My Therapist's Urging: Write.

My Spirit,

Pulsing through my veins with all the force of the universe. It’s what brings me life, gives me my self. Lately it seems like we are strangers, though. Like an uncertainty has taken form where once was my being. Can an uncertainty be a tangible thing, an actual thing, a real something? I would never have believed it if I didn’t actually feel is so strongly. It’s bland but unavoidable. Powerful. Instead of rich, warm blood running miles through my body, I’ve got this stagnant murky slush. Some days I can’t move, and not just my body – but my mouth, and my brain. Some days it takes more effort than I think I can conjure. But I don’t care. At least it stops. Sometimes, on the dark days, the vein slush even keeps my tears from forming.  

But I live.

When I can’t keep my thoughts from damming up with my heartaches and anxieties, I remember when things were different, when my Spirit was different:

light

and free

and bold

and aggressive.

I could do anything, literally anything. I can say “yes”, then say “no”, and both are true and right. Because I could do anything – everything and nothing – just because. I am at liberty, and, really, aren’t we all? And I felt it. Like the freshest breeze at the beginning of Spring, after the snow melts and the daylight is finally longer and the world is bright and things are new. That was inside of me. The Cosmic powers that keep Life circling from infinity down to the dirt pulsed through Me, and I was alive, and I didn’t doubt it. Not once. And I think of where I went on a whim, who I loved completely, how I laughed unceasingly, when I thought about everything because it was in my grasp and so available.

Something happened. Something blocked me. Something inside shut off and stopped going for it or believing or really hoping that things are more than what they seem. The air is gray and heavy.

 

Today I sat with a woman while she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Life is gross, sometimes. People are cruel and humanity is cold.

 

 

But, regardless, my Spirit still flies. It’s sometimes so out of control it seems to live a life separate from me. At the end of the day, or the end of my slushy, icy spell, the fact remains – my Spirit is mine.

My Spirit is sweet, and soft, and alive, and brilliant, and strong, and resilient, and clever, and hopeful.

 

My Spirit is Me, and I keep on living.

Art in Motion

You are exceptional.
A thing of real beauty.
Even a work of art.
     Living, breathing-- art in motion.
     Deciding who to be and where to go and when and why.
Where you are at this very moment is because of those things.
You have potential.
     You know you do.
          To be brilliant, extraordinary, breath-taking.

The way you think is rare.
Your care and love are treasures.
     Special.
     Specific to you.

This world is big in size, big in scope.
But in terms of its composition, it's formed of billions of you's.
     Individuals.
          With ideals and dreams and hurts and hunger.
They are here with you.
With you on purpose.

Move.
Act.
Go.
Be.

You have it in you.
You've had it all along.
The world needs your goodness.
It needs laughter and life, and it's within your capabilities to give that to them.
In your being, deep inside, lies untold amounts of beauty that are perfect for showing those billions of you'd just what they've yearned for for millennia.

No one is,
Has been,
Will be like you.

None could ever give what you can.
     You matter.
     "Important" isn't even it.
          Vital.

Your action here is crucial to the existence of humanity itself, life as we know it.
     So, live.

Where's that Inspiration?

To write is to think, and to think feel, and that I've been trying to conceal. My heart is heavy and my mind uneasy, and there are very few to whom I may reveal the truth and the weight of the things I carry, the stories I hold, and the lives that so very greatly have moved me, molded me, and changed me to be soft and harder, loud and softer, 

disguised, 

barely, 

still me. 

Few places I’ve been, few faces I’ve seen, have shown me, outside of this, there’s something that really means more. It means life, means food, means family and love, and it’s simpler than government and politics, and a handout line, and a group, and a conference, and a stage that shines, and a song, and a city and a “someday dream.” 

Everything can change, and it begins with me. And it starts with you. And together that us can change, and we can grow. Together or apart we are still us, and life is still happening, and Africa is still there. So use me, or go, but don’t forget that my growth and yours matter. 

They change it.

We do.

Small Adjustments

There are a lot of differences between Greece and America. Though language is hardly necessary to specify, it is one of the biggest difficulties. After a week of sopping wet weather, the sun has shone, and things are heating up. Although, I’m never certain of the actual measurement of degrees, since it’s considered in the 20’s and is hot, whereas back home it would be in the 80’s. Normally at a restaurant, each person orders a plate for himself, but in Greece we eat family style all the time. I had a recipe for some crepes that I wanted to make, but when it called for a cup of flour and a tablespoon of vanilla, I had to improvise with the estimated amounts. I don’t know how far a meter is. Or how many kilos I weigh. I don’t automatically convert euros into dollars in my head. I sometimes feel a little weird kissing people on both cheeks when I greet them and at our departure, especially when I enter/leave a big group of people. I’m not used to taking a leisurely stroll; most of my walking has a purpose behind it. My coffee should either be piping hot or ice cold, because drinks are never their tastiest at a luke warm temperature. It should not be this hard to locate ingredients to make a root beer float -there are only two ingredients! 

It’s beautiful though - the differences. There are so many people who live life so differently from me. And they are able to live. Thrive. And progress. So much goes on in this world that we have no clue about; maybe we should branch out more often and see what else the world has to offer us. It might surprise us. You might discover that you know less than you thought and can learn more than you expected. 

Yin-Yang Sunset

It seems to be that the boldest, brightest, most beautiful colors are displayed the closer the sun is to setting, --like a slow buildup, working its way toward the climax and quickly taken by the dramatic close. Last night I was shone a hot pink sun, mere moments away from setting altogether. Its color was remarkable, not Easter-egg-pastel or sugary-sweet-cotton-candy pink; it was bold, and daring, and perfect. At this time in the day, the sun isn’t noticed for the amount of light it gives off, for it shines very little, but its attention-grabbing finale is seen in the colors it produces.

