Musings On A Saturday

“The purpose” is an elusive concept to capture in words or thought or even philosophy. Right after inquiring “what is the meaning of life” follows the second question”what is my life’s purpose”.

And answering “I dunno” doesn’t always feel so inspirational.

I was walking down the sidewalk this week towards work when I passed this chick who looked at that ephemeral age between 15 and 25. I didn’t pay her much attention in approach, but at the 7 pace mark, she removed her headphones, met my eyes, and began speaking.

Not that I got a word of it

I took my headphones out. “Sorry, what did you say?” I asked, eyes drawn down to her slightly anxious face and fastening onto her shiny silver braces. Maybe she is lost.

She proceeded to lay down her words at an impressive rate of speed, her lips accelerating faster and faster, the braces on her teeth appearing and disappearing within milliseconds like flickering Morse code. The words jumbled and nonsensical flowed into my ears in choppy bits of comprehension.

“Excuse me …. sorry to bother you … Was wondering … if you wouldn’t mind .. .(something, something) … Bible study …. completely free…. no money or anything… if you’re interested -“

It took me a few seconds to catch on that I was in the presence of a baby witness bird.

Baby witness birds (BWBs) are young awkward witnesses who have not yet learned the smooth, suave methods of their elder, fervent brethren. BWBs are moved to strike out into the world to witness in their peculiar, anxiety-ridden, way. And by witness, I mean church converting, soul seeking, hell fearing witnesses, not necessarily Jehovah witnesses mind you, just folks of any denomination with the burning urge to seize souls.

And mine is closed for search and seizure.

Sunday

I wonder about the soul. About whether we as human beings really have a true match out there or if some of us never couple, triad, or quad up. If some of us are meant to be alone.

But I have hope due to the most… strange circumstance I encountered recently.

I made a new friend. And we fit like two peas in a pod. I mean, we really jive, and we have a lot in common, yet enough difference to be independent uniquely fun people.

And the only thing that hits me sometimes, when I look at them is… why?

Why did this person ask me to hang out with them? Why did they let me in?

Is that a stupid question to ask?

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t say this out of self-deprecation. But I am surprised. After years of being alone, of being “left behind”, they come out of no where and… let me in.

I can’t fathom it.

But it gives me hope. If I can make a friend this kind, giving, caring and open, then maybe I can find my equal(es).

Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m all for non-traditional relationships. In fact, if it doesn’t get crazy messy, I could see myself in a triad. Nope, still not mormon

But I digress.

I enjoy their company. We could hang out every day, but I am not even used to it. There is so much that folks take foregranted that is new and strange to me.

But I am the author and finisher, I can make my life something new and different. I can shape it differently. I can be someone to be proud of.

And I am proud of myself. For changing, for growing, for becoming a beautiful person inside and out. For forgiving myself and all my shortcomings. For letting go of perfection. For hanging on to the important things in life.

For being myself. Period.

I think I will change my name, after all.

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A Spark

Life is beautiful in pain, with the tinged edges of lofted memories.
Like peanut butter smeared on celary
Or caramel chocolate.

But this isn’t a conversation about food.

It’s been 5 months, so much has changed
Faster than even I could have arranged.
The barometer of time
Can erase much from the lines.
But never the emotion
Of words left unspoken.

I wonder sometimes about the options,
To roads full of cautions;
In the end, people are themselves;
It’s too much to keep them assigned to their shelves.
They are free
Just like me.

I laugh now more than I cry,
Some things I remember with a sigh;
This path of decisions,
Not everyone wants to listen.

After so long in the dark,
I emerge in the sun, shattered and stark;
And yet I am comfortable with these marks.
It is my history, my grounding story.

The harsh disconnect of being unmoored,
A history shrouded in blank pages, torn;
That lack of anchor both empty and freeing,
Hence a future full of meaning.

I build again and again.
I try not to be discouraged by the end.
Because the close of a chapter begins another.

So I close the pages of yesterday;
My joys, regrets, and past ways.
Because new leaves have unfurled,
This growing tree expands my world.

Joy tinged with sadness,
Peace with gladness;
In a way I had to break,
To put the pieces in this brand new shape.

So in a way I must thank the trauma,
That ended so much drama;
And freed me to be more in line
With this beauty unconfined.

