The dreams I've had throughout my life have been very varied, and vivid. When I was a kid, I dreamed that Beethoven saved me from a fire by pushing me, on a sled, down a snowy slope. I've had very complex action dreams that resembled James Bond movies or video games. I've had dreams that have revealed inner wisdom, or revealed animal totems. And most of these have been messages of where I'm putting my energy.
This time of year tends to create a lot of nostalgia for me. Nostalgia a type of suffering, but is also a choice: a choice to slip back into the past and old habits, or to let them go. This year, my nostalgia has been the things my ex boyfriend and I used to do together. Not him specifically, but my memory of us at that point in time, and that feeling of coziness as the weather grew cooler. With that nostalgia has come resentment, I think. Old resentment that's dusted itself off to come out of last February and the months leading up to summer.
I dreamed that I had to go to his house to pick up something of mine. When I arrived, and he came out to meet me, I flew into such a rage, that I started hitting and kicking him. As much as I tried, I couldn't do any damage to him; I was just upsetting myself more and more. After he went back inside, I got ready to leave. But the window to the living room was open, and I could see him, his new girlfriend, and a collection of his friends that I knew and had met when we were dating, laughing and talking.
What is it like to realize that you are no longer a part of someone's life? Or rather, to wonder what it's like for them now that you're out of their life?
Where is that focus?
The external gaze will always find unrest, as it seeks to figure out the ego's placement in another person's story. In that sense, it's not about me.
But the internal gaze seeks awareness. In this sense, it is about "I," and where my focus has been the last few weeks. Returning to one's intention, always returning.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Transformations
I have about a half hour before yoga, so I decided to take the time and spill the beans. Have you ever spilled the beans? Sometimes they unintentionally tip out of a jar, or wiggle out of a hole in your pocket, squeezing, trying to find freedom.
Sometimes the beans sit there, waiting patiently in a bag on the kitchen counter. Kidney beans, white beans, black beans, garbanzo beans, all jumbled up, mixed in. After a while, after you watch those beans sitting silently, staring blackly, you reach out with a steady hand and in one swift motion, you yank the bag until it turns upside down and it all... showers down.
Now, granted, I don't have any big confessions, and it's nothing nearly so dramatic as cascading beans. But the changes in my life have been overflowing as of late. I truly believe that any event that causes us to stumble is only an opportunity and a nudge to let go of something that is no longer serving us.
Almost nine months ago, my relationship with my last boyfriend was ending. My back injury had flared up again, so I was in copious amounts of pain most of the time, and I was having a hard time getting excited about going to school every day. I was the heaviest I'd been in a couple years, which added to some of the physical pain. Around this same time, my mom discovered a yoga studio in Roseville. Her experience there was so powerful, she called me and said, "You've got to come to a class with me. I will pay for it, but you have to come." So I did; I'd been looking for a studio to join, but as a college student living off financial aid, my income was limited. After the first class, I knew I had to keep coming back. This was too important, it felt too right.
Fast forward to now. I've gone from almost 200lbs to 177 so far. My practice has blossomed, and by extention, my spirit journey and soul journey have found new momentum. I start Yoga Teacher Training today, and I'm the new studio manager for the studio I practice at. My mobility is high, my pain nonexistent, and I've found a home within myself, and within a community.
I'd say that's a pretty good first step.
Sometimes the beans sit there, waiting patiently in a bag on the kitchen counter. Kidney beans, white beans, black beans, garbanzo beans, all jumbled up, mixed in. After a while, after you watch those beans sitting silently, staring blackly, you reach out with a steady hand and in one swift motion, you yank the bag until it turns upside down and it all... showers down.
Now, granted, I don't have any big confessions, and it's nothing nearly so dramatic as cascading beans. But the changes in my life have been overflowing as of late. I truly believe that any event that causes us to stumble is only an opportunity and a nudge to let go of something that is no longer serving us.
Almost nine months ago, my relationship with my last boyfriend was ending. My back injury had flared up again, so I was in copious amounts of pain most of the time, and I was having a hard time getting excited about going to school every day. I was the heaviest I'd been in a couple years, which added to some of the physical pain. Around this same time, my mom discovered a yoga studio in Roseville. Her experience there was so powerful, she called me and said, "You've got to come to a class with me. I will pay for it, but you have to come." So I did; I'd been looking for a studio to join, but as a college student living off financial aid, my income was limited. After the first class, I knew I had to keep coming back. This was too important, it felt too right.