To be honest, I don’t even know if there were any other shades around it; if there were, I neglected to pay any notice. It’s likely, though, that whatever those colors may have been, there was no contest between them and their opposing conspicuous, brilliant beams. But these other tones, dull and unimpressive, held the capacity to highlight the intensity of this sun’s color. Without dim, how do we know bright? Those mediocre hues each played a vital part, as supporting roles, in the big debut of my electric pink sun. 

No thing has no meaning. It may seem a lesser part, but without it, nothing would be as it is. 

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.” I think Gandhi was onto something when he said this. 

Summary of my time

My average days, though planned for the most part, have come to be quite unpredictable. Although I have a routine, marking all my stops to my end-of-day-destination, the in between is paved by winding roads, narrow alleyways, and dead ends. It’s good to never get too comfortable, and I can assure you, that won’t be a problem for life here. 

The work I’m doing is simple enough, but, when put into context, may prove to be a bit challenging. It’s just regular life -meals, chores, school- but it’s not meant for me. For the last few months especially, my routine has been to serve myself. Don’t get me wrong; it’s never been in a selfish way. I try to make things I do matter to people around me. But I had no real direction in what I was doing, why I was there. I felt like I was floating around in limbo between school and this internship. Eleven months is a long time to tread. So, though I did my best to make the most of my time, this is a nice change of pace, where I see a specific goal to be accomplished, and I daily work to make that happen. 

By some beautiful chance of fate, I found myself last week giving an English lesson on parts of speech, which most would find tedious and dreadful, rather I was so happy to do it. There are also little preparations to be made for meals around the house, which I, along with the girls, help with. Another responsibility of mine has come to be facilitating a “craft” time with the girls. I opened up their craft cupboard to see what we’re working with, and a slew of beads, paints, canvases, and yarn covered the shelves. Needless to say, I am living the dream, perfectly constructed for me and my quirky (some might say ‘dorky’) interests. 

There is no way, however, that I am giving here more than I am receiving. I learn something new every day, dare I say every hour. The girls, co-workers, new friends, and city all have offered me so much. I’ve had to talk slower, speak simpler, and have become one of the best charades players I know. I have to be sure not to make promises I cannot keep, because disappointment runs deep. When working with people, I have to remember that being ‘off of work’ doesn’t mean ‘out of their lives,’ so no matter where I am, there’s always something I can do. I’ve learned how well I can sing Toni Braxton’s “Unbreak My Heart,” and also how difficult it is to sing while attempting to waltz, tango, or swing. I am able (though barely) to make that popping noise when you flick your finger on the inside of your cheek. It’s still a little uncomfortable to me when people cry, especially when I don’t speak their language to offer any comfort, and yet, sometimes, what is there to say anyways? It’s good to cry, and it’s good to feel, and it’s good to cry and feel for others. I’ve barely learned the Greek alphabet, let alone any words, but I’ve found that I can understand a lot just by hearing someone’s tone of voice. 

It’s true that love is universal, and I’ve found that fun and laughter are, too. I find myself consistently laughing, even though it’s hard to carry a strong, intelligible conversation. Maybe our enjoyment for others gets overshadowed by our need for intellect. We often times strive for this sense of superiority, sophistication. I think enjoyment in life is so simple, or at least it can be. There is this basic thread that weaves its way through all of us, connecting us in some beautiful way. We don’t need to try. It doesn’t require a great effort or a service trip or a sense of we’re helping them. I think becoming a community, really understanding that we all have something to contribute, and we all have something to receive, is what will make us our best. And once there, we will find ourselves with more to offer, and know that there is still so much more to learn.

Unintentional Public Service Announcement

“Ignorance is bliss” is such a curious saying. 

I suppose to some it could hold true in terms of receiving bad news, conjoined with the adage that “no news is good news.” I have a friend who claims that she’d rather not watch the news, because she doesn’t want to hear all of the terrible things that happen around our world. She’d rather live in blissful ignorance. But when making the conscious effort to avoid being informed, willing yourself to stay ignorant, doesn’t that erode away the true cluelessness? 

A while back I went to a concert that was truly horrendous. So much so that I literally caught myself plugging my ears during certain songs. While I was there, with all the wretched music around me, I was doing my best to drown out the sound. Though still aware that the music was being played, and that it was bad, I could muffle the sound enough to soften its blow. 

Isn’t that how that forced type of ignorance is? And the rest of us too. Maybe our avoidance isn’t as outright or noticed by others, but the fact that we have multiple methods of gathering nearly any piece of information we’d like gives our “ignorance” really no ground on which to stand. 

And then I think: Is it honestly bliss? Really? Perfect happiness? Being that unaware of reality, detached from current happenings, does not sound like bliss to me; it wreaks of misfortune. Without some sense of awareness, there is no hope for help. Exposure to heartbreak is a driving force of personal growth. So isn’t ignorance, in essence, depriving you from that progress? Wouldn’t we all be better off, hard as it may be, if we took it upon ourselves to experience some mental or emotional discomfort in hopes that we may be able to relieve another’s physical tumult or ease the pain of their realities? 

It’s very unlikely, after all, that you will stay in the dark about all topics forever. Once a light has been shone on the situations, it has also shown the time you’ve wasted in attempting to preserve your calm, peaceful perfection. There is nothing wrong with hoping for the best, but is that what we’ve come to - merely hoping with no action being taken? There is something so beautiful about embracing humanity -on any level. 

Sure, being informed about the many faces of life’s disasters leaves us with the feeling of next-to-no control, but there still is that small bit, that little sliver of maybe. Maybe if we know, we can help.

[I really began this simply because that phrase came to mind. This is just somehow where my mind ended up.]