You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Monday, September 20, 2010

A Travesty to Think.

There was a time when I was happy here, when simply walking into the crisp air brought a sense of pride from my chest to my ears and the sound of quiet breezes calmed my excitement and stress. I knew what I knew, and excelled beautifully at my work. Something shifted since those days. I have certainly changed drastically, thanks to my surrender to knowledge and experience which meant diving into the unknown and taking determined steps regardless of the circumstances; and oh! did the circumstances harbor detrimental outcomes at times. I won't deny my selfishness as long as we discuss the selflessness as well. I've done all this for myself: to build and strengthen my pride, to expand my sense of self-worth, to find respect, to inspire, and to learn about so much more in the world and beyond; but I've also done all this for my love, for my friends and coworkers and community, for the present and the future and everyone that needs inspiration to overcome their own adversities. My accomplisments speak to this duality.

Why do I feel like I don't know what I know, like this time is lost somewhere in the sands of a deep ocean where tides constrict and pull at my chest? I don't feel proud or calm or proactive. This is conflicting with more than the doings of my daily life: spirituality, motivation, and love all feel hampered or blocked; and though I stave off the overwhelming stress which still boils at the edge of periphery, I can't bring myself to honestly search for the source of my discontent. I attribute it to my load: 19 credit hours in school, 2 jobs, a relationship, and my desire to read and write as my career. Maybe it's all these things added to a debt I can't minimize given my salary; such a debt someone with two to three times my salary could handle happily. Perhaps I'm simply breaking, discovering what a crisis feels like. It could be worry and doubt accruing in the face of drastic changes just a few months away: change of schools, jobs, mental acrobats in studying, and in the structure of my relationship. Is this too complex for me to handle; me who can easily shift from writing a story built on a distant land with cultural and political intrigue, enriched with new spiritual concepts and infused with a new language, to suddenly comprehending diverse mathematical equations with precision and grace that baffles fellow students and brings a smile to my mother's face?

I don't know what's needed or what's coming down the road I wade; but I do know what I need and where I'm going. I need time, that elusive and distracting creation which leaves no room for self pity, contageous destruction, or sorrowful enlightenment. I need a physical guide who can tell me what I'm not doing, or doing improperly, or what's right; who can inspire me beyond the immediate beauty of life, unveil the worlds beyond our sneses, and fortify my will against what is worst for me. I need confidence in my actions again, otherwise I may drown with certainty, huddled in the corner of a desolate room. Ultimately, I need support and love and friendship, even when it feels like I'm not donating my support, love, or friendship in return. This is all necessary because my road is simply heading up-hill without regard to my pace; but I must find a way to keep my velocity from decreasing despite the incline.

With all this said, I know the end in sight is worth the struggles of the immediate gloom settling around my head. The sparkle of joy glints in the ground beneath my feet, intensifying as the trail continues on. Hope keeps my spirits higher; as well as the dream which remains a foggy image wavering in the distance. Each step, each stroke, each breath brings me closer to that aspiration; clearing away the soft edges.

1 comment:

  1. Oh my. I hope you've gotten some love since you wrote this. It's troubling me