Eight More January Sunsets

Room For Improvement (I'm still pretty bad at titles...)

Regardless of how inane or useless writing posts on this blog -or writing in general, may sometimes seem, the very act of writing always improves my skill by that much every time.
I'm pretty impressed by how far I've come in the years since I began this blog, and I'm equally impressed by how much I've improved in just the past year. I think I've become much better at flow and the essay format in general, however loosely structured I still write.
The past few months I've sort of made it a goal to write something on here everyday, and be it poetry, essay or stream-of-consciousness, I think that practice has been very beneficial. It's a great way to set aside time to just sit down and write and try to bring it to some sort of a conclusion and structure.
I still very much remember when I felt it was impossible to write an essay, let alone come up with a good title or a coherent ending to said essay. However, just writing every day and not quite holding myself to the essay format has helped me to feel out the structure of an essay for myself, and gain a better understanding of the how and why of essay composition.
Quite often, I feel like my writing gets me nowhere, or isn't of any real relevance or use to the world and its people, but honestly, that feeling doesn't usually last long, and it generates the need and thirst to write. I improve every time I write, in everything I write, and this, I think, is enough to keep me going.

Coincidence or Synchronicity? (A rewrite of "Fly Away")

I.

Walking home

So many invisible people on the street,

Too many lights

This voice will change.

Wrapped too tightly in my own thoughts

A black leash swinging from my hand

Something floats to the ground ahead of me

Catching my attention

Gray and light, drifting like snow or ash

A feather,

I am brought back into the physical world,

And I look around me, feathers falling noiselessly to the ground,

Tiny and the color of soft death,

A trail perpendicular across my own path

So very quiet, so very very quiet

Where did all the sound go? 

A peregrine falcon 

Regards me from the bare bare branches 

Of a long dead tree.

The question of course is:

Was it all just coincidence? 

II.

Dream-walking,

Music playing

Eyes turned inward 

I catch the words just as the song ends.

I am so often too wrapped up in my own head

And I miss the world around me

"I see fire..."

My thoughts are suddenly snapped back into the present 

By a song 

Familiar and unfamiliar,

But suddenly the place ahead of me,

Just down the street--

Doesn't look like home anymore.

So I turn and run,

Loose shirt billowing in the wind

Like a skin shed

And flight taken.

III.

Now every third time I walk that road

I pause just before the fence that leads down the street

To the house I grew up in,

And I wait for that feeling,

Though that was summer

And this is winter

Masquerading as spring. 

One a day, 

The other a dream, 

My life is never just now;

it is then, 

The bridge between past and future;

And all memories live in my hands, 

All seasons dwell in my heart. 

(Click to see them full size and all that.)

All Things Wound Together

A question:
Am I the creator of the world around me?
Or is the world around me the creator of me?

-(It would seem that this sounds awkward and unmusical and a little bit muddy no matter how I write it.)-

A winding-gliding answer:
I think it goes both ways, I create and am created. The path I take is drawn, but also chosen.

I seem to be a woman of few words today...

This is something I did not choose *grins*


I was reading this blog on a college website the other day, and marveling to myself at the craftsmanship of the writing. It's a little bit intricate, but in a way that pretty well covers the entirety of the subject at hand, I think. It's fairly descriptive and it doesn't float off into the air like almost everything I write, it's solid and occupies its space.

So I am doing my best to pare myself down as a person and reach the very heart of me which I guess also translates to my writing, but it feels like a sort of simplicity and spareness of words that's boring rather than refreshing? *shrugs*
I have no idea, but I do think it links somehow.
I have to try, kinda really hard, to wax lengthy and delve deep into any matter. But I guess that's just how it is with such things, no matter who you are. It all takes focus and determination.
That's not something that seems to come easily to me most of the time, determination. I act like I'm good at it, but I'm not so sure anymore. What have I really seen through to the end?
Mostly I feel flighty and like a shallow dipper, hummingbird drinking from the surface of a small pool.

Musing, not intellectually plotting out and methodically sifting every rock from the sand from the dust. They're all full of universes anyhow...

Understanding all of this, though, allows me to consciously choose instead of merely following a path drawn or dug, I don't have to fall into the ruts of my own mind and experience, I can forge a new path for myself.
(For a minute it looked like that was going to draw itself to a close, but the thread of thought continued and I watched it split once again into ten different branches, all a different color and voice.)
I suppose I enjoy following every little path, either physically or metaphorically, and that is why I don't often like sifting the soil to fine treasures. It all looks like treasure, it's all breath-takingly beautiful and fascinating. So either I want to hold and see every treasure, or forget it all and continue on forward with blinders. A horse and carriage in London, don't you know... That's not fun for long though, so then, I suppose, I enter supernova.

You wouldn't believe how analytical I can be, but that's not all there is. That would be why I try to refrain from "I am" statements. It's all good, it's all me, and it changes so quickly. I've said I'm contradictory before, but it's funny how much more even that means now.
Creator and created, so it goes with god? Perhaps, perhaps.
After all, if we are god, if god is within, all around us, wouldn't god look so strangely opposite, though yin and yang are inseparable? God being inseparable from anything, everything, and Good/ Bad, separated by the human mind with the imposing forward slash, really being more gad, or bood than anything else. Black and white, spaced apart and brought together by the word "and", being more of a beautiful swirl and swoop or gray than the harsh straight line between them.

