Thu, 23 Feb 2012 12:33:28 +0800WeeblyFri, 24 Feb 2012 03:29:34 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2012/02/an-ode-to-writing.htmlFeeling spirally and freaked out, kept trying to call my friends, post on facebook
do something with this energy I guess it's away to try to discharge it.  Finally I remembered, writing.

Often writing makes me feel less alone, and especially if I'm holding something or something is holding me, or really it's a me that's wound up. Sometimes like just now, writing does the trick, it's pure magic.

I don't know why or how, but with this intention of growth and reflection, sharing, and exposing my flaws, my humanness, in the process I feel transformed.  I feel alive, and like whatever shit happens it gets the space to unfold, dissolve, or just be there.

So I'm not even sure if I need to speak about the situation at hand, I could I guess.
But I see how no matter how big something is or seems to be, there is nothing that some space, and awareness wouldn't heal, even just a bit.
Often given by a blank computer screen, unconditionally accepting anything I feed it, with complete lack of judgment,  or a spacious non-judgmental  friend.

Just now I realize that these two have so much in common, unconditional space.  Just pure presence.
I love thinking of my computer screen and this media platform as my friend, as my unconditional fully embracing all encompassing friend.


I was freaked out about an incident last night, that involved coming back home from a party.  Riding my bicycle down a dark quiet road, where all of a sudden there was a man crouching with a gun, pointing quietly, looking waiting.  He saw me passing by and my heart jumped and leaped to what felt like out of my body.  I rode so fast I wanted to disappear, and rewind the whole situation. Here I am traveling alone, which I usually don't mind.  And have done so for years, all of a sudden panicked, disoriented and ready to leave this place.

The interesting thing is that as I'm freaking out looking for a way out, a voice said: write it down. So I am
and what I'm so amazed with how alchemy works.  How by putting some of these things we call words that get strung into sentences all of a sudden, change.  Not only that but realizing how valuable writing as a form or expression, outlet and connection is.

Am I ever grateful to be able to write, to be able to share this with who ever feels inclined to read,
I'm always so thrilled when someone said, I read your post.  And whatever feedback I get always amazes me and deeply touches me, partly as an ego trip of someone read MY blog, partly as a confidence building experience since I'm generally extremely insecure, and experience feelings of unworthiness.
And partly a a genuine deep feeling of connection and gratitude, and a feeling of oneness in our shared humanity, as well as the part in us that is beyond human, presence, our being this raw awareness, that is sharp and endless.


All that being said, thank you for being here with me.  Thank you for life as it happens, what a fucking adventure. It truly is a ride!

]]>Tue, 21 Feb 2012 12:30:32 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2012/02/i-dont-need-to-be-fucking-happy-all-the-time.htmlHow do you explain burnout? 
More than burnout complete and utter disgust for this world.
For people's meanness, and stupidity.  And just the messiness of life
I am angry at life, I'm so pissed that it exists in the way that it does.
I'm tried of waking up to the same thing over and over and over and over again.
The wind does help sometimes, the melodic sound of the keyboard and the fan.
But being pissed off I just don't seem to be able to let the good in, or to see the good.
I can't even taste a wonderful dinner.  Sometimes this happens.
And it is also a part of this mystery, I write this to be honest to be genuine with my experience 
to not hold back, to take interest in any state of mind not just what we like to call the good ones.

It scares me to write like this for a number of reasons, one is that I think I try to establish myself as a nice person, or at least as aspiring to be skillful, and not add more difficulty or pain to the world.
So it's true this maybe adding more pain, this maybe unskillful.  Probably is.

But the thing is it's also important for me to know to realize, this state is this state.  It's ok.  
I say there is no good or bad, I say it's not one or the other.  But I'd like to actually say well shit this is how I feel it sucks right now, and it just is.  I don't need to fix it, I don't need to pretend that it's not happening.  I don't need to fight it, and god damn I don't need to be happy all the fucking time.

