisconsin for the past 17 years, I feel no connection to this state, or its landscape. Sure, Door County is beautiful--a very picturesque place. The Apostle Islands are stunning, somewhere I would love to go again--but I don't feel a connection to them at all. There are many places I would love to visit again, such as Spain, Morocco, the Eastern U.S.--but again, I don't feel an attachment to any of those beautiful places.
My connection, my sense of place, is the state where I was born: Colorado. I've only visited it a few times since my birth, once with my mother, including my brother & family friends, and the others with my father & brother. The Rocky Mountains, the landscape, just takes my breath away. I feel a sense of belonging there that I have never felt anywhere else.
And... in a way... in a way I feel like I'm losing myself, little by little, every day I'm stuck here in this rancid state, instead of the place I belong. Yet, one day in the near future, I won't be stuck in this smelly state anymore--I will be where I belong.
I will be in Colorado, living within the borders of the most beautiful mountain range in the world.
I will be whole.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I'm gonna talk about something happy.
What? I'm thinking, here!
Hold on, it's coming...
Hmph... Any ideas?
Okay, I'll stop screwing with your head!
But, seriously, it's time for some happy talk--well, maybe not happy, but not dismal either. So, from now on, if you see a relentless amount of entries being desolate, I give you the right to kick me in the blog! *wink, wink*
Monday, December 8, 2008
My dream begins with a boy about the age of 12 (me!) stumbling along an autumn riverbank--which looks more like a small gorge containing a trickling stream--tall brown and yellow grasses crackling under my feet. The width of the stream is about 2 feet wide, the vertical riverbanks about a foot high. (In my dream, I'm following from about 5 feet away, looking up at myself. From the angle, that meant that I was wading--but what felt more like floating--through the water.)
To get back on track, I'm stumbling along the edge of the stream, frequently glancing over my shoulder, as if I'm being chased by someone or something. I get far enough away--probably about a mile or so--where I finally feel safe enough to stop. By now, the once small stream/river (whatever you want to call it) has widened from 2 feet to about 16 feet. The water was still an eerie black, as it had been since the beginning, and could've been 40 feet deep for all I knew--it was too dark to tell any kind of depth.
I sat down to rest before heading back and looped my arms around my legs, peering across the glassy surface of the slow moving water. Every once in a while, a small ripple would shatter the stillness and not in an "Oh, it's just the wind that's causing it," way but more in the way of, "Something is in the lake, displacing the water within its depths." (Hint, hint)
The next scene in my dream, I'm going along the same riverbank, the exact same path as before. Only this time, though, I'm with quite a few more boys, all dressed in some kind of uniform, like Boy Scout clothing. And this time, it's no longer autumn but winter, and we trek through several inches of snow to get to the same destination I had been before. The snow was beautiful and the air very cold. Again, we stopped at the same area--nearly the same spot--and looked around. I'm not sure why we we're even there. I do remember, though--very vividly--what happened next. One of the other boys dared me to step out onto the ice that extended about 4 feet or so from the bank. When I said no, one of them gave me a slight shoulder-shove causing me to slip and fall onto the ice. With the momentum, I slid to the farthest extension of the ice, which was, of course, too thin to support my weight; the ice beneath me shattered and I slipped into the freezing liquid. I completely submerged before coming up, gasping for air. I felt something gently bump the right side of my back, a few inches below my shoulder. Shocked, I scrambled back up onto the ice. I glanced over my shoulder and what I saw made me shove myself violently away from the ice's edge so that my back and arms touched the snow-covered bank. I supported my body with hands that slipped on the slick ice, my legs twisted underneath me.
For an indeterminable amount of time, there was absolute silence as everyone stared, stunned, at the sight before us.
There, in the murky water, floated a man's body. What had bumped me, was the man's shoulder. When I had looked to see what had touched me, the body was still a few inches below the surface, but was rising rapidly. By the time my back hit the bank, the man was bobbing in the water; parts of the back side of his body were above the water's surface. The fact that I can even tell you what color shirt he was wearing is extremely disturbing to me. (It was a reddish brown, or the color of rust.)
What's even more disturbing to me, is the fact that when I woke up, I didn't think much of the dream. I just thought, "Hmm... weird..." before getting up and getting ready for school. I don't know if it was because I was just waking from my slumber and I wasn't entirely conscious yet (though I felt more awake than I usually do in the mornings) or what, but it wasn't until tonight when I relayed my dream to my brother and mom, that the dream unnerved me. More like completely freaked me out. I could feel shivers going down my spine, and my stomach twisting uncomfortably every time I thought of it.
I'm not sure what this dream means, and I'm not sure I want to know. Would you?
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
And you know what I just realized? I don't care.
