Ingredient 27 - Living

This post has been interesting to write...an unintended experiment, if you will (and even if you won't).  As it happens, the "ingredient" Living showed up at a time in my life when every day has been dramatically different in approach than the one preceding it.  So, being the ingenious trend-setter that I am, I decided to let this post be a direct reflection of my life and let it just flow with the go. 

Confused?  Me too.

As some of you know, I am an insufferable insomniac; HOWEVER, over the last couple of months my sleep-deprivation has reached soaring heights that I was unaware even existed.  HOW can a human being JUST.NOT.SLEEP?!?  The last couple of weeks of the last couple of months have been especially difficult of the especially difficult sort, and since my brain cannot - as a result - function for what passes as "normal" at this point in time, it has taken me DAYS to write this one, single post.  AND, since my moods have been contradictory and irrational, upon returning each day to attempt to compose something remotely entertaining (actually, most days as of late, I'd settle for coherent), I found myself wanting to erase what I had already written and start anew.  It became harder and harder to reconcile what I thought about Living with the Cray of the Day. 

This challenge of maintaining a consistent form of insanity long enough to write a fluid blog-post put me in what I can only refer to as Writer's Purgatory, and - as I am not Catholic - this was just not acceptable.  SO, I out-smarted myself (accidentally), and created the masterful composition that follows.  Over a period of almost two weeks (including the days in between writing), I simply wrote what I wrote and left it to its own devices to find a way to somehow meld with the rest.  From one day to the next, I had no idea what kind of neurosis or constipated genius was going to poor out of me.  And what better, more appropriate "ingredient" with which to commence such an experiment, than Living?

Buckle up, and keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times; all loose items should be secured, and checks should be made payable to Anastasia Seedling.  Wait.  What? 
Exactly...

DAY ONE:
Rather than using this "ingredient" to wax all philosophical about life lessons and all the greatastical, groovy stuff that makes life worth living...and blah, blah-fucking-blah...I've decided to blog on the things that suck about "living."  Yup.  THAT'S how I'm rolling today.  So, if you're looking for fuzzy hugs and warm smiles, or golden frogs that giggle every time they bump their asses, or baby unicorns running to and fro in fields of cheese and sunshine, you're in the WRONG PLACE.

Without further adieu (the french language makes no sense phonetically and is, therefore, stupid)... THINGS THAT SUCK ABOUT LIVING:

1.)  The bothersome obligation of personal hygiene.

2.)  Bugs.

3.)  People.

4.)

DAY TWO:
I have heard it said that "life is what you make it."  This is a big fat lie that leads people to believe that the human race has evolved beyond elemental susceptibility.  It is a lie made up to create the resulting illusion of control...and time.  Life is NOT what we make it.  Life is going to unfold under the force of scientific punctuation, mathematical probability, and cosmic intervention regardless of our meager efforts and tiny existence.  All we get to do is choose how to react, and THAT is the summation of living, my friends.  Life happens, and we react to it.

So, perhaps it is more accurate to say that life is the catalyst for choice...or maybe, choice is the catalyst of life.  But either way, life goes on whether we are making something of it or not.

DAY THREE:
I don't know much, but I DO know this: Life is a breathing paradox.  Life has all the answers, but can be stingy with them.  Life is the Soul's playground: alluring in its magnetism, but where many sharp objects lay hidden and where - from a distant swing set - cat shit buried in the sand assumes the appearance of a rare and beautiful rock. 

Life is a beautifully written parable that no one fully understands. 

Life is the best reason for living.

DAY FOUR:
Living...Life.  Life is what you make it.  Pass it on.

DAY FIVE:
Just because you are breathing does not mean you are living.  *The voices told me to tell you this.*

DAY SIX:
Why is it that every other animal in the Kingdom defines living with such inspiring simplicity: eating and sleeping.  They wake, they hunt, they eat, they sleep, and periodically they engage in some sexy-time. 

But humans: we have the "gift" of intellect and, therefore, the burden of "purpose."  Humans complicate everything with our so-called "intellect."  We spend our lives chasing "the dream," trying to define our grand reason for being.  Ugh...wouldn't it be so much easier to chase a gazelle?  Hell.  Wouldn't it be easier to BE the gazelle?