I don't know there maybe a diamond hidden somewhere, and maybe there is no further diamond just the diamond that is here now in experience, in raw unmeditated experience.  
Maybe I'm melodramatic.  Maybe I'm insane.  Maybe I'm difficult.  Maybe I'm too intense.
But if that's the case, why keep it contained, why oppress and deny all these qualities.


I am not always nice, in fact I am a real bitch sometimes.  I'm not humble or kind, in many ways I just want my own way.  I'm selfish and arrogant at times, and please don't tell me I'm not.  This is NOT a self loathing trip.
Or maybe it is. Who the fuck knows.

But I am so so tired of being fake, some people may say it's more skillful to not say all of this to an audience.
And they are probably right.  I've never been very good at following rules, or any kind of fence around me.
I try, I fail.  I do aspire to make people's lives better, including my own.  Because it does make me happy.  
I guess this post is entirely for me! there I said it.  Weird, kind of a relief actually.

And a fear. With this whole spiritual movement, sometimes the spiritually correct thing pisses me off.
I am sure I'm guilty of it too.  But I want to see you, your essence.  Not to hide behind the polite, sweet, spiritual way.  That isn't spiritual.  It's devastating.  I don't feel a connection to you, I'd much rather someone be difficult and genuine.  Ok I'll stop my rant. 

And just to not take this whole thing too seriously (life, I mean) I'll throw in my favourite platitude of all time 

IT'S ALL GOOD :) ]]>Sun, 19 Feb 2012 07:25:50 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2012/02/wind.htmlDisoriented, lost, confused, don't know what the heck it going on trying to scurry
around it behind it, skip over it.  However it's the natural state of affairs.
Here I am, it feels like there is something going on, 'story lines' to explain and back it up.


'the guy I love left me', 'I'm all alone', 'I'm so tired of this, of life', 'it's all the same', ' I'm only going around in circles', 'when can I get to that stable place where things run smooth and are stable'

Maybe never!

The thing is this contact with this messiness, disorientation, uncertainty, discomfort, clumsiness, is what I've got.  Perhaps I feel it even more because I'm less distracted right now (and usually), perhaps because my vices are not working so well for me anymore, perhaps I've become to aware to ignore, or to fall back on something.

Man, do I want a safety net right now.


What happens when there is nothing to fall back on? the dread, I could just feel the pit of my stomach, the horror
but still here, still breathing and typing.
What happens when we contact life on it's terms?
What happens when even for a moment we give our attention to this inconceivable~ness, to this stirring in our hearts, in our bones?
Already just by writing about it, and naming it, I could feel just a little relaxation just letting go into it.
what if I didn't spend all my energy either protecting from feeling this discomfort, or waiting for it to be over.
I'll be waiting my whole life, however long that will be.
It won't be over because it IS life, it is how things are.  Unpredictable. Undeniably fresh, raw, in my face.
Especially being in a foreign country on my own, not having a structure or something to focus on.
I find myself facing this stirring in my soul, not sure what else to call it.

The wind seems especially strong today, my relationship with the wind has softened.  It's become more acceptable.  I'm not as angry at the wind anymore.  I listen to her, she reveals intensity, wildness, strength, consistency, power, invisibility, and really she just is.

What message does she deliver with her velocity?  What is her will?


Often it feels like she's stripping me of all I've got, although not purposefully just because I happen to be around, in her way.  Often it feels that she's even stronger than the waves, stronger than all the elements put together at least at this moment.  She feels symbolic somehow.  I love her, and sometimes within that love, I despise her.

She wants to enter my hiding place, and I don't want to let her.  I only want to when I'm comfortable but she doesn't go for that.  She goes for what she wants.   And really I'm not that much different than her, in fact I am her, and she blows, and howls and destroys, and builds including every element.  Not separate than anything else, she is a reaction, a response to all of life.  She is a reflection of me as much as of you, and of the sea, of war, of boats racing, and screaming children.


