Thoughts of a Colorado Scorched Nihilist.

The fire had scortched her heart like it had seared the hillside.  The trees stood like black sentinels overlooking her downhill valley drive toward money.  Black sentinels that reflected the scar she had experienced in mentally giving up everything, yet winding up losing nothing.  They reigned on the horizon, and reminded her of the futility of it all.

Nothing felt better than being in the FJ.  Driving in the FJ made her feel in control, ready to drive away from any harm that came at her.  She could think in the FJ, knowing it was hers, her big blue ox, taking her into the forest, to remember her origins.

She loved her woman.  She loved holding her at night, hugging her tightly as her body became more toned - she could get closer to her lover's core as she lost weight, and it made the love linger longer in the morning.  The morning would come, bright with anticipation of newness, of birth, of hope, only to be dashed by chasing the money to give to a landlord and the debtors who don't care.

Death didn't seem like the end in nature the way it felt in the cultural construct of the mental framework of neurons derived from years of social conditioning.  She looked at the sentinel trees, lonesome in their death, yet their sacrifice gave more life to the understory, and the grasses and shrubs had already begun to fill in.  Death gave new life.  She thought of that, recalling a week prior releasing her father's cremains on the tundra.  His ashes lingered there for a while, defying the wind, and then dispersing to provide new carbon to the alpine.

Tomorrow she would have to return to the concrete palace of her monetary need.  She did not look forward to it.  She hoped it would be different, that something positive would happen, that the monotony wouldn't be as painful or as empty of meaning as the morning drive felt.  She hoped it wouldn't be hurtful, that kindness would discover her, that compassion would dance in her heart and she would remember the joy she had in lovemaking on her weekend.

Her lover's health concerned her.  She looked at her silent sleeping lady, curled up with the black cat stray who had chosen her, and wondered if she could ever provide the economic stability needed to make her lover not hurt so much physically.  She couldn't think of anything but to go back to school.  She wanted to provide for her beloved, for her beloved was the kind of soul-family that is so  perfect it defies logic and science.  It was a phenomenon, and it was to be treasured.  The cat placed his paw on her arm as she typed, and the silence of his love and her lovers arm wrapped around her waist was all she lived for.  It was divine, if there was divinity at all.

On the dusk drive not too many evenings ago, she saw an owl.  The owl looked right at her and her lover, as if to burn it's intense energy into them.  The owl healed the burn caused by the fire; it reminded the women of unity, of the greater picture.  But those symbols fade into the grey of concrete and cash and debt, and soon they were afraid once more.

The woman had woken this morning to the image of her beloved being t-boned in the corolla.  The corolla didn't have adequate protection from those kinds of impacts.  She received the call, coming from her in-laws, who the State had deemed next of kin.  She didn't even know her beloved hadn't made it into work.  She held her crumpled and cold body in the morgue, her tears falling on it's hard lifelessness.

What is the purpose of life?  To torture the soul with the hope of eternal love?  To taunt the inner child into believing it isn't broken?  All I know is that my beloved and my cats mean more to me than money, more to me than happiness, and more to me than false dreams of a broken childhood.

Community

There’s a lot on my mind lately, and these thoughts have been hindering my creative capacities.
As it has taken so long to get to the stories I’ve been working on, and to post them here, I have decided to just do a little bit of streaming consciousness writing here, to allow myself to become better understood, and to also bring light to the fact that creativity often does not allow itself to be hindered by a set schedule. Oftentimes, creation happens all at once, and sometimes it trickles out of the creator slowly. This kind of activity is universal, and you can see it each time you step outside into Nature. Geographical processes can take millions of years, or minutes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the topic of community. According to The New Shorter Oxford Dictionary, which is a much better resource than the Macintosh or a free internet dictionary, the word is defined as such:

community
I. A body of individuals. 1. The commons as opp. to peers etc.; the common people. 2. An organized political, municipal, or social body; a body of people living in the same locality; a body of people having religion, profession, etc., in common; a body of nations unified by common interests (freq. w. cap. initial, in the title of an international organization). b. The members of such a body collectively. 3. A monastic, socialistic, etc., body of people living together and holding goods in common. 4. A group of animals etc. living or acting together; Ecol. a group of interdependent plants or animals growing or living together in natural conditions or inhabiting a specified locality.
II. A quality or state. 5. The state of being shared or held in common; joint ownership or liability. 6. (A) common character; (an) agreement; (an) identity. 7. Social intercourse; communion; fellowship, sense of common identity. 8. Commonness, ordinary
“Community.” Def. la. The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary. 1993. Print.

I feel this particular word is evolving a new meaning, which is the topic of my blog post today. I will return to the more entertaining stories shortly, which have been delayed due to research.

Community implies locality, but with our global interconnectedness brought upon us because of technological advancement, this particular definition of a localized meaning of community must be re-understood.