Perhaps we must first move away from simplicity, destroying everything in our wake, before we can return - aware - to the secrets carried on wind and wings, from water to root.

DAY SEVEN:
"On the 7th day, (s)he rested."  It occurs to me that in order to live, one must be able to rest...to sleep.  Even God took a break from all that "in the beginning" shit...to rest. 

And here, my friends, we have the final vérité, the only definition of "Living" that holds any Eaux:  Vivre est reposante création.

I am Epic and Awesome: Part Duex

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  Not only did I just get another blog award, but word on the street is that it was named after me!  See for yourself...

In case you don't know, my Native American name translates to "She of Epic Awesomeness" (to be honest, there IS some debate about it; there seems to be a small chance that it actually translates to "She With Ass That Rumbles," but whatevs).

Me receiving this award is just so damn appropriate, and since this moment is all about ME, part of the conditioning that allows me to accept this award is that I write ten interesting "facts" about myself.  You're welcome.  But first, I need to send a BIG shout out to Bad Word Mama for giving me this award, and for being a constant source of support and encouragement and kind feedback since I began this blog.  Y'all go check her out: she's real, she's honest, and she's funny.  What more could one possibly want in a blogger?!?

Addendum (made April 8, 2013): I am officially Epic Awesomeness TIMES TWO!  Another incredibly funny and talented blogger has nominated me for this award: thanks SO much to Lanthie over at Life of Cherries for the blog props!! I am truly honored and humbled by all this blove <---just borrow="" em="" free="" it.="" made="" that="" to="" up...feel="">

Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for...ten things about me that will bring completion to your day - perhaps your existence:

1.) After 20 hours of labor, I had to have a C-section.  I had two OBGYNs at the time.  One of them was knowledgeable and kind, and the other was a pompous bag of douche.  As it happens, the arrogant shit-licker was on-call when it was time for me to "go under the knife."  So, he performed the operation/delivery, and two days later  - when they finally took the catheter out - I got up to use the bathroom and happened upon a glimpse of my ass in the mirror.  I shit you not, ladies and gents: that fucker had drawn a smiley face on my ass with his operation pen!!

2.) I haven't pooped in three days.

3.) I suffer horribly from insomnia...and when I do sleep, I am often plagued with horrible nightmares. Last year, for almost the ENTIRE year, I had apocalyptic dreams every night until one night I had one that was so bad it took the hubs a good 20 minutes to calm me down.  I was convulsing (literally, my body was convulsing) from utter terror.  You have to understand, I am someone that is quite accustomed to be accosted by scary shit in the wee hours, but this one was different.  Here's the interesting part: apparently, it was so horrible that even as I convulsed and bawled my way through trying to describe it to the hubs, my mind went into protection mode and started wiping it from my memory.  In a matter of minutes, it went from an all-too-clear recall of horror to vague and smeary images of something far away.  THAT'S how bad it was, my friends.

4.) I often have prophetic dreams and visions.  I wish I was kidding.

5.) I blow my morning breath into my dog's face to see how he reacts.  If he doesn't run away whimpering, I don't bother brushing my teeth.  I am, of course, totally kidding about the last part.  Or am I???

6.) I am a practical joke GENIUS. 

7.) I truly believe that my mother tried to smother me when I was an infant.  I would bet money on it, and I'm not a bettin' gal.

8.) I have a condition known as prosopagnosia, or face-blindness.  There are varying degrees of this disorder; I am mildly to moderately afflicted.  This means that I can look directly at someone, they can walk away, and I will not recognize them when they return mere moments later.  Once I become familiar with a person, I can easily recognize them. 

9.) I think it is absolutely ridiculous when a man makes a big deal out of having to buy famine products for the woman or women in his life.  Man up!  Be proud that you know the difference between the various tampon absorbencies!!

10.) I think I was a decorated general in WWII in a past life.  I can watch movies about any other war, but not that one.  I made the mistake of watching Saving Private Ryan, and I felt physically ill through the entire movie.  It made my soul itch.  That night, I awoke sitting straight up in bed, using military hand-gestures.  In the dream I was giving commands in military-speak of which I was not consciously aware I had any knowledge.  It was so real, and graphic, yet there was no time to feel fear as the general I was.  There was only action...and concern for the soldiers under me.