Fast forward to now. I've gone from almost 200lbs to 177 so far. My practice has blossomed, and by extention, my spirit journey and soul journey have found new momentum. I start Yoga Teacher Training today, and I'm the new studio manager for the studio I practice at. My mobility is high, my pain nonexistent, and I've found a home within myself, and within a community.
I'd say that's a pretty good first step.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Art Update
Since I recently graduated, I thought it would be a good time to give a little update on some of the pieces I've done in the last couple years. Enjoy!
I'm trying to get into the habit of sketching people when I'm out and about. I'm pretty solid at figure drawing but I can always get better. And gesture drawing is just fun.
Oh yes, that landscape painting class. I will say that my old apartment never looked this good in real life.
A large painting, about six feet by eight feet. Oils and house paint on unstretched canvas.
Part of a photo portrait series. I adore hands, largely because I come from a family who works with them a lot, whether it be construction, mechanic, or artist. Hands tell a story unlike anything else.
I don't have a picture of the actual piece on fabric, but this is a sketch for a piece I did maybe a year and a half ago.
My most recent painting, done about one year ago. Self portrait of me as a child. Unfortunately the colors in the photo do not look like the actual painting (which is 4x5 feet).
Analog photography print, self-portrait in character.
Right before I graduated I explored ink on fabric more. It's difficult to see the full impact but it's fascinating to me how the muslin moves, reacts to the ink (sumi and sepia), and becomes almost like stained glass against the light.
I'm trying to get into the habit of sketching people when I'm out and about. I'm pretty solid at figure drawing but I can always get better. And gesture drawing is just fun.
Oh yes, that landscape painting class. I will say that my old apartment never looked this good in real life.
A large painting, about six feet by eight feet. Oils and house paint on unstretched canvas.
Part of a photo portrait series. I adore hands, largely because I come from a family who works with them a lot, whether it be construction, mechanic, or artist. Hands tell a story unlike anything else.
I don't have a picture of the actual piece on fabric, but this is a sketch for a piece I did maybe a year and a half ago.
My most recent painting, done about one year ago. Self portrait of me as a child. Unfortunately the colors in the photo do not look like the actual painting (which is 4x5 feet).
Analog photography print, self-portrait in character.
Right before I graduated I explored ink on fabric more. It's difficult to see the full impact but it's fascinating to me how the muslin moves, reacts to the ink (sumi and sepia), and becomes almost like stained glass against the light.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Hello, hello?
It occurs to me that blogging is sometimes like the creek bed that crosses over the property where my childhood house was. Sometimes it floods, and then it'll completely dry up for months at a time.
I think that accurately sums things up.
But I digress. My semi-recently single self has finally found her once misplaced inspiration and drive to write. Being single does help. Hell, breaking up with someone helps. There's nothing like tearing your life away from someone else's like a splitting cell, only to realize that oh, wait, there's all this time that I didn't have before. And lots of thoughts and feelings to take up that time! How convenient. But as I continue to remind myself, reflection is a gift not to be casually cast aside. In all my sassiness there is still reverence, which I think is a healthy balance.
Timing is a very curious thing to me. As I began to formulate a sentence that began my tale of joining a yoga studio, I remembered that my break up and seriously getting back into yoga both happened around the same time. It never ceases to amaze me how... appropriate it is when one cycle of life fades and another begins. Even as my lingering thoughts and issues with my ex trail like tentrils of grape vines, so much has happened for me in the last six months that it feels deliciously right to close that chapter with a big fat THE END. I think allowing oursevles that transition is important. It's closure, yes, but for me it's also a reflection on impermenance and centering. Creation, creation, creation. All I can do is sit in this swivel chair and shake my head. Such a powerful force. And beautiful, no matter how hard some times are.
I think that accurately sums things up.
But I digress. My semi-recently single self has finally found her once misplaced inspiration and drive to write. Being single does help. Hell, breaking up with someone helps. There's nothing like tearing your life away from someone else's like a splitting cell, only to realize that oh, wait, there's all this time that I didn't have before. And lots of thoughts and feelings to take up that time! How convenient. But as I continue to remind myself, reflection is a gift not to be casually cast aside. In all my sassiness there is still reverence, which I think is a healthy balance.
Timing is a very curious thing to me. As I began to formulate a sentence that began my tale of joining a yoga studio, I remembered that my break up and seriously getting back into yoga both happened around the same time. It never ceases to amaze me how... appropriate it is when one cycle of life fades and another begins. Even as my lingering thoughts and issues with my ex trail like tentrils of grape vines, so much has happened for me in the last six months that it feels deliciously right to close that chapter with a big fat THE END. I think allowing oursevles that transition is important. It's closure, yes, but for me it's also a reflection on impermenance and centering. Creation, creation, creation. All I can do is sit in this swivel chair and shake my head. Such a powerful force. And beautiful, no matter how hard some times are.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day.
