I see countless crafted words
sitting in taut relaxation on pages
thick enough to bounce back
a return on investment.

Fonts exuding non-pretentious sheik simplicity.
Covers enticing enough to escape shelves.
How did they do it?

Unfinished sentences fidget on my page,
anxious to gnaw at their opposable hangnails.

Listed items, pristine and uncrossed, stick to my endless to-do list.
Songs lacking the mass to move me vibrate through my space.

Relief floods my limbs: I book flights to the iron and sink.
All costs covered; it's business.

Smoothing scrubbing solving strokes
don't nag me with their ambiguities.
Remind me how I let them down with my lies.
You are the dream I want to be with.

Thought I could commit
embrace all those shimmering facets.

But getting on the road
to Point B...

[Yay for crappy meta poetry!]

-I was reading up about Madhubala, a famous Indian actress from back in the day. She is considered one of the best. I'm not even a fan of Indian movies, but it is impossible to watch Mughal-e-Azam and not get sucked in. It is well-done, a classic, and very emotive. Plus, the songs are great.

Apparently she had a congenital heart defect, and she mostly kept it a secret. She was pushing herself on the set  of Mughal-e-Azam. Probably too much. It makes this already great film even more of an accomplishment She just kept going and defying doctors' predictions as to when she would die. She still did die young (at 36), but her motivation and talents kept pushing her forward. It's inspiring; I teared up when I read that (granted I am PMS'ing like a raging diva, but still).

-Lately I have been feeling grossly inadequate and constantly judging myself by standards that aren't my own. It is tiring to carry that voice around with me all day. I need to drop it.

-I feel like our lives aren't ours entirely. We're just along for the ride for whatever cards we have been dealt, and while it is our responsibility to play our hands the best we can, it ultimately is all a random distribution of luck and skill.

-The desire for connection is a powerful, innate motivator. On all levels. There's the obvious desire to connect to others platonically and romantically. There's also the desire to be connected with oneself: the mind with the body, the person with their goals, etc. How can I fix the disconnect between my mind and body? Or are they already connected, and do I need to make a shift?

-I can't let results thwart me. I have to keep acting according to the principles that I value regardless of the results. The results can of course tweak my actions, but the motivation needs to remain. I'm always getting anxious about whether I'm wasting time, have the patience to solve a long-term problem, or if I will get something out of an activity. This in itself is a waste.

I wonder if it's possible to go through the days without an internal monologue. To have your experience be mere sensate perceptions of daily occurrences. That sounds nice. 

Gotta think less. Or at least deflect my detrimental thoughts more. Or just politely, neutrally observe them.

I've been getting better at remembering the importance of how one carries oneself through life. How you deal with disappointments, how you trudge through the mundane necessities of basic life maintenance,  etc. 

Lately I find myself becoming one of those compulsive cleaners; I want to do the dishes and iron my boyfriend's work shirts. It's gratifying to see a task through from start to finish. To have some order and control over something. 

I was skimming my posts here, and I basically have been writing about the same thing: must change my mind, deal better, find myself outside of chronic pain. 

I watched my favorite film, Fight Club, for the first time in about four years. I have seen it so many times, so I gave myself a self-imposed break from it because I wanted my next viewing of it to be fresh. I forgot how funny it was. Four years later, the movie is a bit obvious and juvenile, but its message and execution still motivate me to cut through the bullshit and focus about my priorities. 

I've been trying to read more. I re-read Watchmen, and it was great. I appreciated and understood it much more. I found The Razor's Edge by Somerset Maugham to be disappointing: it's theme of a man giving up comfortable life to pursue spirituality, poverty, and happiness is nothing new to me. I am about a third of the way through All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I like his style, but I don't want to be disappointed again. I find myself impatient to get through it just to find out what happens and if its a worthwhile story. Maybe I should re-read another book; it's almost like reading another book for the first time, and there's less anxiety.

My life is dichotomy. I lead a peaceful, comfortable, harmonious life with my boyfriend. We get along, laugh, have mutually great sex, and it doesn't seem like our lovely little universe is going to fade any time soon. 