Okay...link award image in this post and on my page: check. Give (sincere) props and link y'all to the blogger with awesome taste that nominated me: check. Share ten weird "facts" about myself: check.

As the final acceptance requirement: I get the honor of acknowledging some stellar bloggers by nominating some of my own faves (some may have already received this particular award, or some may not enjoy the process of receiving these awards by having to adhere to the "rules," but even so, this is my way of honoring you and your craft, as well as pimping you out to as many readers as possible).  And the Epically Awesome Blog Award goes to....

http://joeh-crankyoldman.blogspot.com/

http://izombielover.blogspot.com/

http://delightfullyludicrous.blogspot.com/

http://thereseoneill.blogspot.com/

http://loisstearns.blogspot.com/

http://xcartwright.blogspot.com/

http://www.pullmyfunnybone.com/

http://shaystone-seriously-wth.blogspot.com/

http://menopausalmother.blogspot.com/

The 26th Ingredient - Torture

Note: If you are new to this blog, you may want to first try Cooking without a Spoon (the List referenced can be found here ). You will likely find the flow of descriptive language and metaphorical purpose easier to follow and more meaningful. OR, you can just throw caution to the wind, and do whatever the hell you want: begin here, pick something random, or hang out back in the April 2012 archive with the A to Z Blog Challenge. Despite your method of entry, thanks for stopping by the Basement. Please excuse the mess...


"Torture  - noun.  1). the act of inflicting excruciating pain, as punishment or revenge, as a means of getting a confession or information, or for sheer cruelty.  2). extreme anguish of body or mind; agony."  ---iphone Dictionary app b/c I am too lazy to get up and lift my 100 lb Webster's Unabridged; seriously, I have held toddlers that weigh less---

I've been staring at this word, torture, for some time now...not b/c I don't recall why I added it to the List, but b/c I DO remember - all too clearly - the why, the what, and the who of this one.  "Extreme anguish of body OR MIND."  In this way, I am the Perpetrator.  I am the Victim.  I am the Arresting Authority.  I am Defense and Prosecution, as well as Judge and Jury.  I am the Executioner.  And, I am the blood-thirsty Spectators. 

I am all of these things - not people, but things.  I am but one person with a thousand perspectives, and these things(?): they are the vantage points: dangerous and daunting; relentless in depth and altitude, and stingy with oxygen.

Allow me to make some introductions:

The Perpetrator: a hostile Perspective with too many masks to count; so many masks, in fact, that it seems almost humorous to think that they all will one day face execution.  The Perpetrator does not sleep, ever.  There is no time.  The Perpetrator does not clean. The victims are gathered so often that it seems a silly practice to clean between "projects."  Some of torturous ambition have rites and rituals to apply to their work; but, not this Perp.  There is not time for such things, and to waste time is to waste anguish.

The Victim: a vast Perspective of memory and emotion.

The Arresting Authority (AA): a growing Perspective.  Having undergone intense training over the years, the AA is no longer a cadet, but not yet a Captain.

The Defense: a dark and senseless Perspective. Recognizing every bit of guilt, the Defense always makes a mad dash to the Perpetrator.

The Prosecution: a well-meaning, but hopelessly obsessed Perspective.

The Judge: a fickle Perspective.  The Judge is not so concerned with lawful abiding as adherence to the mood of the moment.  The Judge has been known to turn as harshly on the Victim as the Perpetrator.  This is a judge that can be bought, and sold.

The Jury: a varying Perspective.  The Jury is a collection of cause and effect; occurrence and lesson.  A juxtaposition of grand ideals and misguided judgments, resulting from a broken collaboration between the Defense and Prosecution.

The Executioner: an over-zealous Perspective.  The Executioner desires to end all things that get in the way of beginnings; however, it should be well-noted that anyone wielding a sharp blade and an eager swing is likely to have bad aim.