I'm not entirely sure any of this is following, or rather, leading whatever came before it, because the longer I sit here and type, the more my mind becomes a mess of color and static and my eyes light up with the glow from this strange tapestry that seems to be weaving itself from the movement of my fingers, the dance of my thoughts.
The longer I meditate, or think, for that matter, the more my language dissolves into something purely from that space in my heart that isn't entirely of me but is also the purest me there could possibly be. The more parallel universes and strange dimensions open up into milky galaxies and colors unknown by any psychedelic experience.
I can barely follow myself, so how should I expect another being to? I wouldn't personally know if this is a quandary experienced by all or none. I tend to relate my philosophies to all of the world and human race, and sometimes I don't seem far off, but at others I am quite sure I have missed the mark altogether.


To wrap this whole thing up finally:
As with many of the questions I ask, there are two answers, or an answer disguised as two, when really it is one thing of two colors wound together. Perhaps the question should not have been separated into two itself in the first place.
I would say that I am created by my world as I create the world around me; It is a dance, no one partner doing all of the leading or following.

Talking to myself talking to someone else

I can relate to this quite a bit right now. Growing up in this world seems so difficult, and so often it feels like there is no community of support to all the little fledglings trying to take flight.
Sometimes, when it feels like everything's falling to pieces, it's just the world rearranging itself into a new pattern around you, and I really feel like it'll always get better somehow, even if it's just tiny things like noticing a sunbeam on a wall that strikes you as really beautiful, or an old friend suddenly showing up to just give you a hug.
Sometimes, when life and the future feels really overwhelming, it can help to choose just one thing to work towards and accomplish, something that you know you'll thank yourself for later.
This is a song I often listen to when I'm feeling really down or angry or just generally irritable and unsure of everything: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8k9rD7lx9c
I hope this helps, dearheart. You are loved. Bless us to bless each other. <3 p="">

Fly Away

I.
Walking home

So many invisible people on the street,
Too many lights

This voice will change.

Wrapped too tightly in my own thoughts
A black leash swinging from my hand

Something floats to the ground ahead of me
Catching my attention

Gray and light, drifting like snow or ash


A feather,
I am brought back into the physical world,
And I look around me, feathers falling noiselessly to the ground,
Tiny and the color of soft death,
A trail perpendicular across my own path

So very quiet, so very very quiet

Did she scream when she was torn from the air?
Or did he escape, missing only a few tufts of soft down?

II.
Dream-walking,
Music playing.

I catch the words just as the song ends.
I am so often too wrapped up in my own head
And I miss the world around me.

"I see fire"

Familiar and unfamiliar,
But suddenly the place ahead of me,
Just down the street--
Doesn't look like home anymore.

So I turn and run,
Loose shirt billowing in the wind
Like a skin shed
And flight taken.

III.
Now every third time I walk that road
I pause just before the fence that leads down the street
To the house I grew up in,
And I wait for that feeling,
Though that was summer
And this is winter
Masquerading as spring. 

Happy Box Thoughts

Subject: Night Walk 1/5/14
Running and walking and talking with Torthadiel, my best friend sister.
We hugged trees and tried to solve the mystery of the footprints spaced far apart in the sidewalk.

1.23.14
Hanging out on Torthadiel's bed all afternoon. Talking and laughing and sitting next to each other all over each other. Reading and surfing Tumblr. My sister makes me happy!

Sledding in all sorts of different light, shadow, and brightness. Afternoon yellow, then sunset orange slashing across the hills. Then deep and deeper blue. At the cabin with C. and all of my family.
  Playing and just worshipping on the walk up, laughing and yelling, eyes wide open, hair blowing in the wind on the way down. Exhilaration. 1.26.14

Subject: a movie night 1.24.14
Watching Red Dog with my family for the second time.
                                                                     So happy
          Beautiful soundtrack

Subject: beauty 1/12/14
Sledding with Yo under a grey cloudy sky.

Every Once In a While (This is Supernova)

Can't apply myself to writing today,
Though the pen scratches at my ribcage,
The birds are making an enormous racket--
And I would throw stones at them--
But I'm a content sort of restless.

Every once in a while I become sick of metaphor
Weightlessness,
But I'm trying to fly,
Alternately floating off and crashing to the ground.

Creativity, today, is an itch I can't scratch,
A rope thrown over a tree branch that won't catch.
Would anybody like to hold these things?
Take them from me and explore them
And give me your own things in return.

How much does the song in your heart vary?
Every once in a while mine becomes this elemental,
Orchestral movie score, and I have no idea what to do with it 

Or how to sing it anymore.
That is the itch that begs to be scratched,
Scales hanging just so,
Ready to be shed at the slightest touch,
But it is an art.

The dance of the girl in supernova,
Brighter than she can stand,
A whirl of color and light;
Singing and drawing and playing the guitar--
And wondering what to do with it all,
Everything begging for another shoulder to alight on.

Did you know that the universe is underneath our feet?
This planet is round,
But it is no wonder we once thought it was flat,
And every once in a while we forget
that the universe isn't just above our heads;
We stand upon the stars.

Wired In Life (rough draft)

Bless you, little one 

The universe is within, without, all around 

You. 

Infinities stretching in every direction

Galaxies in the atoms of my couch. 

Life is so delicate, so rare, 

Everywhere and tougher than nails. 

To hold two concepts in the heart 

May be almost effortless, 

Like the wonder of an octopus changing skins, 

The head is a little bit harder;

Before two things can remember they are one, 

You must wrap them all around with silver wire.