On the other hand, that life could evaporate in a second. And I feel like I'm trapped at the bottom of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and keep struggling to keep my spirits up. My best doesn't seem to be good enough. I feel surrounded by people who can do so many things that I can't, and I'm starting to feel like I simply don't deserve to eat or sleep. 

Deep breaths. Stay present. Care less. Interpret less and act more.

There is quite a bit on my mind, and I don't really know where to start. I feel confused and uprooted.

Life has taken a potential turn for the worse, and I could lose a lot. It seems like this won't happen, but it's a possibility.

I vacillate between calmness and a visceral fear. I've been mostly calm, and I'm not sure why. I should be angry, but I don't really feel it. I just want to get through the next few weeks and put it behind us.

And even before that I was confused. My idea of a career is vague at best. I'm not on a "clear path to marriage" the way my family wants me to be. I live day to day hoping that I won't be in a state of fatigue/discomfort that requires me to feel like I'm lugging around a 200 pound person trapped in a 107 pound person's body.

I see more and more of my supposed peers settling down into stable careers and domestic lives. Should I feel behind? Jealous? I'm not sure.

I have been tip toe'ing around my body for the past four years, hoping to not do anything that will get me into more of that life-impeding trouble that I have been experiencing.

We are addicted to stories. Stories about ourselves, the people we know, and fictitious people we will only know hypothetically. Am I in the middle of my story, or am I watching it happen on a screen? Which is better?

I suppose I should stick to what I know:

I don't want to be addicted to my story. I do not want to be attached to some superficial definition of identity (job/income, possessions, kids, relationship, etc).

I need to just keep on with getting stronger and healthier. The patience and sacrifice has been helping, slowly but surely.

I very much love my boyfriend.  It's been a bit over a year and a half, but it seems like we met and fell in love such a long time ago. I suppose my life has changed so much since I met him: where I live, how I eat, my body's ecology, etc  that it feels like 2009 was ages ago. I want us to stay together and weather more storms.

Life is a goddamned gift. I have to say thank you for...everything.

Must meditate. Must keep my soul renewed with art.

It's like there are layers to our minds or consciousness. The surface is constantly moving and strives to perpetuate the momentum of daily activities, obligations, emotional concerns,  etc. It is very human.

It is imperative to wait and let this layer have the chance to voice itself so it can settle down. I'd say this is the hardest part of sitting, particularly because it feels like this layer is directly impeding the purpose of meditating, so I often sit there getting angry at myself.

But I have to just let it pass. Then I can access the layer below it, which is quieter and able to actually do some observing and listening.

I find myself wanting to get a feeling. I want to feel the silence and peacefulness. But as long as I see it that way and keep seeking this feeling, then I'm mostly just holding my breath for a few moments of stillness.

Trying to attain something doesn't lead to peace. Although I'm not sure if peace is even the goal. Or even enlightenment. It makes me think of the difference between Siddhartha and Govinda in Herman Hesse's novel Siddhartha.

It's so easy to intellectualize all of this. I am doing it right now. Intellectual understanding can help and hinder. It can help one clarify, but it cannot replace experience. I have had intellectual understanding for years now. Thoughts and ideas need to be implemented or they just get stuck, ferment to create spiritual stagnation.

Shunryu Suzuki said it best: Zen does not depend on a particular teaching nor does it substitute teaching for practice. We practice zazen to express our true nature, not to attain enlightement. Bodhidarma's Buddhism is to be practice, to be enlightenment.

Be practice. This resonates with me. The word practice has always been so powerful to me. It implies making mistakes, patience, resilience, and making progress, on drop at a time.

Gotta keep on.

I've been wanting, aiming, trying to bring more meditation in my life. It has been a lifelong goal, really. I always feel like I fail, however. Fail at being consistent with it, fail at doing it right when I do stay consistent with it, fail at knowing which type of meditation I'd like to stick to practicing, etc.

It feels like basic life maintenance gets in the way of doing what I want.

But back up for a moment: I'm a really fuckin' lucky person. I could point out a lot of things wrong with my childhood, how I was raised, ways my parents behaved, etc. But I am lucky to have been exposed to a kind of spirituality that I identify with (for the most part), even if it the message was delivered by controlling, hypocritical people.