These entries are about me, about my feelings, my emotions, my beliefs, and my experiences. Because these other people are not me they cannot argue and criticize what I write, and they cannot dispute it. Until they live my life, exprience the things I've experienced, and until they feel the things I feel, then they (and this could very well be YOU!) have no right to belittle what I write.
So you know what?
I. Don't. Care.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
To be free of pain is worth the agony of being missed; to continue living in pain for the ones we love is the selfishness of them.
You did not die, for you live on within us.
In Loving Memory of my Uncle Phil.
Rest in Peace: You will be greatly missed by all.
Day of Ascension: November 23rd, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I'll begin my story with the last time I saw my dad--a few days ago. I don't know if I've wrote this on here before, but I want nothing more to do with him. He's messed with my life and me enough. Why'd I go to his house for dinner, then? Two words: my brother. I'm doing it for him. Our family is going through a lot right now, and I don't know how much more he can take, so instead of getting into the same old arguments about how I should "change my attitude" about our dad, I went over to his house. I did that, instead of enduring this:
"You haven't endured a tenth of the shit I have from our father, Brian. He's an asshole to the ninth degree! I don't want to see him, hear him, or talk to him! So why would I go over there for dinner? I mean, really, Brian!"
"Okay! Whatever, Sara! Get OVER it already! He may be an asshole, but he's still our DAD! Grow up!"
'Grow up!' Really? Hmm...
How do I grow up when at the age of ten I became more mature than my father? He's stuck at the age of two while I continue to excel in maturity and in my life.
You're rolling your eyes and asking, "Okay, we get it, but what's the point? Where are you going with this?"
Hmm... now that I think of it, I'm not really sure that I have a point. More like a need to get this out of my head. Is that a good enough reason? To get rid of the twisted sickness he's left inside my decaying skull? I digress.
Oh, and another reason I don't want to see him, hear him, or talk to him--I will not be sucked back in by his manipulative games. Never, ever again. I've wasted 18 years being controlled by him. And the last 2 years, I've been sucked into his games again... and again... and again. Well, I've had it--I'm done.
I've pretty much told him this--that I want nothing more to do with him. So what does he do? Pretty much invites us over for dinner ALL the time. Why? He's trying to butter me up, get me into his life again. All out of other flowery remarks, he tells me "I knew you would blossom when you went to college!"
"Aw, what a loving observation!" you're crooning.
Yeah, maybe... not! Even if he did mean it, how the hell am I s'posed to trust that he really, and I mean really, meant what he said? How can I tell? He's said so many hurtful things: "You have a black heart, a dead heart, Sara!" and he's done so many painful things: "I said, you are going to wear this! No?" Smack! Actually, it wasn't a smack; it was a slam--he lifted and threw me against a rack because I didn't want the cheapest, ugliest pair of pants ever to be donated to Goodwill.
So, you tell me... does he really mean what he said, or is he just playing another game?
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
I put up a good front. But inside? Inside I feel dead. Or cold. Or emotionless. Or completely and utterly alone. Discouraging, eh? Right now, though, I feel truly alone—completely alone. Like someone dropped me off in the middle of a crowded city and nobody there will acknowledge my presence—like I'm just not there. They move around quickly, and blurrily while I'm left standing, looking at myself with complete clarity.
Today, tonight, I feel as if I'm just a waste of space. Like the song, “Gotta Be Somebody” by Nickleback: “And everyone wants to feel like someone cares.” Right now I don't. I take that back. They do—they just don't care enough.
I feel a heaviness in my chest right now. In my mind, I'm seeing myself standing on a table, my fists hitting my chest, then thrusting them into the air, my voice screaming, “I just want to be loved; I just want somebody to care—to just be there,” while tears of anguish stream down my cheeks. As I'm doing this, I can see everyone's detached eyes watching me. I drop to my knees, gasping because I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs.
“Why do you feel like this, Sara?” you ask. I feel this way—and I know at first you're going to be like, “Oh, my GOD, get a grip! It's not a big deal!”—but it is, it is. I feel this way because nobody will play a game with me.
“What an over-exaggeration,” you're thinking with disgust. You're entitled to your opinion—but I can't change the way I feel. Please, please let me explain. At times like this, I feel like I don't have a family—that my parents died the day I was born, and I don't have any siblings.
I just... I just feel like nobody can stop for one moment and say, “Oh, of course I feel like spending time with my sister—my family—instead of going out with my friends yet again,” or “Of course, honey, I'll play a board game with you! It doesn't matter that we don't have more than two people; it will be fun because I'm playing it with YOU!” but no, that hasn't happened yet, and I doubt it ever will. Is that really too much to ask? I grew up with almost no friends. All I’ve ever had is my family—and sometimes not even that! So, I’ll say it again: Is it too much to ask for my family to care enough about me to spend some time with me?
I'm standing in the middle of a room, screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to just look at me, to just say that they care—but everyone is just walking by me with distant expressions...