I'm not a huge fan of the holiday, but it does bring attention and focus to celebrating relationships. But this year, I want to remind myself, and everyone else that it's also an opportunity to be mindful of your relationship with yourself. Keep some energy kindled in your core so you have a bountiful source to offer. Take a moment tomorrow to accept yourself for who you are, and just rest in that moment. It's not something we easily grant ourselves. It's not prideful, it's not selfish (but it is self-centered, self-balanced), it is turning towards the internal. A gentle reminder to be kind and nurturing to ourselves.
I'm not a huge fan of the holiday, but it does bring attention and focus to celebrating relationships. But this year, I want to remind myself, and everyone else that it's also an opportunity to be mindful of your relationship with yourself. Keep some energy kindled in your core so you have a bountiful source to offer. Take a moment tomorrow to accept yourself for who you are, and just rest in that moment. It's not something we easily grant ourselves. It's not prideful, it's not selfish (but it is self-centered, self-balanced), it is turning towards the internal. A gentle reminder to be kind and nurturing to ourselves.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Caught up in the details.
How often do we dwell on the bad shit?
It's overwhelming sometimes. It is very easy to sink, down, down into despair and never resurface.
Life is hard. It only get's harder as time goes on, and the years roll by. But I've decided, this evening, to write a list of my favorite things. I haven't limited it to simple things, and I haven't limited it to sweeping life philosophies. Because when it comes down to it, my existence in this universe is multi-channeled, and I have the freedom to explore my desires, and to grab onto that which makes my life beautiful. What is your list of favorite things?
Showering in the evenings (not so late that my hair is still wet when I go to bed). The feeling of clean skin sliding under the covers is absolutely delicious. And if the sheets are freshly washed, all the better!
Recognizing the potential and opportunity in a painful situation, and finding the strength and confidence and desire to pursue that.
Reading before bed. It's a pleasure I rarely give myself. But it's wonderful when I do!
Stumbling across some old album you used to listen to as a kid/young teenager. Even if the music is awful (or if it still speaks to you now), it's a charming little flashback that unearths perspective regarding where I was at 13, and where I am now.
Yoga. Oh god, oh wonderful, wonderful spirit, I love love love yoga. Come back to the breath, always the breath. Breathing into the discomfort sends my distorted muscles and mind into strength and balance. And I've only brushed the tip of what's possible.
Figuring out that I've only just begun.
Falling into vulnerability, whether it be in someone's arms, or in myself. It's a beautiful and frightening place to be.
Opposites. Or more specifically, the delightful tension they create between them.
Finding the balance between my own perspective and another.
Discovering the spectrum of things.
Sushi. Good sushi. And ginger. I love ginger how other people love wasabi.
Sudden inspiration, and having someone who's kind and creative enough to be my wall to bounce things off of, and letting me be their wall.
Crying. Though not particularly in public. But there have been multiple times in my short existence where I've felt so overcome that sobbing feels a little like an emotional (granted, not as happy happy pleasurey) orgasm.
Being reminded that I don't have to take myself seriously.
Queer. Courage. Authenticity. The strength to call something by its true name.
It's overwhelming sometimes. It is very easy to sink, down, down into despair and never resurface.
Life is hard. It only get's harder as time goes on, and the years roll by. But I've decided, this evening, to write a list of my favorite things. I haven't limited it to simple things, and I haven't limited it to sweeping life philosophies. Because when it comes down to it, my existence in this universe is multi-channeled, and I have the freedom to explore my desires, and to grab onto that which makes my life beautiful. What is your list of favorite things?
Showering in the evenings (not so late that my hair is still wet when I go to bed). The feeling of clean skin sliding under the covers is absolutely delicious. And if the sheets are freshly washed, all the better!
Recognizing the potential and opportunity in a painful situation, and finding the strength and confidence and desire to pursue that.
Reading before bed. It's a pleasure I rarely give myself. But it's wonderful when I do!
Stumbling across some old album you used to listen to as a kid/young teenager. Even if the music is awful (or if it still speaks to you now), it's a charming little flashback that unearths perspective regarding where I was at 13, and where I am now.
Yoga. Oh god, oh wonderful, wonderful spirit, I love love love yoga. Come back to the breath, always the breath. Breathing into the discomfort sends my distorted muscles and mind into strength and balance. And I've only brushed the tip of what's possible.