I also feel like I have little excuse for not being able to change my perceptions. I've been lucky enough to have financial support for the entirety of my existence, and I currently have some spare time on my hands. I've also been lucky enough to have experiences that forced me to see value in the small things (losing the ability to smile for a month, painlessly use my hands for 2 years, walk for six months, eat what I want for lord knows how many years, sleep adequately for a year and a half will do that to you).

Yesterday I classified meditation into three groups:

1) Meditation with a form and an intent. The form is focusing on breath, mantra, and/or imagery (internal and/or external). The aim is to start to calm the mind down, decrease stress, and center oneself on desired goals.

2) Meditation as practice. Practicing listening mind and being the observer. This can include elements of the first kind of meditation, but the idea is to practice the notion of giving up/having no gaining idea/ having faith that I already have the state of mind I need and consequently do not need to be bothered by what is going on outside or inside me.

It is practicing watching mind/ Big Mind as Shunryu Suzuki would say. Or it could be viewed as practicing Presence, as Eckhart Tolle would say. Or it could be viewed as There is no secret ingredient, as the characters in Kung Fu Panda found out.

3) Life as meditation. This means being fully present for activities of life, even the boring ones. It is seeing each moment as an end in itself, rather than as means to an end. Because no matter how many items I check off my daily to-do list, I will be in an eternal state of "not-yet-ness." 

I am tired of this feeling. "Yet" will never come this way.

1. I have been very sober for almost six months now. No booze, sugar, caffeine, etc. In some ways it's great in that I feel like I have mostly lost the taste for stuff that mostly serves to be damaging. My body has become very sensitive also: drinking a cup of green tea makes me feel like the blood vessels in my brain are opening up.

On the other hand, I could use a break. A feeling of physical change. I wonder if my commitment to my health is leading me to miss out on life. But when I think about living in chronic pain, I feel less conflicted. Sometimes I'll daydream about eating something like a granola bar or Tiramisu. It's sweet for a moment, but then I  also imagine the inevitable tummy ache to follow. Blah. I feel torn between the desire for a break with some mindless escape and the desire for plunging deeper into a life of mindfulness.

1.5. It feels increasingly lonely to go about life this way; it might help if I found other people living similar lifestyles.

2. I keep daydreaming about somebody hitting me. I want to be hit. I don't entirely know why. It just seems like the pain might make me feel better and provide some release. And it would be such a superficial pain that could easily heal within days. Days. That sounds so innocent to me.

3. I have sorta upgraded to a living situation that is significantly better than my previous one. I went from a somewhat crappy (yet spacious and conveniently located) apartment with two roommates in Chicago to a sweet house in the suburbs of Houston with the boy I love. Money is being spent on nicer necessities (with a few nicities), and I find myself weary of becoming materialistic. I do not want to fall into the illusion that possessions are an accurate reflection of one's status in life.

4. I still am not sure what my desired job is. I know I want it to be related to health/nutrition from an alternative perspective. I'm getting tired of working with kids. Although sometimes it's best if, at the end of the day, a job remains a job. You can still enjoy it and care, but being able to come home and focus on the other aspects of your life keeps things balanced.

5. I just don't know. I feel skeptical of everything and its value/meaning/point and always have this voice in the back of my head telling me that I'm often wasting my time. I feel confused as to how I can make any sort of mark on the world. My life feels like a parochial obsession with just eating and keeping ravenous, destructive forces at bay. I suppose feeling lost can lead to new, unexpected possibilities. And I never want to fall into the trap of feeling like I have it all figured out. Certainty leads to stagnation and rude awakenings.

6. Perhaps this conversation (starting 1:15 in) should become my mantra.

I am a lucky person.Seriously. I'm lucky to have supportive people in my life: My boyfriend, dad, friends. I'm lucky to have resources to help me deal with life's challenges. I'm lucky to be loved and to have love in my life.

I'm going through a big transition here. The past eight months have been a grind in a lot of ways. I've somehow been able to exist on little sleep, few fat reserves, zero non-vegetable sources of carbs, etc. I've been consumed with getting better, working, making my boy happy, etc.