The Spectators:  an endless array of (mostly) antagonistic Perspective.  Among the Spectators awaiting the Executioner's "show" are the curious, the hostile, the irrevocably sad, the hopeless, the instigators, the unforgiving, the scorned, the grieving...on and on it goes.  Eventually, each Spectator will become one of two things: Victim, or Perpetrator.

I cannot say why I've spent most of my life so hell-bent on creating new and improved versions of the Perpetrator; I cannot say how long I will allow myself to fall victim...to myself.  But, I can say that my role as Arresting Authority is growing, and I am becoming pretty well-versed in recognizing the various costumes that the Perp is wont to wear.  Do not misunderstand: It remains fairly common that I get duped by the appearance of new masks, or monumentally horrified by how innovative the Perp can be in the design and construct of torturous tools and techniques; nor am I immune to the regret and heartbreak when I happen upon cold-case files, revisited.  But let the Perp underestimate me, I say.  Because, these days, I am a lot less likely to question my judgment as Arresting Authority and far more inclined to simply lock and load. 

One day, I hope to be strong enough to have an answer to any questioning motives of the Judge.  I hope to be wise enough to somehow ensure a diversely sound Jury selection without the assistance of misery's willing accomplice or the obsessive result-seeker.  I hope to find a way to appeal to the Executioner's vision in a way that slows her pulse and steadies her swing.  But mostly, once the Perp has been identified, arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced...I hope - one day, as the Executioner stands ready - for the strength and wherewithal to convince the Spectators that there is no place for them there, because the only Perspectives required at that time are the ones willing to change...to look away, and change.

Blog, interrupted - LRRH

Right now I don't feel like dealing with "The List."  Right now, "The List" can suck it.  It's been interesting to take on a written inventory of skeletal parts that I believe make up so much of the body of life, and it's been fun to see how my mood dictates the various tones of each post, as inspired by the same, but - while I have no plans to abandon "the list" - I want to write about a subject that isn't predetermined by something I wrote ten years ago.  I want to write about something - or rather someone - that I have expressed - briefly - in the past as being bothersome, and more than a little irritating.  I want to write about Little Red Riding Hood.

Just as it is no mystery that Humpty was a dumbass for not first being hard-boiled before endeavoring to climb and pose like a diva atop a very tall wall, it is also no secret that Little Red Riding Hood was an attention-whore and a slutty-slut-slut (By the by: Little Red Riding Hood will be known - herein - as LRRH from this point forward, b/c I am SO NOT writing that shit out every time I need to refer to her.  OMG! It's just so typical of her to have a super long name!).  Anyhoo, I'm pretty sure I'm not alone with this obvious evaluation; HOWEVER - for the naysayers that OBVIOUSLY have no investigative prowess, I shall discuss further how this observation came to be, as well as the resulting circumstances that are bound to arise when attention-whores are allowed to frolic through the woods.

How do I know LRRH was an attention-whore and a slutty-slut-slut?  Well, firstly: her attire.  I don't know about you, but if this tale had been about me, and a homicidal wolf was patrolling in close proximity, and my mother asked me to deliver a basket of tea and scones (which we all know is storybook-speak for tequila and adult diapers) to my grandmother whose locale forced me to take route through the creepy woods where said homicidal wolf had been spotted lingering (and murdering innocents), this precious little tale would have been entitled "Little CAMO Riding Hood: Stealthy Like a Ninja and Will Melt Your Face Off with a Can of Mace." 

But, LRRH - whore that she is - decides to don a bright red cape along with fish net stockings, nipple tassels, a mini skirt, and no underwear. Also, she does not move through the woods with ninja-like stealth.  Instead, she skips along and sings happy little whore songs as she swings her little whore basket (WHICH, incidentally, many storybook historians now believe had a false bottom that housed LRRH's "ribbed for her pleasure" condoms, as well as an array of pharmaceutical-grade narcotics).

When she gets to Grandma's house, there is a wolf wearing a nightgown in Grandma's bed.  C'mon people!  I know I've ranted about this before on Facebook, but let me say again: if Granny is so heinous that simply putting her sleepy-time clothes on a wolf is enough to fool you, then I think it's high time that someone calls the Dept. of Health and Human Services, b/c either she has been terribly neglected or that bitch is in dire need of a spa day. 