When the forest fire dies
Smoke and ashes flies
Seedlings will grow
And the coals will show

A brave new beginning. . .

Coffee #27: Question mark? Semicolon; Zer0

( ? ) Question Mark:

I question everything and know nothing. I look in the mirror and see a stranger of unimportance and delusion.

Questions haunt me so much more beyond the simplistic -“what’s that?” or “google it?”- moments. When a definition provided clarity and answers completed the quest.

But words don’t mean anything, and words are just syllables and latin phrases derived and bastardized with blunt force trauma. Like a buffet, we can shop for words to define the undefinable, to label the unmentionable, to describe what is with empty words that mean absolutely nothing.

Is it a competition to collect the labels to define ourselves and others?

Is it asexual or demisexual? Is it heterosexual or homosexual or pansexual? Is it minority or person of color or the alphabet soup of checking twelve boxes on a college application form? Is it gender queer or transgendered or gender neutral?

Does it even matter when you are alone anyway? Does the starving individual worry about such trifles when trapped on a desert island, struggling to survive and maintain hope of rescue? At what point is it good to ask such questions? Is it just selfishness or spoiled indulgence to ponder and wonder instead of being grateful for breath and life and prosperity?

If there were any sense of clarity, perhaps I would ask these questions for the hope of enlightenment, to seek a deeper truth or a hidden meaning to it all. I don’t just want to know, I want to understand and with understanding gain some measure of peace. The rough sea of questions with no answers are an insufferable plague; couldn’t there be a final “aha!” moment to crown the months of struggle and analysis? To close the chapters of confusion with some measure of resolution?

Will I forever be tormented by these questions and uncertainties?

( ; )  Semicolon:

“How could I be sure, that you won’t walk away?
Angel of deception, let me live this way.”

~ How Can I Be Sure by Anomie Belle

Here I stand on the crumbling edges of the excavation
Peering into the depths of another conclusion
-Finally- a gasp from the back of my mind
At last, this morbid phase comes to a close
Just a few more inches, just a few more days
Just another adventure to cure this malaise
Let us finally close this chapter, petty one
Let us finally go our separate ways, lead on
Shutting the lid on this final viewing
We commend your past to the depths
This body isn’t yours to give and burn
But this memory is yours to do with what you will…

Time to pack, time to move, and time to find boxes and store items from each room. What can I live without? Everything…

My contract is ending, this period draws to a close and I am excited for the new opportunities available, the new doors that I can reach out and grasp, firmly, with both hands. I can achieve the goals burning in my soul, I can finally do what I’ve always wanted.

I can finally escape the madness! And what worse madness is there, than to see the insane and assume it a daily norm?

But I digress.

It’s never too late to start a new life. After staring into the mirror wondering “If this were my last day, would I want to do what I’ll do today?” I can finally respond with a solid resounding “YES”.

Raising a glass to the next step of the journey-

( 0 ) Zero:

Zero is often seen as a negative number. Nothing, without, and other negative connotations.

Mathematically, the number zero is neither positive nor negative -except for French mathematics which holds that zero is both positive and negative.

Zero isn’t nothing. Zero is both all and none -like a version of infinity.

So when I say that I am Zero, it is neither positive nor negative in its connotation. It simply “is”. It simply exists. I simply exist, without justifications or associations, without condemnations or hallucinations.

Just there.

Just alive and being, and thinking and existing.

I think therefore I am; if I think about the construct of nothing I still am. Existence isn’t determined by quantity but quality.

Zero is calculated by adding positive and negative numbers that cancel each other out in perfect balance and equality. Life in balance encapsulates the good and bad -nothing wrong with that.

Zero brings with it a zen construct of balance and possibility. Add or subtract, multiply and divide, all or none. Harmony and equality.

Neutrality at its finest…

In a society that emphasizes quantity and accumulation, zero is frightening and horrific. Zero balance = panic attacks. Zero tolerance = freak-the-fuck-out.

Yes, zero gets a bad rap.

But it doesn’t have to be negative. It can be positive. It can be neutral.

It can be what it is without explanation.

And, by extension, so can I.

(?) (;) (0)

So, what’s with the three symbols?

Nothing much, just punctuation.

Enunciation.

A declaration of independence.