We’re a forever oriented species. We think that if something can stand the test of time (which is an oxymoron considering time is indefinite), then it means something, it’s worthy of our attention. Relationships, jobs, happiness-the closer we aim to “forever,” the more it holds significance. We are obsessed with endings in this weird, meta way, in that if an ending happens, it means we Failed At The Thing, but if there is no ending at all, then it’s a success. So if something just trails on until the sun collapses in on itself and the universe’s consciousness shrivels up, that’s the marker of triumph?
An ending is not an omen. It actually doesn’t even hold the binary of good and bad within itself; an ending is by definition neutral. I am always moved by the saying “all is well that ends well,” because it highlights the idea that it isn’t the ending we should fixate on, but everything that happens before it. If you truly loved someone with all the vulnerability and heart you could muster, and it ended, it doesn’t automatically curdle the entire relationship. If you proved yourself time and time again in your workplace and still found reasons to quit, it doesn’t mean that part of your resume needs to be burned. In your happiest moments, if you truly embodied the feeling and enwrapped yourself in every molecule of joy, it doesn’t make the lulls in your happiness proof you never had it in the first place.
An end is change, and truthfully, I don’t think we’re forever oriented-i think we’re change resistant. Something starts and we’re so enamoured with the newness of it all that we hope and pray its trajectory never changes. New experiences are juicy and good for the brain. An ending must mean all this potent neural carving must come to a screeching halt, right?
An ending is nothing more than a new experience flipped over. If you can’t let things end, all that luscious work your brain does during the newness will crack and dry into resentment. It is imperative we let endings take their natural course in our lifetimes, because that is the ebb and flow of the universe itself. Things begin and end in complete neutrality-why do we think our life experiences are any different?
Does time work against you? Is it time that slowly devours your flesh, ages your skin, shrinks your brain? Is time the silent killer, the morbid pessimist, the reality check that you are far from indesctructible? Are you ok with that, an immovable force dictating you?
I read my mother’s journals and yearn to have a child who will one day read mine.
As scared as I am of what I may produce on those pages,
for now, I still write on every line.
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I truly don’t believe there is such a thing as “right person, wrong time.” This is an age-old debate that brings up numerous perspectives and opinions, all of which are intriguing and valid. I have just never gelled with the idea that you can meet a person who theoretically ticks off all your boxes and the only thing standing in your way is “timing.”
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A small collection of acrostic poems
Alchemize – transform the nature or properties of (something) by a seemingly magical process.
At my will, I
let my soul dissolve and
may the bound and boundless
zero hesitations and an
How many times
can I write a rhyme?
Until my mouth sours like a lime
and I crumble under the divine?Read More »
Dream states are altered consciousness
and I know this
but the theory is immortalized as I slip into the abyss.
a white noise app fills the silence of the night. I pick familiar sounds to soothe my slumber-a crackling fire, a heavy rainstorm, roaring city streets. They envelop me in warmth and nostalgia.
I drift, closer to sleep.
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Why the “love and light” side of spirituality is bullshit
We come into the world in a stark, painful way. I’m sure there’s a lot of symbolical beauty in the birthing process, but until I have my own children, I can only see it as a physically excruciating process. We sit inside our mother’s womb, pretty content with things. Its warm, there’s a constant flow of nutrients, and you’re protected from the elements. You’re conscious, but in a very primal way. Your biggest stress is if your mom moves abruptly and it shifts you slightly left. But then the body encompassing you decides its time. Hormones surge in and the uterus contracts and you’re kicked out. And by kicked out, I mean you go through what I believe is your first traumatic event as a human. Your soft, malleable skull is pushed through an opening 10 cm wide (at best). Your entire body is squeezed through the vaginal canal. You’re ejected from your warm safe haven into a cold world, literally and figuratively, covered in blood and amniotic fluid. You are thrown into a new reality where you know absolutely nothing and cannot recognize anything but your mother. The first sound you make as a human is a guttural cry, to purge your lungs. Not to mention you’ve put the person who literally gave you your life through possibly the worst pain of their life. The cord that served as your lifeline for 9 months is severed, and you’re a part of the world now. No big deal, I guess.
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Someone gifted me an orchid some years ago. They’re gorgeous flowers, and I’m not usually one for flowers in my home (I prefer longer lasting greenery), but I loved them. Its arching branch produced many beautifully speckled and spotted flowers, pink and purple in hue. If you looked closely into the middle of the flower, its pollinating center was extremely intricate looking; thin stems covered in tiny bumps with a bulbous end. I was in awe of it, as I usually am with nature.
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