Here's the thing, though: I never - for one moment - believed that LRRH didn't know that a wolf was posing as her grandmother.  Why?  Well, among other things, IT WAS A FUCKING WOLF IN A NIGHTGOWN!

Anyway, just as she commences stroking the wolf's "ego" with her slutty flirtations of, "Oh my! What big TEETH you have!" (what a skank), and he jumps from beneath the sheets to have his way with her, what happens?!?...  The hunter that LRRH  has been teasing for months and who - as a result - became an obsessed stalker, breaks the door down (a very inconsiderate thing to do, b/c it took the insurance company almost a year to process that claim), and slays the wolf (I think we all know that "slays the wolf" is storybook lingo for "has a menage trois with").

So...I feel confident that I have presented a solid argument with hard evidence in this matter, but just in case you need more: It is said that many storybook historians believe that LRRH actually knew the wolf was planning to eat her grandmother that day, and - in fact - the whole thing was some sick role-playing game.  This belief stems from the (factual) rumor that along with condoms and narcotics, the po-po also discovered a jar of peanut butter in the secret compartment within her basket...

YOU decide.

 



Actual Depiction
 

Another Blog Award that verifies my Awesomeness!

Firstly, A BIG shout out to Menopausal Mother for recognizing how awesome I am (seriously, if you guys have not already checked out her blog, you must do so THIS INSTANT - after you're done reading mine, of course) by nominating me for this award...which isn't just any blog award, people: it is the Very Inspiring Blogger Award!  I'm sure every one already knows this, but bloggers that get this award usually go on to get their own television series or radio show...or write like a kazillion best sellers.  So, not to brag or anything, but I'm pretty sure I just got nominated to be the voice of my generation.  BUT, before I can continue changing the world with my (now confirmed beyond question) awesomeness, there are a few rules I must adhere to. 

The first rule is that each recipient must post the Very Inspiring Blogger Award logo on his/her page, which I totally intend to do, and would have done it already if my computer wasn't being an asshole right now.  So, if you can see the logo below and on my page, then my laptop is still in one piece and all is semi-right with my world.

Another very important rule is to recognize and link back to the blogger with incredible literary taste that gave the nomination, which I already did above, but I will do it again here, b/c I seriously want you guys to check this blogger out.  Once again, thank you so much Meno Mama for thinking me and my small corner of the Blogdom worthy of this award!!

Next, I am to state seven things about myself, so here goes...

1.) I'm not a very private person.  I don't mind giving what many refer to as "TMI," and quite frankly, I think the person providing the information should be the judge of what is too much or too little.  I'd like to think I am so open b/c I am a carefree spirit that doesn't give a shit what people think, but to be honest (and why be anything else unless you are the one that took the last biscuit at Thanksgiving), I often over-divulge b/c I have the constant need to explain myself.  This probably stems from constantly being accused of lying - as a child - when I wasn't.

2.) I love to combine pickles and potato chips.  For many years, I thought I was a freak until one day at the grocery store I happened upon pickled-flavored chips.  Lesson learned: if we let our freak flags fly, we could become millionaires.  Damn my insecurities straight to hell!!

3.) I don't love to write.  I HAVE to write to feel real, which is ironic b/c I form such powerful bonds with my characters, and their worlds become almost tangibly significant to me.

4.) I am a terrible speller, but grammatically anal.  AND (yes, I believe in beginning sentences with conjunctions for expressive measure...see? Explaining myself.  I'm such a poser), it drives me BATSHIT CRAZY when people consider spelling to be grammar.  If you can spell 'bananas" without having to sing the Gwen Stefani song in your head first, then I am impressed; however, if you can spell "bananas," but don't know how to properly use a semi-colon, you ARE NOT a "grammar Nazi," so please refrain from walking around calling yourself one.  Seriously.

5.) I love, love, love dogs...on a spiritual level.  I believe they are incredible gifts to humanity. 

6.) I truly believe that a higher power gave us the ability to fart as a reminder that Life - and all the bodies enduring it - is funny, and smelly.

