emotions junction

emotions junction is a human vein
spread thick it tickles through and jumps the track
a flea onto another

the swirling clouds of human debauchery
have no shades to draw in day
they claw free and spook some to wake

happiness is heard without sound in a smile
but the vapors in motion thin it to a frown
hold it tighter to quilt the whole
nothings seamless in emotions realm

angry sounds of symbols smashed with drums not sticks
sadness rings of wingless tinkerbells flapping tired wrists

tread light inside the drama
when peace is rarely still
but long enough to concede
and be

Equal to the love you make

"I have love to give. I just don't know where to put it."

link

Words I imagine many live by, incidentally. There lives a creative, caring, aching need in human nature that desires an outlet. If not for, music, art and science would not exist. But this aching for so many is zippered in their too tight jeans. Consumption over output. So much is missed as a result. And all at once such an aimless ache sees an object in a person for its desired outpourings, only to empty it's contents to find rejection. The fire unleashed is too hot to handle.

But now the jeans are loose from the purging. Left believing the love was lost.

Why all this talk of love lately? I don't know, maybe because Mercury is in Pisces. The mind is busy frolicking through an idyllic forest and can't find it's way out. Still, there is much potential in the world.

If the angry woman yelling at the police officer at her door in desperate attempt to keep the dead body in her closet a secret could've found a better place to put it, what then? (this is a meant as both a reality and a metaphor for defensiveness) Or the politician who now lets down those he set out to protect in favor of approval from the dollar? What about him? And what about the world? Is it useless to ask why it is the way it is?

We have the tools to change it; to change ourselves, but we don't. The aching gets mistaken for something to be drowned, after a hard weeks work. The ratio of fun to mundane renders so many to spending precious free time escaping it all. I'm guilty. I don't know where to put it. I constantly mistake it. That's why I have a blog.

What say you?

love and a blind man

Sometimes I get to thinking the briefest of loves are like this scene in Amelie. Quick and magical as though time is completely without and to one party it's experiencing another form of life. To the other it's an expression of raw joy and happiness in need of an immediate spread.

And then it's over. And what you take with you is a brief moment in time, and another perspective.




That's all I have to say right now...

Gestalt

Talking about Gestalt principles in my design courses just makes me think about psychology. Not in the Gestaltic way of how we perceive objects, but how these perceptions pertain to living life, forming relationships and conquering fears.

The very brief breakdown:

• Similarity
• Figure & Ground
• Proximity
• Continuation
• Closure

Finding similarities in ourselves and the world around us. Grouping things together as toddler's with our hands, building blocks, putting the square into the square hole.

brought to you by

Finding out the difference between figure & ground, what we see as being real and what holds up that reality.

Proximity, how far is it from me? How far are you from me? Are we separate at all. What separates us.

Is it continuous? Will this road continue or segment into another or is this a dead end. Seeing paths as blending into one another.

Closure. Finality. Inside the box. What really is there to say about closure? It is what it is...

What I find so interesting about this, is in Gestalt theory we've managed to both classify and ossify the way in which we perceive. As a result these theories are used to make things easily understandable, which is a good thing I suppose. But, I wonder if in the defining and use of these theories if we've managed to miss a road that perhaps lead to opportunity for other ideas about and in perception. This is of course not to say that there are not, but if the mind is drawn into what makes it easiest, does it grow from the experience? Or does it have less thinking of its own to do.

Just questions meant to be posed in the least literal way possible.

no moons a new moon

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new lunar cycle, with the new moon in Pisces. I hear a crunching sigh of relief from my insides... That being said, tonight is the end of the cycle. It's a good time to zipper things up and put them into the memory bank and tomorrow's a great day to start a new project/task or whatever. In case you were wondering.

New Moon by Jennifer Kay
at least I still have my sense of humor :)

At the end of a lunar cycle I like to do something symbolic. I have to say today I felt like all my bottled up emotions were shaken violently and thrown repeatedly at a hard surface to summon spontaneous combustion. Maybe it had something to do with the rousing games of trampoline dodgeball I played yesterday and all the bouncing and shaking that went with it :) Regardless, combustible I was. And when that bottle burst open and hosed down my insides with my own poisonous saccharine I decided to reframe it in my mind. This of course followed the inevitably unforgiving standoff with logic and reason over emotion and imagination (in my case, delusion.)

So reframing. I worked out for a bit, followed by laying in silent contemplation imagining I shook my own soda pop can, turned and faced the last month and opened it direction of the past. I let it shoot, spray and cover it in my mind so I wouldn't have to bring it with my insides into the new lunar cycle.