She offers a deep breath, and another.  I can't refuse her.
I don't what will happen tomorrow, or even later on today.  But just for a few moments I pause
and let all of it in, and let all of it be, with the help of my friend the wind.



]]>Mon, 09 Jan 2012 03:42:15 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2012/01/the-ability-to-turn-inwards-with-a-gentle-eye.html_I can't hide from uncertainty, I can try.
But truthfully I see and I know that this moment to moment recognition
of bare life, of unprotected uncertain life often throws me in search of distractions,
or of cocooning, and trying to make it go away like the boogie man.  Only the boogie man
wasn't really there, and this is.

I also notice the subtle hope that in writing I'll resolve this conflict, I'll wrap it up
in a nice package, I'll understand it better, I'll feel alright.
No.  I remind myself, this is Not going away.
The this that isn't going away is my life, is the Principal of insecurity
it has so many ways in which it morphs.  For me it could sound like defeat, anger, hurt, disappointment, sharpness, over excitement, anything that gets me away from this fragility that has no anchor.
From the turns my stomach does when it glimpses upon this truth.

So why do I write this, I think that when we can contact the truth, the nature of how things are.
There can be an okness with things as they are, without trying to make them into something else, no manipulation required, all the energy that goes into fixing, into pushing away is now available
for whatever.  For me it happens to be to feel this moment, to get in touch with my body, with my gut
with the rawness and the no buffer of life.

There is a beauty here but not the kind that's only happy, and not the kind that doesn't care.
The mixture and entangles truth of beauty, good / bad, pain / pleasure, ugly / beautiful
The fullness I can feel as I write these words as they come out of my belly,
They support me, just as I am.  They help me not run away for a second, maybe two.
They show me, that this is the human condition, not something personal I need to beat myself up for.

Compassion is what truth offers me right now, and I'm thirsty for it.  I'll take it.
The ability to turn inwards with a gentle eye/I


]]>Fri, 24 Dec 2010 13:44:12 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/12/you-dont-have-to-be-good.htmlRight now I feel down, a little lost, and unsure of pretty much everything.
I walked outside briefly, it was still beautiful, stunning view of the city
with the stars shining bright, and the city lights reflecting on the water.

Noticing the shine on the leaves from a street lamp here and there.
I was surprised once again to see how beauty and pain, arise together,
and possibly are the same side of the same coin.

I'm feeling tired of trying so hard.
Tired of being pretty, tired of trying to be talented, to be good.
All to get that longed after praise, recognition and attention.

Perhaps just plain and simple, bare bones life, is enough.
It might not be overly stimulating in the way that feels good superficially.
But over time, my taste grows for the nuance of THIS.
That we call here, now, this moment.

I have tendency for worry, for feeling dark. But also for seeing beauty and looking closer.
Once again, they are not separated, they come from each other with each other.

I'm remembering a Mary Oliver poem:
 you don't have to be good...

You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees 
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body 
love what it loves. 
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 
Meanwhile the world goes on. 
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 
are moving across the landscapes, 
over the prairies and the deep trees, 
the mountains and the rivers. 
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 
are heading home again. 
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 
the world offers itself to your imagination, 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place 
in the family of things."


Thank you for listening to me, and I wish you realness and warmth or whatever floats your boat
over the holidays, and always.
Love.
]]>Fri, 17 Dec 2010 10:08:27 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/12/gods-loving-itself-in-mysterious-ways.htmlA most fascinating, interesting and scary situation to lose a reference point.
In this case to not be with someone I love deeply.

I was lying here in bed trying to sleep.
Maybe even trying to figure out and name emotions, to even know what my position is.

I found out

I don't know who I am, I don't know where I am.

It's a blank? or just a fundamental fear when the rug from under is pulled.

What is it that gets that rug pulled up?

is it a storyline, a mirage, a fantasy..

yes and yes to all.

And still, the extreme discomfort, restless, even though the bubble burst, still a residue of a ghost
Of beliefs piled on top of beliefs, seeing it doesn't makes it any less painful.

