Two Parts

I think I need to stop chasing someone else’s idea of a good time. I enjoy sitting in coffee shops, sleeping in and waking up to an empty apartment, lounging idly on the beach. This is my reminder to myself that I don’t need ruins, out-of-the-way locales, or grand sweeping vistas every day to feel fulfilled in my travels. A reminder not to engage in comparisons, to return to myself when I do inevitably find myself engaging in them, and as always, to be kind to the best of my ability. 

The small things are what have been having the biggest impact on me and sticking to my heart;

A little sense of calm opening up in my chest, even if only for a few moments. Seemingly infinite grains of sand like tiny little stones. Fading into the background of everyday life, just another human on the city bus on their way to somewhere. Families laughing together in the sun. Realizing that the current hip fashion trend here is 90’s Seattle. Trying to pick out the different languages among the din of conversations at a crowded coffee shop. Perfumes and aftershaves. Flags fluttering in the wind. An unexplained, unknown smile between people I will never know. Waves crashing. A little blue beetle crawling across the dirt, blissfully unaware of the clap of thunder in the distance and the imminent downpour. The sounds of unseen birds filling the air. Coincidences. The pitter-patter of light rain. Sitting without talking. Wildflowers blazing orange and purple against the off-white of the dust, dirt and stones. Wondering about myself again. Searching.

I think I keep waiting for some kind of big “ah-hah!” moment that may not even come. Even if it is, waiting for it is making me miss all the steps along the way. I’m trying to attune myself to the present. This present. A new present. A present that doesn’t make sense to me just yet.

Swirling together with the sense of discovery and freedom is the loss and longing that still need to be felt in order to teach me what I need to know. It’s hard to balance those two truths, those two realities — to hold them and cherish them both at the same time. That struggle is familiar and painful and exciting, and it never seems to get any easier.

My heart still feels so heavy. Incomplete. Missing something. I am in a wholly new space. I miss the old space so much. It hurts just to write the word “old.” I want to stay with this pain when I can — not let it die or disappear, but to grieve with my whole heart for the loss of such an unfathomable love. I want to let it in, let it take hold of me, let it wrap itself around my heart for a little while — to let the grief and sorrow fill me down to the marrow of my bones. To honor. To rejoice. To remember.

One day I will search myself again and find something besides that sorrow. The light will flow back in, and back out, and back in again. Progress is not linear. Life is not a straight line. Be kind to and forgive yourself as often as you can.

-w.

Fleet of Heart

“Maybe I’m just this kind of person — the kind of person who connects with people fleetingly and leaves that connection open but moves on from it. From place and from time, to new and more people, to new experiences, more connections, more love. And there is nothing at all wrong with being that kind of a person. I feel more inured to that version of myself, to that kind of life, than ever before.”

 

It’s Friday afternoon. I’m at the provincial administrative office, referred to by most simply as jangwat. The four-story building is arranged like a big square with an open courtyard in the middle and offices only on the outward-facing side.

Me and three interns from the municipal office where I work are riding the elevator up to the top floor. I’ve been asked to keep them company while they deliver some documents. “Why am I so nervous,” I hear one of them ask herself. I ask them if they’ve ever been here before, and they all answer, “No, never.”

The elevator dings at the fourth floor and we step out of the open doors into the long hallway. One of them is reading directions off of a neon pink post-it note scribbled by her supervisor. “Go right, walk straight, it will be on your left,” I hear her say under her breath.

I’ve been to the building many times, but never to this specific office, so I follow their lead. We take a couple wrong turns and walk almost all the way around the square. “Maybe we should ask for directions,” I suggest to them. We soon discover that we passed the correct office two turns ago and start walking back the way we came.

The giddiness and excitement of being somewhere new, set on an unfamiliar errand, radiates off of them. The stakes are different for everyone, and everyone reacts differently to the situation. Nervous energy bounces between them and I try to observe their reactions. One is confident, and walks as if she knows exactly where she is going, even if she doesn’t. Another is a bit more nervous — she keeps checking the paperwork to make sure it’s right, and repeating the directions to herself. The third is more reserved, pensive. She waits to see what will happen before she reacts.

 

I can’t help but think about my own journey here as I follow them on their adventure. I look at them and I see us. I see a group of people with very little background knowledge being thrown into an unknown situation with vague directions and an expectation to come up with some kind of result that is not fully understood. I also see how far I have come. Here I am, taking an unfamiliar situation in stride, and feeling more at ease than the group of Thais I am with. It’s astounding to me.

Their excitement and nervousness about the newness of their situation is intoxicating. Imagined stakes that may or may not be there, trying different tactics until they get it right, desperately seeking help from anyone who may offer it, figuring out how to get along with the other members of their cohort and what roles their skills and personalities fit best — it reminds me so much of those first months in Thailand as a naive little trainee trying to run before I could crawl.

The whole day is just another opportunity for me to see how different things are now. The arc of my journey here astounds me. I imagine that I won’t fully understand it or grasp its significance for many years to come. What do I know, however, is that it has left it’s mark on me. Each person I have met and each experience I have had have left their fingerprint on my soul.

I don’t know where I will be two years from now — I can’t even begin to imagine it. Despite the fog of uncertainty, I do know that whatever happens has the capacity to have an impact on me if I let it. During my time here I have learned how to be raw, how to need, and how to take the seat of the observer. Every experience, big or small, has this same capacity to leave its mark. The length of time that I have it seems kind of irrelevant.

