To Philly

And I'm off! The train moves fast--an express press pressing its way down through the states. I had panicked back on the track when the train approached. I now understand it was how the Acela train resembles a worm. A worm with speed.

I don't see anyone here who could be going to the Pre-service Orientation. Everyone here has six plus years on me. Maybe I have the wrong idea of what other VISTAS may look like. What should I then look like? Perhaps only myself.

I have very little clue as to how I fit into the working world. Maybe my issue is that I am seperating the "working world" from the world. Thud my self cannot fit into the equation. I could choose otherwise. I could choose to at everything as in within the whole world. I could stop boxing it all up. Nothing ever gets clean that way.

Walking with the dead

The internet was cool on our computers at home but when we began to carry it with us, it became a flesh eating virus. We are zombies mindlessly roaming—drifting about in a haze. Not paying attention to our friends, or family, or selves. We have become unfocused to the point of total dysfunction.

(laughter about the daylight. despite it my airy weary head is heavy

with dis—dys—something. i'm not quite altogether sure)

As zombies our only interactions with other humans is to prey upon their bodies. We pick mindless disputes—arguments through comment wars we won't win. Winning is never the destination. We pick these fights because the only way we remember to survive is by blindly ravaging upon the beating and breathing flesh of what we once were.  

I'm probably wrong...but where else would I be?

Media is a distraction.
A lot of people say it's a distraction from the "more important" news. But all of it comes in forms of media so even the more important mostly ignored stuff is a distraction??

I don't pay attention to almost any of it.
I get my news from a social media feed.
I don't care about any of it.

And even the things I should know; all the wars and wheres and whys. Because knowing how people are killing and thieving is still a distraction. And knowing what is happening within a country I can't even imagine, distracts me from the fact that there are homeless people on the streets where I live.
It distracts from all the roadkill on the streets where I live, because there are too many roads and not enough homes.
It distracts me from the fact that bees are dying and we're ripping up our plants, claiming them to be weeds. So that the only places where the mugwort and plantain grow are on the side of the streets where I live.

And to the "educated," this makes me ignorant.
There is this lie that in order to be connected to the universe we must be aware of "important worldwide current events."

But I already know there is suffering elsewhere because I am experiencing it here on the streets where I live. And I weep for the suffering everywhere. But all I can do for elsewhere is weep.  In order to make change, I must focus for here.

We are bending ourselves over this lie of uniting worldwide. But what have the Nations or the States done to end the hurt? How much suffering would end if stopped trying to fix everyone else's? Uniting as we know it requires categorizing, it requires class. A place where everyone belongs.

Does it make me less of a person, not knowing? Am I less because I choose to narrow my focus on here and now instead of there and then?

If so, does it make the Sudanese boy who does nothing but run and starve less too? He knows not of the suffering of elsewhere. He cannot afford to distract himself by it. He is too concerned with his own environment and where he belongs within it.

That is our issue. Unification is the antonym of individualization. We are so concerned with involving ourselves worldwide, that we forget to involve ourselves where it is physically possible. Within ourselves. Watching the news and reading articles have replaced tending gardens and feeding the homeless. Knowing what has replaced knowing how, leaving the "educated" forever lost, wondering who they are.

Up, Up to get Away

     I am out of my old neighborhood and that itself is a giant step. I do not think i will be leaving Rhode Island, or even Providence, any time soon. Not for a few years at least. Anybody who suggests doing so just annoys me because it is not even something i feel that i can even consider. I like to think that anywhere i happen to be is where i need to be at the moment.

     It's not as though i am opposed to going off somewhere that i am called to by opportunity-- I just don't think that time is right now. When it happens it happens. But right now, in order to survive and strive i need to focus on being successful within the environment i presently reside in. I want to be able to achieve at least that. Then maybe I will better at identifying the justifications of natural and necessary suffering when i see them.

     I will be able to withstand all i want to run from.

Questions

What the fuck am I even trying to break through?

I keep wanting and wishing

hoping to “open up”

but what does that even mean?

What am I closed off to?

What am I hiding?

What do I care?

Like what is the definition of unaffected?

Does it mean unable?

Does it mean hard

despite being squishy.

Despite having sunk my own hands into my skin and yanking out my guts letting that shit spill up and over.

What does it mean to keep distant?

Does despondency truly exist

when I am and always have been

right here waiting?

I know of nothing else but myself so why is it so hard to be myself?  

Sublimity in Snowfall

There is a sound that only the snow makes.
It is quiet, almost silent
But if you listen, you can breathe it in,
Absorb the dampened air through your skinpores.
The snow is cleansing.
Not because of its blanketing whiteness but because of the cold that shakes you.
The consciousness of flakes gathered into one; you can hear them chatter,
“Come here. Come stick to me.”

A single snowflake is almost nothing,
Many simply melt on tongues.
Even these flakes have a purpose—they guide a smile, create a shine.
Just take a look at all the snow mounds, the caps of mountains, the north and southern poles—
Single snowflakes had to land there, had to gather.
Single flakes spoke to each other, “Hey there, you can come stick with me.”
Suddenly single is septillion,
a septillion become one.
Suddenly a single snowflake is most sublime.