7.) I NEVER experience envy over a good piece of writing by someone else.  Never.  I might feel inferior and overwhelmed with self-evaluation, but I have never - a single time - in my life felt jealousy for another person's ability to turn words into a magnificent arrangement through use of masterful plucking and placement.

Now that you all know I am an openly expressive, pickle/chip munching, lazy but obligated writer who can't stand pseudo-grammar experts and who also believes that dogs and farts are cosmic gifts, I can move on to the next step, which is respecting and honoring good writers by nominating other awesome and inspiring bloggers for this award.  Check 'em out:


http://www.pullmyfunnybone.com/

http://badwordmama.blogspot.com/

http://www.kristiewashere.com/

http://hillblocksview.blogspot.com/

http://fearlessfibrowarrior.blogspot.com/

http://shaystone-seriously-wth.blogspot.com/

http://jennoddo.blogspot.com/

Ingredient 25 - Waste

Wow..."waste."  The implications of this word - sans any cradling descriptive language - are ENDLESS.  In trying to go back a decade to breach the high security network that is my brain, I found myself groping in the dark - weary of so many boobie-traps - searching for any hint of what the HELL I might have been thinking when I added "waste" to the List.  And through all the thought fondling, all I kept thinking is:  Damn.  A decade is a long time!

Initially, I was going to write about the obvious thing that (I'm sure) comes to every one's mind when hearing or reading the lone word, waste.  I was going to write about poop.  Duh.

HOWEVER, upon reflecting what may or may not have been going through my mind TEN years ago, I faced something far worse than a writer's "nothing."  Instead, an avalanche of possibilities chased me back up my mental timeline to the present, and ooooooh honey-CHILES(!): I ran like an ill-timed bowel movement down the leg of a person stuck in traffic after a big lunch at Taco Bell!  Oh yes, my friends! I severed and left those antagonistic thoughts like a fart cut loose on a roller coaster.  God help me, folks, but my mind is simply not a safe place to go sifting for any extended length of time.  Why????  Because of all the waste...the mind-waste.  Bottom-line: I have entirely too much meaningless and/or outdated shit clogging up the plumbing in my head.

The remedy?  Easy...
Silence.  Stillness.  I literally need Nothing to dissolve all of my mental waste.

I began to wonder: how many people in this world can sustain mindful Nothingness (mindful nothingness: THAT's an oxymoron for the ages!)?  It sounds like it should be one the easiest things in the world to do, right?  OH NO, Honey-Chiles of the Basement Dwelling Sort (this is what I've decided to call my loyal readers): so very much to the contrary, it will be a Christmas miracle - given by Baby Jesus himself - if I should ever achieve this nearly impossible feat.  Every time I try to meditate - in search of seeking nothing - it ends something like this (trust me when I say that I am doing you a huge favor by skipping the beginning and middle of these lovely psychological excursions):

".....Okay.  This shouldn't be this hard.  I'm just going to focus on my breathing.  Breath is air and air is close to nothing, so it's a start.  I'll just listen to the sound of the air going in and out.  No big deal.  Not difficult.  Just breathe.  Inhale, exhale.  Inhale (I can smell my coffee from here), exhale.  Inhale (did I just have a thought about my coffee?), exhale (If I have a thought and don't realize it, does it count?).  Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale (why is the root-word 'hale?'  I'll have to look that up later), exhale (why don't we call it 'haling,' instead of 'breathing?').  Shit.  I've been thinking this whole time.  Damn it.  Start over.  Inhale (I can do this), exhale (I can find clarity).  Inhale (Seeking silence), exhale (Desperately seeking silence).  Inhale (Madonna's a terrible actress), exhale (Eeeeew. And her weird muscles probably frighten small children).  In(did I put the meat on the counter?)hale, exhale (I need to do a load of undershirts for the guys).  Inhale (is it already Wednesday?), ex(the dog stinks)hale. How can I be thinking 'inhale' and 'exhale,' while simultaneously thinking other stuff?  It's like background music.  I wonder how many thoughts I can think at once.  Wait.  DAMN IT!  Start over.  Why am I so tense?.  Inhale (okay, I'm relaxing), ex(relaaaaaaxing)hale.  Inhale, exhale.  Inhale, exhale.  Oh my god!  Did I just think nothing for a second?!  I think I did!  Okay, okay. Focus.  Inhale (I feel dizzy), exhale.  In(am I hyperventilating?)hale, ex(oh shit.  Am I having a panic attack?)hale. Okay.  Slow down the breathing.  Count to eight on and between each breath.  Okay.  In(1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8)hale, hold(1,2,3,4...nope.  I'm definitely hyperventilating), exhaaaaale (No you're not.  You're fine.  Stop focusing on your breathing).  Inhale (I can't!  I'm going to pass out), ex(stop thinking about breathing!)hale. What else can I think about so I don't think about breathing?  Fuck this.  I'm taking a Xanax."