Perhaps because we are all living on one planet, that is our new definition of community. I have moved to a location where I have chosen a minimal interconnectedness with my peers because I have chosen to work on myself and not my relationships with others outside of myself. This choice defines community. I am in communion and walk a common ground with my Self. I am working to seek love inside of me to further my love with those outside of me, first starting with my partner, Beth. If I can learn to love myself and get to know myself, then I will always have a localized community, and this community will never be tainted by the needs outside of Self. The community of One will follow me everywhere. This is why it is so crucial to look within and to work with the inner self and learn to love yourself and forgive yourself of your faults: if you don’t have yourself, you have no community. After all, the only member of your community who will be guaranteed to be there for you every step of life and even when you die is yourself.

I see so much consternation about the lack of community in our American culture, and how that its absence is the “root of all evil,” and “why we are in the mess we’re in.” Many people blame a lack of community for most of our societal problems. Although I think there is something to be said about this particular lament, I feel it is a skin-deep complaint to a much deeper concern.

The lack of community is ultimately a general lack of forgiveness and extension of love to all aspects of the individual self. The self is a perfect extension of the All: the self is dark, light, grey, evil, hateful, spiteful, compassionate, loving, giving, all at once. We experience this, and some choose to not acknowledge their “Shadow Self,” or as Tori Amos so aptly defines as our “Dark Prince.” Those individuals who deny their darker self do themselves and their communities a great disservice, because the “Dark Prince” is there, and won’t really ever go away. It is lurking in the subconscious, waiting for a chance to get out; to be noticed, even in a moment. Usually, if it goes unacknowledged, it is left unchecked and misunderstood, and manifests itself in the life of the individual in manners which are all too often harmful to that individual, as well as that individuals’ loved ones. The cycle of abuse could be defined as the acting out of the abandoned shadow self, demanding attention by harming those who are closest to the individual inflicting the abuse.

Community seems to lack the definition of the Community of Self. It also seems to lack the more broad definition of members having something in common with others globally. We are an interconnected species, thanks to the Internet. Most of my members of community live hours away, and in many cases, states away. This distance is shortened in an instant with the aid of social networking tools like Facebook. Sure, we all mock Facebook, and I would agree that it isn’t used to it’s full potential, but Facebook pulls many members of a community together, albeit in a manner which hasn’t evolved as fast as it could.

I’d love to see Facebook used for idea exchange, and conversation that allows many people to put in their ideas and hopes, and dark sides, too. It seems that positivity on Facebook is honored, and negativity is condemned, save for the ‘blackish-grey’ exception: complaint, which is prevalent on Facebook walls, and most American conversations.

Perhaps the reason why Facebook is so poor a social tool is because it isn’t allowed to let out the Dark Princes on the Wall? The inner darkness isn’t given a voice on Facebook, and so for the most part, the sense of community lacks there, as well as in real life. Which brings us back to our little dilemma of self.

Everyone would have community, all the time, and be able to be in the state of communion, all the time, if they would learn to get to know their whole selves. Most people don’t take the time, and so far, I’ve seen a whole lot of hiding and defining self as whatever the Self “does,” rather than what the Self chooses “to be.” It’s a difference of verbs. Etre is the French verb meaning, “To be.” The French have an entirely separate word for the act of doing something: Faire. We English speaking North Americans seem to use both being and doing interchangeably. One of the first things people ask you is, “What do you do?” As if the act of doing defines who you are Being. Well, it doesn’t. Just because someone works in a successful occupation as an engineer doesn’t mean that person is successful at Being who they really are.

I observe a lot of hiding in my culture. I even experience a lot of others redefining self as “what you do.” Shakespeare had something going for him when he said, “To be or not to be, that is the question.” It really is the question! The answer to our lack of community is there, hidden between the lines of that little phrase. If an individual chooses to take ten minutes a day and stare at their naked self in a mirror, and try to accept all the darkness, as well as the light and grey, they just might wind up being able to feel more balanced and whole, and actually truly give back to their loved ones, rather than hide from the shadow self and abuse those around them. They might even be able to get to Be whatever it is they came here to experience Being!

An American Fairy Tale, Part 2

One day, Uglyman fell in love with a girlfriend. She was everything he liked in humankind, and everything he knew from the Disneytales to be a bonified, genuine princess. She was smart and talented, skinny and active, beautiful of appearance, at least to those few who saw past her unconfidence. He felt she would be his equal, and together they could harness the world and be two parts of a Whole. Princessgirl enjoyed her time with Uglyman. He made her laugh and feel special and beautiful, when most people had told her or treated her like she was not. He loved to do the things she loved to do, and together they made great conversation long into the evenings. Uglyman seemed to be almost perfect, but Princessgirl was holding out for that White-Knight-in-Shining-Armor she had been promised would be Handsome. She knew of many handsome men, but they did not hold her attention like Uglyman did, and most times they would either lead her on with empty promises, or shy away from her feeble attempts at romantic advancement.