Do I have a point? Well, kind of. I suppose I'm just demonstrating one way of working with the constant cycles of nature and the universe. There are times where it makes sense to sync up intentions with the cycles of life. Using the mind to deconstruct that which is destructive and put it to the past. For whatever it's worth, falling in touch with the moon is like riding a wave in your internal conscience. Waxing (doing) and waning (receiving) along with the currents.

a dog and a harmless stranger

The dog in the back yard on his chain sits and stares at me. With a nervous posture, ready to be on the defense. It reminds me of the way you look at me and the standoffish feel that puts me on the defensive too. Only the difference is I can tell him it's okay, I mean you no harm. I would only care for you unconditionally if you let me in.

This had me thinking about Venus and Saturn contacts. It's a viable metaphor for how these contacts often pan out. They can produce a standoff or a denial of affection. It puts Venus on the fringes. Saturn thinks Venus is all fun and games. But Venus just wants to love and care for Saturn, be Saturn's helpmate, nurturing confidant and tend to things for him in beautiful and graceful ways. In return she wants to be appreciated for doing so in the very serious and steady ways Saturn is capable.

Saturn causes Venus to long for the seriousness of love, but if Saturn keeps the door closed to her she feels rejected and flaunts her beauty and fun loving side all the more. It's an awkward dance. I guess maybe if Venus just told Saturn in a mature way how she felt, maybe he'd lower his shoulders and sink into her loving arms.

But maybe it's just too hard...

color

undiluted dribble

There are many questions, too many to ask I suppose. Like why do the tiniest of sounds sting the ear drum when all is quiet, but not at other times; just the same as the bite of some copious self truth on the ego's rear. Why do we resist if resistance is futile. Or why there's a battle in society of grace and acceptance versus self empowerment. Maybe they are one in the same.

I can't really say where this is budding to life from. It's probably just that portion of the lunar cycle where the view is angled just right as to see drama for it's ostentatious bright light. All I know is wishing to wake up as somebody else isn't profitable because one wouldn't know they were somebody else if they were no longer themselves. They'd just be somebody else and none the wiser of who they were before.

bag labeled love

Sometimes you want to fall in love
with the world
you see it from where you stand
and do
fall in love with it

Then it turns
you turn with it

But the backpack labeled love
stays in that spot
where it started to turn

The ride is vivid and indigenous
but you long for the love
you left at the start

When you round the end
it begins again
pick up the bag labeled love and open it
or does it open you

won't you be mine

oddnumberedlife.blogspot.com wants to know about your favorite first date. Although the author has a few hang ups with this commercialized holiday, she's still rolicking in a little sentimentality. She'll get this party started.

My favorite first date was with the man I would not too long after marry. We met, incidentally of course, almost fated and he called me right away, which I loved. It was a Thursday in July, he pulled up to my shitty apartment complex in New Brighton in a Gold Expedition. I watched him walking towards the door and was googley eyed by his forearms. He was wearing a soft navy button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, all tan and meaty.

We went to the Olive Garden in Roseville and ate dinner. I ordered crab stuffed ravioli and boldly asked him if he would be insulted if I ate all of it. I would later find out that statement clenched the deal. We went to the Como Park Conservatory after dinner where some sort of wedding or reception was happening. We wandered the grounds and made out passionately, probably not far enough away from this group event to remain incognito. We went to see Fahrenheit 911, my idea, later which I would find out he's rather conservative and HATED this movie ;)

He brought me home, we made out by the door and I went to bed dreaming about those forearms. Sigh.

Your turn...

Odd Numbered 7 Year - update

Well, so far it's fit to a 'T' the essence of the 7 energy. I find I'm back to my mystical self, running around lighting candles and incense, laying low in quiet meditative reflection and finding creativity within an intuitive approach to cooking. In addition, perpetually finding myself alone.

This alone thing is great, but it feels unnaturally intentional. Where lonely reaching outwards is consistently futile, there's no response. So you hunker back down and inwards and find your smarter self quietly talking you through the termagant.

The protagonists, however, appear magically in the darkest hours.

Times where shit has hit the fan and my absentee support system has found me face down in a pillow. Beep. A text or a call from someone completely unaware with some jolly undertaking to toss into the mix. Which fogs up some laughter. The intricate thing is they are characters largely unaware of the plot line. Having entered briefly a chapter or two ago, only to enter stage right as if on some silent cue.

It's rather amazing, for lack of a more exploratory term. What's more? Well, within all this time and space a voice I never knew becomes more whole. Most days are of a subdued joy and going to bed at night is an enormous sigh of relief.

So 7, I can handle, but it comes with very quiet colors...

bad Lifetime movie

Some days I'm troubled that no offspring will find a box of these little books tucked away somewhere. With their tails hanging out and yellowing paper.
Their faces a little anxious, like a bad Lifetime movie, opening them without reading.
Hesitating, what they'll find; as though this mystery woman, their mother, would finally be unmasked and her life gone before visible in the most revealing way imaginable.