Figuring out that I've only just begun.
Falling into vulnerability, whether it be in someone's arms, or in myself. It's a beautiful and frightening place to be.
Opposites. Or more specifically, the delightful tension they create between them.
Finding the balance between my own perspective and another.
Discovering the spectrum of things.
Sushi. Good sushi. And ginger. I love ginger how other people love wasabi.
Sudden inspiration, and having someone who's kind and creative enough to be my wall to bounce things off of, and letting me be their wall.
Crying. Though not particularly in public. But there have been multiple times in my short existence where I've felt so overcome that sobbing feels a little like an emotional (granted, not as happy happy pleasurey) orgasm.
Being reminded that I don't have to take myself seriously.
Queer. Courage. Authenticity. The strength to call something by its true name.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
2.5.11
If every blog I started began with “Life changes” I think I'd start to feel like I was beating a dead horse. Then I could start saying, “The more it changes, the more it stays the same” and more of those lovely fucking phrases we like to throw about like rice at a wedding.
Do they still do that?
But anyway, the truth is I mostly blog when there's some big fuckin' event that sends my little ass spinning down the rabbit hole, clad in that familiar blue and white (to help push the comparison along). And life does change, even if it changes back to something in a slightly different form with the same hairstyle but different color. Life events seem for me to feel like a Salvador Dali film. I'm never really quite sure what I'm looking at right after I watch it, and all my thoughts and emotions seem far away and dream-like. It takes a good deal of time for me to pull meaning and sense from the splashes of images my fading memory slowly puts back together like a badly configured puzzle that comes with a pair of scissors.
Reflection is kind of like an art in that way. Subjectivity pulled from subjectively experienced occurrences. You think there's a right way to go about it, so you start to place piece after piece next to each other, but soon find there are certain parts that are just too small, or is a square instead of a semi-circle. To make matters worse, the puzzle is a copy of a Hans Hoffman painting, and it's one where you don't really remember what it looks like. So you have to improvise. It's your own Hoffman painting, uniquely tailored to your satisfaction.
Which is the trouble, isn't it? It isn't always about your own satisfaction, but at the same time, sometimes it must be. Definitions, definitions, what kind of damn satisfaction are we talking about? Just because the Rolling Stones can't seem to find it doesn't mean I can't. And here we find the balance between ego satisfaction and what is really needed to be happy.
Tricky, tricky. So it seems! It's not really, but we like to make it seem it is. Understandably so, our schedules and our patterns are of great comfort to habitual creatures like us. Simplicity underscores most of our experiences, I think, but it's simplicity that is the most easily disguised.
All of his is very convoluted (how ironic) and vague. But, the details will remain with me for a time, and I'll simply leave you with abstract philosophizing for you to ponder or to read and wonder what the hell I'm on about.
Do they still do that?
But anyway, the truth is I mostly blog when there's some big fuckin' event that sends my little ass spinning down the rabbit hole, clad in that familiar blue and white (to help push the comparison along). And life does change, even if it changes back to something in a slightly different form with the same hairstyle but different color. Life events seem for me to feel like a Salvador Dali film. I'm never really quite sure what I'm looking at right after I watch it, and all my thoughts and emotions seem far away and dream-like. It takes a good deal of time for me to pull meaning and sense from the splashes of images my fading memory slowly puts back together like a badly configured puzzle that comes with a pair of scissors.
Reflection is kind of like an art in that way. Subjectivity pulled from subjectively experienced occurrences. You think there's a right way to go about it, so you start to place piece after piece next to each other, but soon find there are certain parts that are just too small, or is a square instead of a semi-circle. To make matters worse, the puzzle is a copy of a Hans Hoffman painting, and it's one where you don't really remember what it looks like. So you have to improvise. It's your own Hoffman painting, uniquely tailored to your satisfaction.
Which is the trouble, isn't it? It isn't always about your own satisfaction, but at the same time, sometimes it must be. Definitions, definitions, what kind of damn satisfaction are we talking about? Just because the Rolling Stones can't seem to find it doesn't mean I can't. And here we find the balance between ego satisfaction and what is really needed to be happy.
Tricky, tricky. So it seems! It's not really, but we like to make it seem it is. Understandably so, our schedules and our patterns are of great comfort to habitual creatures like us. Simplicity underscores most of our experiences, I think, but it's simplicity that is the most easily disguised.
All of his is very convoluted (how ironic) and vague. But, the details will remain with me for a time, and I'll simply leave you with abstract philosophizing for you to ponder or to read and wonder what the hell I'm on about.
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