There is wanting to get out, get away, change something, do something but what?

This is also GOD, this is also LIFE.

Life is showing up in endless forms, it has a huge range.
The painful ones, the joyous ones.

Is there Joy in the pain? is there joy in experiencing?
Just plain and simple whatever is experienced.

Curious and wanting. I'm not there yet. Or maybe I've been here all along.
Where else could I be?


Just because it appears as something unwanted, which anyway morphs and changes every second
doesn't mean it's not LIFE, GOD all along

expressing itself, unfolding itself, loving itself in myriad forms.



]]>Fri, 17 Dec 2010 03:15:02 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/12/stories-recede-like-those-shadows-in-the-corner-of-the-room.htmlWaking up today in a daze, a quality of "something is wrong with me" and defeat.
Went out for a short walk, and felt 'what's the point' a sense of weakness about life.
Some indecision about going back to Toronto to take care of some important things.

The tendency is to give up on it, when things fall a part. Hiding, escaping, feeling like I can't do life.
Noticing the worrying spinning, which seems to be the kind of energy system I'm used to from as long as I can remember.

Coming back to my room, and noticing the quality of light, the light bulb has some dust moving very gently, looking at the ceiling noticing that there is not really what I think of as empty space, just 'particles' sparkles moving.  That's too much to even say of what's going on here.

Having the thought, "how can I be my strongest self, most powerful self what would that look like?

Nothing comes to mind.

Closing my eyes I see the same quality of the ceiling supposedly behind my eye balls, sparkles in darkness, movement.
And echoes of shapes of looking at the light bulb in green or yellow or non-solid colors that keep morphing.

And I think is there even a self that can be strong, is there even a self that can be weak?

What is all that about? is that not more spinning of trying to grasp at what's going on here, which is unknown in human terms.
In human logic.

Wanting desperately for my story to make sense, I'm important, apparently, most that I think about is my troubles, how I can make them right, how to make decisions, flipping back and forth, all just a mirage. Because it is not the only thing that is happening here, it's not even happening here, it's happening but as energy movement not as some sort of truth.

Looking around the room, lines are forming, shadows receding, a play of light, that's all.
And even that too much to say,

What can you say in language that makes any sense of something that is illogical. of THIS.

Thoughts are a part of it, in fact are it. But not their specific contents, just like the TV, or the comforter don't mean anything in particular but have a certain quality of presence to them.

Is this true?

open question. No desire for an answer.

A movement to write, where did that arise from?

same place anything does.


The story recedes like that shadows. Not that it's not as important as the shadows, but not in the way we're used to thinking about the self importance of the story of me, just a part of the light show, not bad nor good. Even when it can feel bad or good.
also just the light show, the energy show, each word fails, reality wins. It's just what's here always.

Always doesn't cut it, when there is no time. But again a movement to describe something.

A fullness delights in itself, no matter how limited it feels, a fullness is limitation.
A fullness is  seemingly a falling a part.

What can be said about something not say-able

Experiencing speaks for itself.








]]>Sat, 11 Dec 2010 16:38:04 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/12/nothing-what-it-seems-dancing-with-the-dark.html What if everything that you are able to see, experience and hear is alive.

Alive! and has the same exact quality of presence that we might think is personal to us, to me.

What is this presence? What is what senses and doesn’t need logic to understand?

My whole world view falls flat on it’s face, and gives me a dizzying feeling when I think of that. The usual paradigm is that things that appear and that we can experience and see don’t have presence and are useful to a ‘me’ that can benefit.

 

Is it not a miracle that typing can happen right now? That somehow there is intelligence that is moved to type to express ideas to think of new ways of expression to contact reality even through lies since all language isn’t a BAM! POW!  in your face reality, in some ways it is. Like the sounds themselves.

 

But not the contents. How different then what we are used to thinking about ‘the world’ and ‘me’.