I’ve been thinking a lot about existentialism lately (thanks to a friend who sent me this article recently). It occurred to me as I was laying in bed reading one night how very much we care about this little world that we live in, despite our occasional attempts to convince ourselves otherwise. I lay there reading my book and realized how much I cared about this stupid, little, made-up story, and how much everything in our lives is just a made-up story. The innocence of youth permeates our entire existence.

To those existentialists who wonder whether or not life has meaning I would answer simply; of course it does, because we are here to make meaning of it.

Vessel/Vision

vessel / noun /

a :  a container […] for holding something

b :  a person into whom some quality […] is infused

As I sat in meditation one day a singular thought popped into my head. It’s one that I’ve had before;

“I am a vessel.”

“A vessel for what,” I ask myself.

The answer; an entire universe. One that only I am privy to, one that I couldn’t possibly show in its entirety, explain accurately, or represent faithfully to another human.

I can only open as many windows and doors, take down as many walls as possible and let people see in. Only then will I reach some kind of understanding. Only then will I get closer to feeling understood, understanding myself, and understanding others.

I won’t reach that place of understanding by furnishing a story, by creating something, by approximating it. I certainly can’t show it through closed doors. I can’t keep it closed up and attempt to explain such a thing, nor will that make others open up their doors for me. Then, there we are, alone in our own universes that no one else can see.

What a terrible place that would be.

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vision / noun /

a :  something seen in a dream, trance, or ecstasy; especially : a supernatural appearance that conveys a revelation

b :  a thought, concept, or object formed by the imagination

c :  a manifestation to the senses of something immaterial

Many years ago, during one of the most chaotic times in my life, I sat in meditation and had what some might call a vision. For the record, and as I have said many times, I do not believe in a world of spirits, visions, prophecy, magic, revelation, or the supernatural. The word vision carries with it many connotations in which I do not see truth, but it will have to do.

This vision was full of symbols; stories, lessons, representations of the people in my life, hopes, dreams, nightmares, fear, and a million other things. Cliffs, herds of animals, a raging storm, predators, guiding voices, running, earth, stone, fire, and an endless field of stars.

Never before, or since, have I been so consumed by an experience that occurred entirely within my own mind, within my own universe. For the time that I was experiencing it I did not feel as if I were present in the physical world.

Because of what was happening in my life at the time, my mind needed to find a way to show me these things. It created a story for me to follow, one that I could analyze and think about, but most importantly one that I could feel. It was something that felt real to me, that allowed me to access things I had locked away long, long before.

So, another thought occurred to me one day as I sat in meditation, trying to always bring myself back to the breath;

“What if this life is the vision?”

What if my real life is the one I thought I had seen in a vision all those years ago?

This thought was new to me. For a moment, I let myself pretend that this was possible. I asked myself, “What would that be like?”

If this life is a vision, then what is it showing me? What things that I have kept buried is it unearthing for me? What is it teaching me about myself? About others? About my connection to all things? What is it revealing to me?

What if my entire life is some kind of grand vision — one that I will look back on and contemplate upon awakening? What will I learn from it? How will it impact me?

So many questions, so few answers. I may never find them, but it’s fun to think about.

It’s true as much as it isn’t. Just like most things.

Mote

Acceptance

Accept…

that you cannot explain this feeling

that you may never be able to

that it is inexplicable

Let go of this if you can 

Instead of holding onto it, try broadcasting it, like a signal sent out to the universe

Let it go and let it be formless

Let it flow out of you 

Broadcast it and don’t worry about whether or not or how it is being received, because that is something that exists beyond the boundaries of your control

Grasping will only smother the light; 

Once there was only dark. If you ask me, the light is winning.”

-Rust

A story that is both a truth and a lie;

“I find myself alone, surrounded by darkness. I can see my own body as if it is lit by pale, silvery moonlight. The inky darkness seems alive, like a black velvet cloth undulating around me.

“I look down at my hands and I notice one of them is clenched shut. A soft light burns within and makes the skin of my hand glow ever so slightly. Within that fist I can feel a warmth, and through the hairline cracks between the fingers of my clenched fist I can just barely perceive the light within.

“I want to see it, but I fear that if I open my fist the light will be swallowed up in the darkness, lost forever among the many folds and shadows.

“I can feel exhaustion seeping into the cracks of me. I can feel my hand aching with pain. That pain radiates up my arm and into my shoulder and across my back. I know I can’t hold onto the light forever. I know that holding that light prisoner is tantamount to imprisoning myself.

“In the face of the inevitable I decide to let go. I open my hand.

“The brilliant yellow light defies description, and yet is known to all. The motes of light begin to slowly float up and away. Initial panic is replaced by relief and acceptance as shafts of light radiating out from the center sweep across me and brighten the light within me that I had forgotten was there, like stoking the embers within a long-forgotten fire.

“I think about the people who handed me this priceless, yet freely given, gift and gratitude swarms in to mix with the love, joy, and fear.

“I soon realize that the darkness is not all that inhabits this place. As the motes of light drift ever upward I see them moving towards a vast ribbon of light, like a river in the sky adorned with countless floating candles. The light floats up and away and collects with the other brilliant lights in the heart-space.

“I realize then that I never could have held onto that light even if I wanted to. You can’t hold onto something that doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to everyone.”

Know that you are loved. That you deserve love.