I see the sun on your back

I was walking last week in the snow, stomping around the mounds and ice, wearing my great coat (a Civil War replica) for warmth. The wind was in pure form that evening, chilling the air by at least ten degrees. As I pulled the cape of my coat over my head and tugged the edges tight about my face, I was reminded of the fable of the north wind and the sun. In this story the wind and the sun both attempt to make a man take off his coat. The harder the wind blew, the firmer the man's grip on his coat, while the sun only had to beam in order to get his way.

The moral of course is through gentleness, one will be able to achieve what they want, especially when it comes to getting others to act. A good lesson, I suppose, on just how one should interact with people, but what about the man? During my walk I kept seeing myself in his shoes, being beaten down by the harsh north wind and I wondered, "When is my sun going to come?"

Now coming from someone like me, it sounds like a sad question. A loaded question full of wistfulness, longing and despair. But as I gazed upon the snow drifts, clutching at my hooded cape, I was not begging. I knew my time would come, like the man in the story. For the moment, I simply had to keep holding on, despite the rough hands of the gales life was blowing towards me.

Hanging out with boys

I am wary of Biscuit the Beagle because he has on a few occasions humped my leg and arm. But I allow him to rest his head on my leg and his left ear is all flopped onto Jake’s knee. He is calm and I am relaxed at the moment.

The boys are yet again discussing sports and super hero comics/movies/games. This season is football and we’re approaching Super Bowl Sunday so this shit is important! I add to the conversation when I can guarantee that I’ve been following along properly. Sometimes when I have absolutely no idea, their words just stop registering altogether.

I’ve noticed lately that after years of stumbling blind confusion, I actually am beginning to understand the concept of football. I don’t know any of the ref or announcer terms (besides “touchdown” and “flag”) but I know the basic objectives of the players—essentially I know what they got to do. I don’t really care to know more but knowing has certainly made watching games far more interesting. I consider it a phenomenon almost.  It makes me wonder anyway.

A game is on but with this notebook in front of me, I find no need to know who is playing or why/how/where blah, blah, blah.  I’m just trying not to squish Biscuit whose head is now resting under Jake’s and my knee cracks. He’s warm. I enjoy his company.  A pet is always good to have around. Their friendship and company can be far more wholesome than most human interaction. My body draws healing energies from Biscuit the Beagle. But I don’t want to squash his face in. 

Biscuit looks up and regards the room. Pushing his head back between his legs, his eyes are so concerned—his brow furrows. He is probably in wanting of pets and so I give him some. When he moves away I turn my focus to the football game. I ask who is playing and the boys think I am referring to a Chicago Bulls game playing on the computer. I ask them more specifically and it turns out the answer is everyone. It’s a pro-ball game. Oh.

Public Observance

 Oh shit a Gladys pulled up at the store across the street. Got all these pens in my bag that I don't remember putting there that barely work. The one pen I did put in there is mysteriously broken. It's brick and I wish I had my iPod for accompaniment. The police are near by, parked outside their baby substation as the 92 passes by. It is headed off to RI College. There is a jeep that passes by with red LED headlights like staring robot eyes. The kid at the bus stop with me is growing impatient. I just shiver and write.

I am on the bus now. The kid in his impatience missed the bus and was shitting around in the park behind us when it arrived. It is warm here and quiet. Mostly there are just a few women on the bus , including the driver. More passengers are on the bus and the traffic is making us slow. We arrive at the hospital and two veterans get on. The stop is at least useful.

I guess I could be writing a book at the moment but these thoughts seem just as useful right now. Noting the passing moment simply for what it is—acknowledging the life that does exist. The seats on these buses are not very comfortable—they keep warping my back. I have to be careful to sit straight and keep my shoulders aligned. We are almost in the city now and the bus, while well populated still has plenty of empty seats. I have yet to move my purse from its window seat to relinquish my comfy aisle seat to another.

There are quite a bit of cars by the mall—I hope they do not delay our trip around the corner by much. I would like to meet my mother promptly in my current tardiness. The cold from outside has permeated the bus with its chill. My legs are shivering. I am not looking forward to leaving the bus for more cold. Hopefully I am able to catch the next one soon. I missed the 40 at 5 pm (it leaves promptly on the nose of the hour). I shall call and see which one I may catch. Oh shit, it just occurred to me that I will be at the brandy new Kennedy Plaza for the first time. This changes things.

-------------------

There are a lot of passengers aboard the 78 but I am almost at my mother's job. She hasn't texted so I bet she's still working behind the counter. The front door of the bus is congested—such a contrasting mood from the 56. I should probably get off soon too.  

The Self must flourish.

           I think I am going to have to embrace some of my narcissistic tendencies in order to survive and flourish. I have to stop judging the fact that I love certain things about myself—stop hating myself because I think I'm hot shit sometimes. I truly believe that I can save the world. No I know that it will not alone be my doing, but if I don't think about just how my impact will matter, I won't bother making one.

           I think people these days are afraid to be selfish, so much so to the point of losing themselves completely. But there is a balance required, like in all things. If we do not first tend to the Self we cannot tend to others. Being selfless means killing the self and while it is healthy in most ways in other ways it kills the Self as well, and that must never die.