Now I am lucky enough to have some down time. When I think about my life, I feel a big question mark about some things: what is my ideal career, how long will I live in Houston for, what do I want to accomplish in my life?

Yesterday boyfriend and I spent a good chunk of the day getting new things for the house we're in: kitchen towels, toaster, pans, towel racks, etc. It was all very domestic, and it was nice to do that sort of thing with a partner who is enthusiastic about creating a home with you.

On the other hand, I feel skeptical. New state, new place to live, new flatware, new set of plates to put my food on. As we wandered through IKEA, I was looking at the various room set-ups selling arrangements of space that we all imagine ourselves living our ideal lives in. Don't get me wrong: style is a symbol. But I wish buying those things could be translated into a new life. A new way of being, perceiving, thinking, reacting, feeling, etc.

Could I hire a translator make it that way? Could I isolate the catalysts of change in a bottle and sell it?

It seems like life is a state of constantly chasing some state of mind that includes feeling accomplished, loved, joyous, creative, and/ or relaxed.

All I really want is to change my insides. Or shift them. Or uncover them.  And maybe write about it in somewhat well-chosen words along the way.

I gotta do it. And I'm grateful for having this time to think. I can't let myself get bogged down in the details or thinking that solving my problems will give me the state of mind I want. To be alive is to have problems. Life is one big problem, and there may not even be a solution.

I'm in Houston, Texas. Texas. I have been in Texas for almost two days now, and I plan to live here for, well, I don't know how long. More than two days.

I catch myself expecting to be surrounded by idiotic, redneck conservatives.

On the other hand, I am happy to be settling into a nice place with my boyfriend. We are slowly starting to get into a routine and are enjoying the ability to be in each other's presence every day.

I feel like I got virtually nothing done all day. I can't say that I procrastinated doing all those boring obligatory things in favor of doing what I really want to do (read, write, meditate). I can't say I wasted the day on mindless entertainment either. I did get some stuff done, but not as much as I would have liked.

Moving is hectic. I have been in the grind of fiendishly crossing things of the eternal To Do List. And I feel myself still stuck in that mindset. But I'm also in a completely new environment, and however comfortable it is, I need to give myself time to adjust and recharge. This would probably enhance my productivity.

Looking at my To Do List has become very centering. I feel like I use it to avoid the ways in which I really would like to be able to spend my time. The older you get, the more time you have to devote to doing things you don't want to do. And, what's even worse, getting those things done become the way in which you judge yourself.

Maybe I'd be better off if I saw none of it as a waste and all of it as just practicing being in the moment, no matter what that moment may contain. Oh yeah. That.

It's so easy to lose track of the big picture and get caught up in things to do and the external ways we present ourselves to the world.

I'm not sure if I will ever stop identifying as someone from Chicago, and I'm not sure I'll ever start to think like a Texan, whatever that may mean.

One part of me sees the conscious arrangements of words on a page as the formation of a painting that can take people to different places in their minds. Another part sees words as mere arrangements of sounds that capture mere approximations of what really exists. But therein lies the challenge I suppose: encapsulate some of the infinite using finite media.

Who knows. I certainly don't.

Sometimes I find it difficult to not identify as a sickly person. Intellectually, I know that I am not my defects, and I have goals beyond the day-to-day hustle. But it doesn't always feel that way.

In a previous post I identified myself as a Buddhist nutrition nut in love. I am working on using the material from life for practicing the optimal state of mind. The optimal state of mind is defined by what the moment calls for and what I deem to be the right balance of achieving/talking and appreciating/listening.

This is still an accurate definition. But, last night, as I was hanging out with boy, I realized that I can also identify myself with my personality. We were simply cuddling, kissing, and talking, and it was filled with laughter and synchronicity. I am re-realizing how amazingly lucky I am to find that in someone else, and I am lucky to still be feeling this way a year and a half into our relationship.

He brings out the best of my personality and sense of resilience. It's hard to stay sullen and pessimistic in his presence for long. We have a chemistry that blends wit, sillyness, and intelligence. It's immensely theraputic to be with someone who elicits the part of me that can make humorous exchanges that make the depressive voice in my head fade.

It's the sort of thing that cannot be bought, concocted, or replaced, and I am happy to be in touch with it.