And then, I think, that's just dramatic.

Maybe I just want to know somebody that intimately and have them know me.
Still the dramatic scene aforementioned is in small ways true.
Our insides are never completely outside.

I wish I were an artist and I could plaster them on walls and be momentarily relieved of their perspective.
I could view them from a far and find them
beautiful, meaningful and still not enough.

that moon plays hide and seek...

Some people are like trying to see the moon as you catch it's glance while driving down a city street. In between houses, buildings and trees you see its light but you're driving damn it! Turn head left, turn head forward, left, forward, left. More damning. You know it's likely beautiful and awe inspiring, but you cannot capture its full essence in your mind within this game of hide and seek.

I wonder if in the vast spaces of the country is where these people live. Maybe in that space you'd find them nude and full, or would the timing always be off and in the vastness you'd find nothing but the new moon. Hiding it's face in totality. As if it's never to be seen.

I have no answers just wonder and in the wonder I fathom that maybe I too am the hide and seek moon to somebody else. Circular in motion the karma persists.

abandons bully...

You can create or change anything with total abandon...But, what does that mean? Let's break it down a bit, shall we?

This is not mine. Belongs to this blog.

When I think of total abandon, I receive two exotically different sets of mind imagery. One largely resembles this blog, and please, if you've never, for the love, please do.

- Wildly uninhibited
- reckless
- childlike
- involving stick figures
- pancake sized tears
- dramatic video break up letters
- body paint

Also not mine or erotic, or naked.
you get the point

The other?

+ darkly tumultuous
+ erotic
+ raw expression
+ disrobed
+ covered in olive oil
+ holding a large sceptre to club those who might wish to strike  against the mission at stake.

Ready? Let's go back

d
  o
   w
     n

To Earth that is! And find what? Such 'nonsense' is surrounded by practical bullies and media that patronize such abandon. Instead of stick figures or naked sultry unflinching truth, all is depicted with straight jackets or the homeless. And why? Well, I'm not sure, but it makes 'sense.' At least it does in a reality where we tame lions and killer whales who are far superior in their instinctual abandon than us.

What the hell am I trying to say? I guess that maybe there's an audacious and fancy-free side in all of us working to break through and protect the rawness of our soul from further packaging and shackles. And maybe the management and the keeping out of things wild is just a reflection of what we've done to ourselves.

This is not to say that structure is unfounded. I get it. But there's no middle path in abandon and I look forward to the day I finally hurl myself into its volcano.

What say you?

revisiting the whole past life thing...

I had a past life regression session. I unabashedly admit it. What happened? Well, it was kind of like hypnosis, only you're completely awake and watching pictures in your mind and describing them out loud. Everything was both vivid and fuzzy at the same time. I'm as far from being a history buff as is possible, so clothing and housing styles were lost on me. A long long long time ago is all I could render.

In a way I was glad to have had this disadvantage, it kept me from running down the trail towards some idealized historical figure and deciding I was them. Like Cleopatra, which is a popular one amongst the past life world, but nobody ever takes the time to connect all the people who've reported being Cleopatra to vote unanimously on who has the most evidence. Ha!

In all seriousness, if that would've happened, I probably would've shut the door on the mystical just based on my distaste for anything too mainstream. But, what does that mean?! Did I hinder my uncoverings because I didn't want to be a 'somebody?' Maybe this humor is mine alone. ;) Was it real? Okay, I look at it in three different ways:

1. It was real
2. My imagination conjured up stories
3. My imagination conjured up stories to aid me in understanding my unconscious processes and how they related to self destruction and destructive relationships at the time.

I lean towards number three. Was it helpful? Most definitely. I've always had issues speaking my truth clearly when it comes to authority figures or those I somehow deem to be 'above' me in some way. Finding out I was be-headed for misusing power was a very enlightening metaphor for this tired problem. Did it make things different? Not really, like anything else it just brought greater awareness to something to be whittled away at with time. Like counseling, only condensed and less expensive in the long run.

What about this whole concept of reincarnation? Sometimes I get to thinking it's definitely real and sometimes I think it doesn't matter. If you believe it to be real and it's part of your reality, then it is real. Because it's your reality. There are all these kinds of things ruminating in the collective (un)conscious. I've experienced my share of the rare and let me tell you, I know it was REAL. I was there.

Moving on. There was a book that came out years ago, I cannot for the life of me remember the title, but it was all about these little things that children would say. For example; one little boy never wanted to wear slippers, when his mom finally asked him why he wouldn't wear them, he said "I used to have to wear them all the time in the hospital I lived in." STFU! Who knows.