The evening when Uglyman had gained the confidence to tell Princessgirl of his feelings. They were to meet that afternoon for a bike ride, and then share a bit of dinner. Uglyman had a beautiful afternoon planned, and he was going to tell her of his love after a meal at a gourmet restaurant that he had saved up for.

Princessgirl had never let Uglyman pay for her meal, because she had felt that he had feelings of more than friendship for her, but she did not know how to tell him of her feelings. Princessgirl was nervous to hang out with Uglyman, because she knew that one day he would tell her how he felt attracted to her, and she did not feel the same. Princessgirl loved Uglyman, but only as a dear friend. His appearance was not handsome, and so he did not fit her description of the White-Knight, thus she could not be his girlfriend, even though aside from looks he was so wonderful.

After the meal, Uglyman promptly paid the waitress quicker than princess girl could negate. Uglyman understood this deed as a knightly act of chivalry; Princessgirl was affronted. She did not know what to do with a man-of-action, and not many people had done that before. She knew immediately that the drive back home was going to be a hard one. Uglyman began to tell Princessgirl now he felt romantic love for her, but when he asked if she shared these feelings, Princessgirl just sat there without anything to say. She couldn't break Uglyman’s heart and tell him he was too hideous to date. She couldn't find the words to say that, because it was cruel. It wasn't his fault that he was born with those looks. There wasn't a whole lot he could do, he wasn't wealthy enough to have an operation to fix it, and Princessgirl couldn't be the one to break all this news to him, and to inform him that he was not the half of the Whole she was seeking. Her heart was not full of mean intent, but she was as confused about her feelings towards Uglyman as he was confident of his love for her.

This moment of silence between them lingered for what seemed like hours. Uglyman knew that the silence was a rejection of his proclamation of love. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, and his chest began to ache. He felt like he was trying to breathe underwater.


The drive home was tense and conversation forced. Princessgirl didn't know what to say, she didn't know how to act or speak about what had just happened. Her impish shyness resulted in little skills in conflict resolution, and orally conveying emotion was near impossible for her. She got out of Uglyman’s car and decided she would simply avoid him.

Uglyman and Princessgirl drifted apart after that. The difficulty of the dinner was hard to talk around, and life went forward as it always does. Princessgirl found what she thought was her White-Knight; he was handsome and able, interesting to talk with and listen to, but he didn’t make her feel like an equal often, at least not like Uglyman had. Uglyman pursued a life of chivalry, but he did so with a lack of passion and his actions were tainted with mediocrity, as he felt he would never find the other person to make him Whole.

Both Uglyman and Princessgirl realized all too late, as age had taken his action and her confidence, that two people cannot make one Whole. Wholeness cannot be sought outside of oneself, but can only be found within. No relationship with another will ever fill the hole made by hating oneself. Neither Uglyman nor Princessgirl learned to love themselves, and their lives were pained with sorrow until their final days.

An American Fairy Tale, Part 1

Once upon a time, there lived a man with an aching heart. His heart ached because he was of a comely appearance. Uglyman had many talents, gifts, and a big capacity for love, but no one would bother to experience those things because they didn't like Uglyman’s face. To compensate for his looks, or lack thereof, Uglyman delved into the athletic sports of his region, and did so with chivalrous intent. He became a paramedic and a firefighter, and he saved the lives of people in the outdoors. He learned many things, and completed many good and princely deeds of servitude. Uglyman was the epitome of the White-Knight-in-Shining-Armor. He was everything the cartoons told him to be as a boy, everything the girls wanted in a man. He was fit, he was able, he was intensely spiritual and profoundly thoughtful, but he had no beauty of face, at least upon first glance, which was what most shallow-people gave him before politely turning away.

Uglyman was writing his own way into the world. If his heart could not be given to a lady, he would give it instead to his passions of prose and point of view. He would seek acceptance by building his own life, and making a hole for his peg that didn't ever fit in the Valley of Dolls. His achievements would be many, as he was competent to harness the moon, but even then no one would give him the love he so sought. Not one girl would give him more than a glance, at least not for long.

Uglyman had been given little opportunity to understand the opposite sex. Very few had paid him much attention, and what girls that did flirt with him most times didn't understand their actions were taken as flirtation. This led to a general state of confusion regarding femalekind, which exacerbated Uglyman's shyness and unconfidence. To compensate, Uglyman amplified his assumptions of what was going on inside the minds of others. All of his psychic, empathic, and emotional feelers were out, and because of this Uglyman sometimes took things the wrong way, especially regarding the intentions of those around him. This got Uglyman into a lot of trouble with friends and with females, because most people mistook his shyness and lack of social skills for abrasive rudeness and passive-aggression. When it came to flirting, most women wouldn't get it, or would feel awkward at his advances because when they looked at his face, they mistook his crooked teeth and mottled complexion as a symbol of his character. As girls, they had listened to the animated stories, and had been conditioned to think that all ugly men were bad men, just as they had been in the films. As this conditioning was at the very foundation of his culture, Uglyman had never gotten past second base.