When I say you, I mean me.
I don’t write for you, I write for me. I don’t speak for you, I speak for me. I don’t collect for you, I collect for me. I don’t create for you, I create for me.
Like pages to a diary, this has become a digital map of life, lessons, yearnings, and needs. It has its certainty and siphons with uncertainty.
Sometimes these words are torn from my bound journal. Sometimes they start here in this text box. Sometimes they end up on folds of paper, a box to collection of passed notes, like days of classroom.
These are my words.
Sometimes they trigger.
Sometimes they chase.
Please know this.
I don’t write to trigger you, I write to trigger me.
I don’t write to chase you, I write to chase me.
If you’re feeling something within you, that’s within me, realize we are the connection to the correlation bound between the shapes of letters taken to screen. The invitation is to go inside of yourself in order to see. In order to feel. It’s this recognition within me that is within you. #wordiness
Addicted to screened fantasy. The game of results and fortunes that keep you flying, only to stiff you from feeling. You go to the other to seek and aspire. The exacerbation of the inspiration backs your myths and the walls you keep. Scar tissue in folds from traumas you’ve tucked, seek the other for your truths, reach the other for your healing, praise and criticize the other to keep pace from your caved reality. In this fantasy, play to up-keep, triggered love to unknown others so vast, or seething hate to comfort your reach.
Take heed, before you spread yourself for another. Take love as your own, take truths as your own, take hate as your own, take healing as your own. Serve this up to yourself first and foremost; wrecked is the game of reach. Wrecked is the game of needy. Wrecked is the game of emptying yourself for others instead of filling up yourself.
It’s all surface until you’re willing to go deep. It’s all surface in the delights of pretty things. It’s all surface to keep blood stains from so-called smooth cover-ups. It’s all surface until you’re willing to bleed.
Because the fantasy keeps to the superficial. Hard-wired addictions will hold on to the hustle. Break the seal of the untold reality. Facing life actuality is not for the faint or the numb. It requires scraping the walls of the deadened parts you’ve buried. It requires mess. It requires pains. It requires ugly. It’s requires you to feel and it’s the construct of the soul.
What is sought from another is what is to be sought from ourselves.
Caked under the beds of your nails. It’s in the hard spots of your ways. Places you hide and stories you keep in the comfort of distractions.
This is where we go in.
It’s moments like these we will remember. We’ll remember smells, touches, what skin feels like against lips and fingertips. Maybe it’s the scruff of your beard, or dips in places where skin is scarred, or how heavy the tiniest feet can feel when pressed into soft handles.
We’ll remember sounds of boots tapping up steps as the mister comes home from a long, tiresome workday. When I think of sounds, I can hear the accent of my grandmother and her quiet, almost hushed laughter. Maybe we’ll talk about how much the hummingbirds loved your mom’s back porch so much and how I loved to photograph them. We’ll laugh about inside jokes, the quirky stories we shared, the imaginative play with building, coloring, mess-making.
We’ll remember dinner parties and living room picnics; we’ll bust out photos from when we sipped bourbon, played raunchy board games, toasted marshmallows, and traced poster-sized bodies of chosen family. We’ll reenact dance moves and grooves from the younger years and riddle on about late night shenanigans, music genres, and going on about wild tales of old flirts, flames, and flings. It will bring us to toast them all to the past.
We’ll remember weekend trips where we raced to watch the sunrise or head out to its set, it will remind us to never take one for granted. The outdoors will teach us that nature’s way is the only way, it will feel calm and crisp, and her air will settle in the lungs. It will be colorful and patient and yet always in transition, like life and death with each season.
We’ll remember how life happened so fast, even when it felt slow. We’ll slow-down memories of fast time and crisis. We will look back and see that everything had its pace and place, people would come and go, and it all happened accordingly, some with answers, some without.
For time is a misleading concept, yet we are always moving some way, somewhere. Everything is happening all at once. Take many photos, say what’s real, write, laugh, cry, hold on to people that love you and send love to the ones that don’t, be brave, feel everything, do the things that light you up and challenge you the most; life happens when we are standing still or moving right along with it.
your only choice in life is to feel. how long will you run? how long can you hide? when do you stop blaming? when does responsibility step in? are you here to pretend or are you here to get real? be real. it's the feeling-body that shows us to get really-real. fuck that fake shit.
The moment you begin to judge someone, go inside.
The moment you want to blame someone, go inside.
The moment you want to react toward someone, go inside.
The moment you want to give the stink eye, huff, growl, hair flip, whatever-have-you, go inside.
The moment you begin to feel some density with someone - pissed off, angry, low, flustered, whatever it is, go the fuck inside.
And realize this.
Your reaction to anyone, anything - especially when it starts to drive a force of judgment, blame, competition, jealousy, anger, or anything that leaves you in a hot, heady, heated space - go inside. This is information. It is tapping you on the shoulder saying, “hey, there is something going on that you need to take a look at.” Life is requesting your attention to notice your thoughts, your patterns, your beliefs, your behaviors, your actions and what you need to dig into - for yourself.
So often we want to blame others or find safety in victim-hood. So often we prefer to numb our ways. The moment we begin to feel, is the moment we want to bow out. It takes place on the yoga mat as much as it takes place in our life. The body wants to move through the heavy shit. It’s the mind, the ego, that wants to knit such heaviness to banter this life and our relationships. When you really go inside with yourself, especially on the mat, you’ll have no choice but to feel. We numb so much in our lives, especially pain. When we numb pain, we numb everything else. You cannot ignore one part of your life, without ignoring all of your life. It is all connected, supported, and woven.
Often times I will tell students to feel it out, let stuff come up, get shaky, sit in the uncomfortable, feel what is real. If you’re smiling through it, awesome. If you’re hating through it, awesome. If you want to curse at me, I can take it. Because what is true is that everything you feel and all the gooey stuff that comes up has absolutely nothing to do with me (or others). The goal is to feel. My job, as a teacher, is to help you get there and simply guide you to go inside.