02.05.00

These ideas come to my head yet I have no idea what to do with them. They are like a form of chaos that lives in my head, waiting for me to put an order to them, yet I cannot. Not that I do not want to, they are beyond me knowing what to do. They are beyond me being able to express them. Where they came from, I do not know. Where they'll go, I could only wager. But I do know something; they come to me, and I must use them as I get them. I must learn to understand what these are, inside my mind, these things that inspire me so, but leave me dry as a bone.

I try to understand them, but as of yet that skill and knowledge is beyond my grasp. I feel I lack in the area of vocabulary to express these things, but I wish to change that. I wish to understand what these ideas that pop into my head are. So intense they be that they elate me, and if they sit too long, they ache in my head. They yearn to be released, and I wish I could help. For the sake of the idea, and for myself.

Music helps, though. The kind of music with a good beat, strong music with pumping bass is what I mean. It makes my blood boil within me, and it lifts me from where I am. It inspires these ideas in my head, I just wish I could interpret them. It affects the rest of my creative life, leaving me unable to write anything else, and I fear it will continue to do so until a few things happen. One is until I find a piece of me I lost along the way of living, and from that one I think the second one will come. The second one, as mentioned earlier, is the ability to understand these ideas and make use of them. Until I find the rest of me, I will suffer. But I will search; nothing will stop that.

Going with the suggestion of a friend, and something I heard from a teacher once, I seek to work these ideas into understandable terms by writing anything and everything that comes to mind. Which, as it might've been guessed, is what I am doing right now. Trying, searching, and writing to find myself, and solve these puzzles within my own body and brain.

When I spoke of losing a piece of myself, I speak the truth there. Though many may not believe, it is the truth to me. Along the process of living and surviving, I lost a part of me. Well, perhaps I didn't lose it, but I lost the way I accessed it before. I used to do it through the pain I endured during life, and when I found happiness, I lost the path to my inner abilities.

Some might call them powers, but those kinds of people are the ones who would more than likely abuse what it is. For me, it is a way to attune myself to the people I care for so that I may better know them, and know what is bothering them if needs be. It allows me to be a better listener. I used to be a good one, though around the same time I lost my ability, I lost the patience to listen. I feel these are related. As I search for my ability, I search for the kindness I once had within me.

If anyone is reading this right now, I know they are either thinking I am crazy, perhaps delusional, but I care not. I know what is true, even if it is only true for me. I cannot give truths to other people, but I can try to help them find what is true for them. I do not seek to have them follow me, but to follow themselves and be true to their self.

My ability goes past being able to tune myself in with people to the point of some times being able to see (possible) future events. Most of the time they come true, and some times they don't. When I look back, though I can sometimes locate a certain focus point in myself where if I had acted differently, what I saw and felt would've came true.

Believe in me, or not, I am not here to convince you, remember? I am here to find what this is within my head and constructively let it out so I do it justice. Perhaps, by allowing myself to do this, it will lead me the way to being myself again. Not that I've changed, but perhaps it'll help me be able to live up to my full potential under this new mind set that I have.

This ability I had was something, though it wasn't with me for long, it was a dear friend. I relied on it to survive, and now I find it hard to navigate my way through life. Well, it was hard before, so it's even harder now. I will do it, though, and I will rediscover my abilities. I vow that to myself.

02.15.00

I wonder, sometimes, how I can be expected to survive the problems that are put onto my shoulders. Life has given me lemons, and I lack the sugar to make some damned good lemonade.

I wish to live deliberately, though I do not know how. Does anyone? Not that I've seen, but I've seen paths to take to try and help. If these words sound familiar, I regret that they are not my own. I've learned them, albeit it unfortunately not first hand, from Henry David Thoreau. Someone, despite his state of death, that has inspired me as no one has ever before. As Thoreau wished, I wish to live deliberately so that when I die, I know that I lived

Though I want to live with purpose, I fear it. I can feel myself changing, and as many other humans do, I abhor change. I've been changing for awhile, though I just came to realize it. I fear both change, and the fact if I live with purpose someone may get hurt. Me? Someone else? Who can say for sure?

I must depart from the physical world, by some means, and realize my intellectual self. And from there, I must continue to look within to find my spiritual level of existence, and then I will be awake. I must become one with all levels of myself, and the wonderful world around me to be truly awake. Not just the state of not sleeping, but awake to the world and the stimuli it presents. I must spring my arch, as Thoreau would say, and launch myself off.

Thoreau left his life behind to go to the pond Walden. I only wish I had any such chance. I'd be gone in an instant. Well, I do have such a chance, though I cannot fully take it as of yet. I do yearn to be able to drop down to the basics of life, and to try and live deliberately. For awhile now, as long as I can remember even, it has been a dream of mine.

Yeah, there's a great chance that making the same move as Thoreau will not be the same. Hell, it's nearly guaranteed that it will not. Because I am who am I, and he was who he was. Even if he was alive, we would not be the same, and our ways to finding the divine essence within ourselves would be different. But, deep within myself, I do feel that by going to the place I call my own private haven will be the first step in finding my inner-self.

Perhaps, after I earn my full education, when I know not the first letter of the alphabet any more, I will learn. At least, I can hope on that.

07.03.00

Shoes. They were not even old shoes, but rather a pair that had a nice shine to them, looking like they cost quite a few quarters. Shoes, lying by the side of the road, abandoned without care. Were they left for a reason? I wish I knew. I fear this will bother me for a few days, maybe even weeks. Who knows? Probably the same person whose shoes those were.

They lay, innocently enough, at the side of a small back road that led from work to my house. What's the story behind them? I can only guess, for they may have been kicked off from someone, perhaps, who wished to rebel against the society in which they were confined. Perhaps it was someone running away, and these fancy shoes only hindered their progress.

Alas, I will never know. And for that fact, I will always be wondering. That is my way, not that I wish it to change. My curiosity has led me down many roads, some good and some bad. But I would not change anything in my past, no matter how bad some of the times were. For, those times made me who I am today. And while I wish I could change a few things of myself, I never would. For I am who I am, and someone loves me for whom I am. To change, to wish certain things did not happen to me in the course of my short live, is to risk losing that love.

These shoes, so carelessly discarded, or were they left there for a reason? It's a great mystery of life, and it has me pondering what events came to the conclusion of two brown shoes, finely crafted with a nice polish to them, came to be left at the side of the road.

Ah, but how I am given to flights of fancy. I imagine it was some great story behind this occurrence but was probably nothing more than an accident from some passerby who was hanging their feet out the side of the window. But, as with many things in life, I will never know. However, I do have the right to wonder, and imagine I shall.

::December 22, 2002 10:02 AM

.........................................................................