 

Lying in a dark room, I look and notice the darkness is really bright and perhaps full of light. Nothing is what it seems to be at least not forever at least not even for a second. I look at the darkness in this room, and I don’t understand it. Of course not! How can I ? it is not logical, and the word dark doesn’t at all explain what darkness is. Same goes for sound and pretty much every symbol we use.

 

If we want to look and see the aliveness, and that it morphs constantly without pause. Is it myself I’m looking at? None other.

 

Without being repetitive from some old ideas or something heard or read.

And checking in right now with reality, with what’s going on. Well immediately I sense a bubbly joy surface and excitement felt.

And if it would have a voice it might say like a little girl ‘oh oh what is this? How exciting. What’s going on here? “ and continue playing and exploring with whatever came her way.

 

I am not a me, and a room is not what I think of it.

How exciting, how open it feels to not have a strict idea on what anything is.

On what’s going on here.

 

Discovering freshly, newly right now again and again.

What a great game is that what’s called hide and seek?

]]>Mon, 22 Nov 2010 08:47:17 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/11/ok-time-to-move-some-shit-around.htmlSo I was thinking "Fuck insecurities"
In the sense of they are alright too! just like everything else.

What is insecurity ?

I don't mean in the sense of human logic. But can we actually find one?
I can totally spin stories about a whole bunch, I can hear myself believing and extracting lots of
juice and life out of familiar tales.

I love them. I must. 

sometimes it seems like nofar is one big ball of insecurity.
That sounds about right.

But then again, what is Nofar? where does she start and end?

can anything be defined for sure and finally?

It seems almost crazy sometimes to feel such strong energy of insecurity and all of a sudden move in a completely

free flowing way.

I presume that the stuckness is not in the experience of insecurity but of not wanting to have that experience
what is it even? can I pin it down? is it a thought? just one? a sensation? and another?
does it have a bottom? or an end?

what's interesting is that I talk about it like I know everything there is to know about it.  And I don't.
I fight for it, I defend it. I make up excuses but what is it?

Isn't it more slippery and elusive than I believed?

I don't want to take a closer look some of the time. Even though I know it's an open door to endless discovery of infinity, of aliveness, of freshness, of pure aweness, of deliciousness, of what we all crave, complete intimacy and presence. Full and over flowing here, with what we call sights, and sounds, and tastes and smells and touch and thinking but such a richness
when nothing means anything in particular and all is undivided whole.

And the freedom of being free from needing freedom because the experience is so divinely out of my mind.

.
One definition can not capture a mystery so vast so endless. It hasn't even begun. ]]>Mon, 18 Oct 2010 14:31:14 +0800http://reflecting.weebly.com/1/post/2010/10/unfinished-entry.htmlI haven't written in awhile. It seemed like it hard to describe reality in words
In these squiggly shapes that seem to have a certain finite meaning to them.
Reality is so vast so boundless, so miraculous so vibrant how could I possibly
try to explain relationships, emotions, thoughts, ideas. Well I don't. It does.


If there is a spark to write the spark writes itself, it is it self, appears in itself, and is not pointing to
content but to context and to itself.

I don't know if it makes sense, but I figured I would write what would come out, and not edit
the stream.

It's not working so well, the not editing thing. I keep writing a line and finding myself erasing it or writing seemingly in front of it.
which is annoying, I felt like there was sometimes that I could write without second guessing how every word sounded and what it was referring to. 

With the changes that have been occurring lately. It seems hard to be able to describe things accurately, but heck I'm just gonna give in to that.


I want things to be different in relationship I want squeaky clean, the problem is it doesn't exist. Or maybe it does.
And maybe it's that I think I am myself. And I think someone else is someone.

And the reality is that that's simply not the case. We are so much more than a description or a conceptual understanding.
It's easy to get thinking that we are the thoughts, but like the word water is not water, and you know what water is by drinking it not by saying the word.

So we are, we call our self human, and belief we know what we mean when we say that, and what it all entails for each individual pattern with it's set of quirkiness  and peculiarities. The thing is we are so much more than that. and even not that.

We appear in our self.



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