Regardless of evidence, is the exploratory harmful? I suppose it can be if it's being shoved down someone else's reality. But if the intention is to open pandora's box of possibility, why not? 

What say you?

la puella...

I wonder at thoughts of what it was like to live in the 1800's. So many developments that were truly new, inspired and breaking form. How shocking it all must've been. But in pondering the new of today, I feel somehow it's maybe less new and exciting, or maybe that feeling just never has enough breath for anything remotely resemblance of longevity.

I confess to being a bit of the puer (or puella rather) - eternal youth - as Jung would reference. Typically attributed to men, a wanderer who finds disappointment once the new wears off, nevertheless, has the audacity to go off in search for the new again. I will say, it's more practical and internal for me.

I suppose what I'm getting at is the puer, regardless of Jung's attributes, is synonymous with the experience of new. The dawning in your mind and soul that lights up the face and sends you on a manic high of exploration; until it's no longer so fresh.

So what is new and pure today? In the broadest sense?! I had a conversation with someone who spoke of how it's all been done before and quite frankly, I found it depressing. This was however partial to a particular subject, but I think it spans the gamut in relevance. Anyways, I truly can't wrap my brain around this. With so many realities flooding the world of consciousness it's new to someone! Or like my school friend who is a graphic designer and color blind in one eye, there's someone who see's it differently and has that high of the new! I imagine our ears could be the same.

As always, no answers. Only questions. True to the puellian ways, I'll always loathe an ending. Leave it open, who knows...

What's new to you? I got an iPhone last week, it's still a little bit new! I have had no access to television for 2 months, that's more like reverting. Hmm...

just say no, to dating do's and don'ts...

Conditioned to be annoyed. Needy, too needy. He/She called me too quick. Oh No! Truly, steer clear of the mainstream article industry if you can. Alas, it's likely already laid concrete over your previously judgement-less base.  Every aspect of it is based on non-sense. Do you think cavemen waited 3 days to knock down her door after meeting over a joint bear roasting? Probably not.

Has the pool and the opportunity become so much larger as to leave us more selective? It seems though, in a lot of cases, it's not even being selective, it's just the game made of the rules put into play. Not me. Never. Really? Well, maybe, but I bet there's a lot of opportunity missed because of these small and inconsequential determined cues. I myself am guilty.

I guess maybe next time in the Freudian stage of projection, I'll think twice, instead of writing someone off for some ridiculous rule stewing in the collective conscious melding with my unconscious and find out for myself.

An apples skin isn't always perfect, but its sweetness underneath we'll never know unless we actually bite right in...

What say you?

play...

...

Feed the filler.

taste the void

scratch the wound

paint the outer

waste the strength

ignore the haste

loathe the wind

choose the myth

reveal the beginning

Bestow the end.

...

hearing...

Sometimes I get to thinking there's as much power in hearing as there is in listening. But then again...As you may have gathered by now (or not) I go places alone a lot. I feel no need to make plans in advance or enlist entourage. There are however, 'consequences' in these endeavors. For example, at least 3 out of 5 of my lone ventures result in the following. I end up near a talker, or rather that's an assumption, they may not even be a talker, but rather someone who has nobody to talk to. Regardless, they talk.

Stories long since passed, in tones with an ego screaming for validation. I listen, nod, engage, ask questions and react, but it keeps going. I was writing, I was mid-thought! The motion back to pen and paper doesn't deter these ear mongerers. But! When I think about times I've let my own ego roll out its own red carpet and exploited some other listeners ear, only to wake up feeling cleansed and confident, I'll drop my pen and latch up my moleskin.

Being heard is truly a gift. I have ears and you know what, sometimes, there's a morsel of something pertinent that lies somewhere between the ego and my ear which gets caught. Suspended in air, hanging, waiting for its outlines to be filled in with color. Just as its' receptivity colors the blank spot of the ego.

There are so many in the world neglected as individuals, and as I'm reading this for typos, the thought of the truly close people in my life crops up. And how much easier it is to listen to a stranger for an hour and how easy it is to drift off from an everyday story from someone I love. And these crimes are an accomplice to so many loves. So much so a reflection of our own talents; screaming in our faces, but as we listen in a way to suggest the ego is bigger than the talent. It couldn't possibly be true. But in these aggrandizements the dream is born.

A nose is never average in size in a dream. It's oversized, undersized, mis-shapen, sharp, etc. with reason! Like Kirk, the ex-cop, our dreams and talents take time to find versus falter. Why do we need to fault them from the get-go? Let 'em speak and stumble, aggrandize and evolve until that space between emerges for the colored; truth; exposed.