Release

When I died, I flew away

Away from want and frustration

I flew away from confusion and obfuscation

I flew away… just away

 

I traveled over lust and curiosity

I saw anticipation and tingly feelings of joy

I watched longing and ache, melancholy and shock

I flew above them all and didn’t react

 

I saw myself cry

I saw myself leap for joy

I saw myself laugh so hard I held myself with my arms

I saw myself hiding in pillows and blankets

Waiting for the awful to subside

 

When I died, I felt and didn’t feel everything

It all traveled within me while I named none of it

Everything washed over me like an impossibly warm waterfall

The exact same temperature as my body

 

When I died, I left all of this

I left unrequited love and jealousy

I left I can’t remember and I don’t want to

I left you should have known better

 

From not too high above

I watched myself not have

I also watched myself hold and treasure

For a moment I worried that I might fall back into it all

 

I was heartbroken

I was ecstatic with life

I wept in spasms that I thought would rupture me

I remembered that I lept into anything, with people I loved

And I felt happiness too powerful to name

Without knowing I should label it for safekeeping

 

When I died, I felt everything

It all traveled within me while I held none of it

Everything washed over me like an impossibly warm waterfall

The exact same temperature as my body

Perfekshunism

I bought an ukulele and have begun teaching myself a few cords. I’m also taking a script writing class and continue experimentation with watercolors (as opposed to the acrylic paints, with which I’m much more comfortable). I’m really making a lot of effort to continue learning wherever and whenever possible.

All this on an island where I am constantly surrounded by and do not speak the native language and am trying to absorb and understand a culture that is seemingly entirely separate from my own.

… and it’s working. I’m not putting pressure on myself to learn any of these now. In fact, I’m giving myself permission to be awful at everything I’m attempting to learn. THAT permission to fail is much more foreign to me than the language here and I secretly love it. I love my immature paintings, fumbled strummed cords and garbled language and misunderstandings. Because that permission to fail is so foreign and thrilling… it’s exciting to finish something and say “wow, I really fucked that up – and it’s okay!”

Weeee!

What will I fuck up next? surfing? Well, maybe I won’t go quite that far… but I could try making nice with someone I really don’t like… or perhaps shutting the hell up when every fiber of my being wants to shout about something.

I’ll tell you what – something that’s been really pretty cool is giving myself permission to fail while meditating. Actually, that may just be the key to meditating for me… FAILURE to keep my mind in one place for more than a millisecond!

Okay, so to wrap this up… I’m discovering that my success in any one attempt/field/project does not define me. My ATTEMPT and the honest outcome of it – now that’s the sweet stuff.

Define me? Oh, who the hell cares. I don’t think I really need to do that anymore. Do you?

I know full well that most of these will get better with time. I also know full well that my [perfectionist] nature is also getting better with time. Who knows, a few more awful renditions of Under the Boardwalk on my ukulele, another awful scene written by Donna and another mispronunciation of a really common name here in Hawaii and I just may learn to never again beat myself up for anything less than perfection!

The Definition of Emotion

This is from Dr. Candace Pert:

[I began by defining emotion as] “the flow of information perceived to be essential for the survival of any particular state of consciousness making the observation.”

Candace is one of the small handful of scientists you see in the movie “What the Bleep Do We Know?” She’s an internationally recognized pharmacologist who has published over 250 scientific articles on peptides and their receptors and the role of these neuropeptides in the immune system. She spends a lot of time talking about the “molecules of emotion” (she has several books and CD’s REALLY worth checking out).

I gotta look at that again: “the flow of information perceived to be essential for the survival of any particular state of consciousness making the observation.”

A state of consciousness exists/survives – and informs me of its existence – because of certain ligands flowing into receptors (that’s the flow of information).

THAT’S IT? Jesus, God in Heaven, this frickin insanity that has tried to control my feeble little brain since the age of consciousness is a goddamn matter of squiggly things landing in squiggly thing soft spots? AND IF THEY DON’T LAND, THE GOD-AWFUL, IRRATIONAL AND POTENTIALLY LIFE ALTERING – IN A BAD WAY – EMOTION GOES AWAY?

Well, for heaven’s sake, wouldn’t it be nice to imagine controlling those soft-spots? Harumph, I’m pretty sure there’s a whole shelf of expensive prescription drugs surviving on THAT flow of observation… but shouldn’t it be easier? And cheaper… with fewer side-effects?

Seriously, if I can just catch myself in the act of an emotional wallop, shouldn’t I be able to tell myself that’s just ligands landing in soft-spots and this angst/worry/anger (insert your incendiary emotion here) would just pop off to oblivion if I could say… block its conjugal visit with that whore of a receptor?

Well hell if that’s all it is, this should be easy, right? I’m going to give it a try. The next time I want to kill someone, break something or run out of the room screaming, I’ll just remind myself that it’s not the situation that is actually all that bad – it’s the friggin ligands that are making me crazy.

Worth a try…