If it's not a case of being hyper-focused on my breathing, then it becomes an episode of Thoughts Gone Wild, wherein my thoughts run around flashing each other, and OF COURSE, the most obnoxious and "boisterous" thoughts (regrets, fears, my mother) always get the most attention.  Regardless, since almost all of my "focus sessions" end with Xanax, I'm pretty sure I'm doing it wrong (but then again, is it a coincidence that "meditate" and "mediCate" are only one letter away from each other?  Something to ((not)) think about?).

The waste is boundless.  The traps are dangerous.  Yet still, every so often, I try again to find the Silence.  Because even if I don't carry it right on the surface, I always know - on some level - that it isn't the Grand Something-Else I am seeking; I am striving for the Grand Something-Now, which also happens to be the Glorious Nothing...

No-thing. 

Let no-thing envelope and define me completely; let no-thing distract me; let no-thing determine the moment for me; let no-thing amount to something less than who and what I am.  Let no-thing take away THIS moment.  

One day, I will find Nothing.

Ingredient 24 - Bibles

Great.  Just after having to face "Forgiving," I now get slapped in my third-eye with Ingredient 24..."Bibles."  Peeeeeerfect.

So, what I have decided to do with this List item is write it up in prose.  The reason: b/c to even attempt to explain how and why "bibles" landed a spot among the other ingredients that make up a big-ass, mega-pot of Life Stew is an endeavor better saved for...oh, say: a novel.  OR, a four-part literary series (due to be released sometime before I die...I hope).  How does a non-Christian come to know so much about the Bible?  I'll tell you...


So much promise hidden by the belief
that we are delivered and then estranged;
Yet the same breath that forgets
anoints and awakens
the Architect within.

Time and sacrifice prescribed: intermittent relief
of the scattered, the gathered, and arranged;
The Begotten - now forgotten - left to beget
the eroded and forsaken,
the wrecking-ball within.

Wayward uncertainty laid down in stone
with chisels desperate for salvation;
Silence for distraction: a merchant lost & found
between sand and constellations,
filling the Chalice within.

A Tree to climb Eternal, in wholeness stands alone
transforming challenge to contemplation;
Dancing without motion, Singing without a sound
such Movement (!) without vibration,
Full from the Stillness within.

Ingredient 23 - Forgiving

Oh boy.

This "ingredient" drudges up a lot of...drudgery, both past and present. However, in keeping with my usual expressive stylistic ponderings, I will try to withhold as much of my anger and resentment as possible while making my way through my analysis of this very sensitive of issues.  I wouldn't want to offend anyone.  Would I? 

Me???

All right: number 23...Forgiving...here we go...


So...I took an unplanned sabbatical from the Blogdom recently, and upon returning, I find that the next List item awaiting my unabashed blathering is "forgiving."  To this, I throw back my overloaded head and laugh: a cynical laugh; a shake-my-fists-at-the-sky laugh; an "oh hell, no...those fuckers aren't getting off that easily just because of a seemingly cosmic suggestion" laugh (What? You don't believe that God speaks to us through blog titles and poetry?  Well, aren't you a precious little atheist?). 

You might be wondering who and what I am carrying on about.  That's okay.  I'm sure you're not alone.  HOWEVER, since I don't currently feel like describing - in detail - the massive demon sphincters who are trying desperately to portray themselves as the (ever-dwindling) decent portion of humanity AND who have recently inserted themselves like expired suppositories into my Life's digestive tract, I will instead focus on the THINGS (or a lack thereof) that make them unforgivable bags of suckage.

