You know, you can only eat so many sugary donuts before wanting some salty pizza. In fact, even though they’re really yummy, you might even feel a little tired of donuts if you eat too many at once. Besides, pizza tastes extra delicious when you haven’t had any for awhile, and donuts are of seemingly endless supply. But maybe, eventually, after indulging in pizza til you are satiated with all its saucy, cheesy glory, you might just find yourself craving the sweetness of a donut again. It would be a shame if you could only have one or the other.
[And ew, pizza donuts look freaking gross.]
RE: “I understand. I really do. It’s very easy to be dismissive of problems when their biggest effect on your life, is on your Facebook newsfeed. Please don’t.”
-Timothy’s thought provoking Facebook post
I WANT to care more, but i can’t pretend to. Sure i can feel a weight in my stomach when i learn of an injustice, but i won’t post useless Facebook sentiments. [Hell, i couldn’t even pretend to care when Prince died.]
HOW to actually care more when it doesn’t directly affect me? I’m asking this genuinely. Am i just another selfish brick in the massive problem wall hindering social advancement? How to ACTUALLY help?
Ghandi said “Be the change you want to see in the world”, or at least that’s the meme version of his words. I don’t know what else to do other than try to minimize the distress i cause others and abide by values i am learning to stand for in my own personal life.
But how to impact the world on a grander scale? I don’t have money to contribute. I don’t have the freedom to run away with the red cross, nor could I honestly say I’d be brave enough to even want to.
I do admire those who sacrifice and selflessly serve, so maybe the key is to be their support? If I am unable to feel more directly inspired, perhaps supporting them would still be a valuable contribution, albeit indirect?
I encountered Bobby Ocean today. He was on the street. Cold. Hungry. They took his phone and his wallet and his car. I bought him a Subway sandwich, and one for me too. I tried to drive him home, or at least the closest thing to home, but my tire gave up. I tried to fill it with air but the tear just let it back out. Something went wrong with my barely worn tire.
I pulled into an alley and a kind stranger got down on his knees and put on my spare. Cars honked while Bobby Ocean cursed at them. I thanked the stranger and offered him an airport ride, but all he asked was that I pay it forward.
Bobby Ocean started to shake. He was cold still, so I cranked up the heat. He’d slept barely an hour in five days, and his mind was in overdrive. I told him I’d protect him. They won’t find him in my moving car. They can’t see him in the dark. I told him I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him, and I covered his shaking body with my daughters coat.
I told him that he was safe and could sleep. Then I turned up the volume loud with ocean sounds and falling rain on my Spotify. After several startled movements, he finally drifted to slumber. When he whimpered, I reached over and massaged his tired head. I told him everything is going to be okay, as I drove him down quiet side streets at barely 13 miles an hour, moving over so the occasional car could pass.
I’m parked now, and he is deeply resting at last, and now I wonder… Do you have a Bobby Ocean in your life? Mine is very important to me.
[Written about a sociopath ex-mentor.]
He found my vulnerability – the things i learned about spirituality as a child, those tender guarded spaces in my mind. He knew the language to speak – the code to gain access into those private spaces.
That which is undefined is malleable, or weaker you could say. And those spaces, they were a foundation beneath everything strong which had been built… Find the weak beam, and the entire structure is at risk.
Trust, what does it mean? It means I believed he’d only have my best interest in mind. But what happened when he was overtaken by a sense of entitlement, a sick need to dominate, a resentful mood of ‘everyone gets theirs – when will i get mine?’…. Self-serving manipulation, in the guise of “help”, happened.
But I am the alchemist. I take the poison, and I chemically transform it into nourishment. I grew beyond the gigantic thumb pressed down on me… What was meant to cripple me, meant to keep me small, only fed my growth. Anger became motivation. Hurt became drive. Weakness became strength. I smiled, I laughed, and at last, his fist struck my face and broke the invisible bond. What was meant to be a desperate last attempt to control me, instead unleashed me.
I embraced my freedom and ran about wildly reclaiming my will. Now I must recover, so that I myself am not destroyed by my own all-devouring wrath that flows like molten lava just beneath my grin.
Deep down inside, in the dark – that is where it may fester, rot, decay. Expose it instead. Let the light shine through. Water it with tears. Sh-t is the best fertilizer for your new sprout to break forth and blossom.
Truth is like the sun, its value wholly depends upon our being at a correct distance away from it.
– From Doktor Glas by Söderberg
Useless to hide inside.
So… metaphorical suicide.
Cut my hair. Cut my throat.
Hang tight to that life boat.
Choke the seductress.
Burn down ALL of this.
Not for you… just for me.
Redefining what means free.
Those are parts i want to keep!
Investments that i want to reap!!
What is mine? Where’s the line?
Is it really such a fucking crime!?
[Yes…… Against me.]
I have supermom ears when it comes to the sound of a child that needs to throw up. The slightest groan or stirring will jolt me out of sleep into a hyper-alert state – ready to grab said child and fly him/her to the bathroom. Last night I jumped up a few times… Ready ready ready. I told myself I was being paranoid because after throwing up a few days ago, he’s been fine, eating normally, and playing like usual.
By the fourth time I jumped up, he already knew what I was going to ask him before I even asked, “Mom, I don’t need to barf!” So I laid back down and then…
Yes, those capital letters are the sound of him suddenly vomiting all over the bed. I lept up, grabbed him, and aimed the rest on the rug-less floor – much easier to clean. Then mom power-mode kicked in to override the sleepiness. I washed him up, scrubbed our sleeping area, disinfected everything, laundered the bedding, showered, dragged the spare bed into the living room, and carried sleeping children to their new spots. As I wiped up the mess of half-digested black beans, I was tempted to cry for comfort to the sleeping Brahma bear, but instead I did all of the above like a ninja so he could get adequate sleep for work, my expression of love. Lastly, I opened a window in the bedroom to air it out, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Finally, at 3:00am, I climbed into our new bed on the living room floor and cozied up with my little “bubbadubs”. As I drifted to dreamland, I thought about getting up to go outside and peek at the blood moon, but instead I yawned and closed my eyes, absorbing the last hours left before my alarm.
“Nor, I fancy, has he ever had much time for thinking, never had time to let reflection drip its poison into his wine.”
– From Doktor Glas by Söderberg
To everyone who keeps parading around the hallmark-esque internet-sensation quote that Einstein supposedly said about living life as if everything is a miracle – this contains what he REALLY said: Continue reading