 

I am not a difficult person.  I don't demand much from human beings, b/c I learned a long time ago not to expect much from them; however, there are a few things that every decently striving human being should TRY to possess, and they are as follows (in no real particular order; I'm simply numbering them b/c I think it looks pretty.  And also, my OCD demands it):


1. Consideration. Look, I realize we all drop the ball on this one from time to time.  With all of the distractions in life, it is difficult to be considerate ALL THE TIME.  I get that.  But those that cannot see past the tips of their own noses on a REGULAR basis are a complete waste of breath and arterial circulation.  Seriously, they are not worth the effort it takes to run the bodies that house their filthy fucking souls. (You guys have NO idea how difficult it is for me to be holding back right now.  I'm really proud of my self-control).



2. Honesty. This is not a difficult thing to achieve.  It just isn't.  And here's some solid advice on how one might begin to practice some semblance of an honest flow - more often than not: REFRAIN FROM BEGINNING EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE BY LYING TO YOURSELF.  If a person's life is completely off-balance because he/she is spending far more time PERFORMING than BEING, of course he/she will be unable to offer anything real to any relationship.  And what really gets me going are the taint boils that perform what they constantly refer to as their own authenticity.  "Hey. Look at me! I'm REAL. I say what's on my mind. I mean what I say!"  Yet the problem with most of these people is what they "mean," and therefore what they say, changes from one person to the next.  These people also often confuse being loud and obnoxious with "being real," OR they will offer up a bit of offensive banter as testament to their "honesty."  Shock value = "I'm as authentic as they come" to many of these clowns, but when it comes down to material of any real HONEST cut and consistency, they come up short.  They come up short, b/c - for whatever reason - they have trained themselves to perform.  The rest of us: we are just stage props, a means to an end, a way to serve their scripted character's self-preservation.  And, as it comes to preserving the false image of themselves they have worked tirelessly to perfect and project, NO ONE is safe from the reach of their grimy lies and deceit. When a person lies more in a day than they speak the truth, they are a "performer."  I have no use for such mentality.  Why would I waste my time and hard-won forgiveness on such a complete and utter farce.  I wouldn't.  And I won't.

3. Loyalty. This is an extremely difficult thing to come by these days - in its purest form. Every now and then, life requires us to stand up for what is right.  At times, this might mean standing between two people of importance to you if one of those people is behaving like a total turtle fart.  If you ever find yourself WAITING IN VAIN for someone to jump to your defense when you are being treated harshly and unfairly in a completely unwarranted fashion, then mark this as a serious red-flag and character flaw in that someone.  If a person that claims to love you will not do right by you b/c he or she is afraid of negatively impacting the relationship they have with the other person involved, I would advise that you make note of their silence as being shady and cowardly.  Loyalty is not about choosing favorites.  Loyalty is about having the courage to stand up for what is right on behalf of someone you love.  Loyalty is about being there when you are needed, even if - no, ESPECIALLY IF - things get uncomfortable and maybe even inconvenient.  There have been many times in my life when I have had to look someone I love in the eye and say, "You are being a hippo's ass right now."  And you know what? Those remain some of the strongest relationships I have.  On the flip side, I have had close ones say the same kind of thing to me when I was acting out with misplaced emotion.  I told them to fuck off, and we are no longer friends.  Loyalty.

So, That's it. CONSIDERATION.  HONESTY.  LOYALTY. And thus far, in my 37 years, I have discovered that if a person is severely lacking one of these qualities, they are more than likely lacking the other two, as well.  When you consider all the sewage that is a definitive result of missing the CHL chromosome, you can pretty much count on the fact that you WILL be let down and covered in shit by these people.  Trust me when I say that ignoring the red flags does not make you immune to the (inevitable) Let Down.  And usually, the let down will be detrimental enough that you will find yourself asking some version of two questions: 1. Why am I keeping this person around? and 2. What does forgiving this person mean, and will I lose a piece of myself in the process? (I guess that's technically three questions, but whatevs).