Eternity

In knowing Endless
Mind subdues the senseless time
A wrenching absence

Goodbye

She said it without her words:
delicate phrases pouring like petals
dressed in soot from a fire's haze
smelling of sea spraying in a bay.

I wept, knowing its truth.
Such an end tearing a world
moments gone to eternity inside
bleeding shattered mornings at dusk.

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.

All Work, All Fun, Makes Hearts a Weary Day

I believe life has gotten the better of me.

You think this is negative. Truly, it can't possibly be a negative statement. Life has gotten the better of me because I have given the best I can. I'm only in these circumstances because of choices which led me to accepting my current status. I'm a full time student (as I've been for the past several semesters) taking 19 credit hours which consists of 5 classes (Physics, English Composition II, Public Speaking, Theatre Appreciation, Calculus I) while working 2 jobs, one of which is 40 minutes away while the other is 7. I'm currently seeing my boyfriend about 2 hours every three days and I haven't truly seen a friend outside my work or school environments in about three weeks now.

Am I stressed? Not really. I'm actually enjoying the thrill of pushing myself to the extreme, testing the boundaries between insanity and structure and sleep deprivation. Doing all this is fun. However, I'm already feeling the strain in several areas.

One is my writing. I haven't truly written anything inspired by creativity in quite a while. My mind has completely changed tracks and is now moving on a steady train called Academia. It goes through a circle of towns: Research, Compose, Edit, Submit. I'm enjoying this ride because it's teaching me how to force creativity into a focused, linear style of thinking. My academic papers are fun and entertaining because my prose are filled with beauty. I can't help it. This is my best.

However, essays and research papers and speeches aren't really an issue in regards to my writing. They're just other avenues toward writing nirvana (now that's a concept!). The evidence for strain is here on my blog. Notice I haven't put anything up this month. Well... school started. There's the answer. This goes beyond placing digital, poetic, fantastic words onto a website for you to read: I haven't written anything other than my essays and speeches for school. This is wrong to me, and it's something I won't let suffer.

Added to my writing, I feel another strain on my relationship. We don't see each other much, except for an hour at school (maybe) and then in the evenings if we both don't have too much homework. When we do see each other it's nothing but good times. Much remains beneath the surface neither one of us is talking about because we don't actually have enough time to deal with our issues. Every relationship, every couple, every friendship and partnership has issues lying beneath the surface of pleasantries automatically inserted when seeing each other for short moments. I need more time to work these issues out.

Writing is therapeutic for me. It puts my mind into a different realm where thoughts are actions and possibilities play themselves across a scene of juxtaposed understandings. I get answers through writing and letting my mind wander. I've realized love. I've realized pain. I've realized devotion and sensitivity and sublimity and ultimate truth. Many of these times, I've realized the next moves I've had to make in my relationships.

It suddenly feels like I've changed my way of processing from actual written works (pen to paper) to visualizations in daydreams. Meditation is certainly helping with this; and coming into a deep meditative state is coming faster and easier nowadays. It helped me realize my load is too much in life, even though I'm giving it my best and succeeding (for the most part). I've stopped trying to multitask and have been devoting my attention singularly to the tasks at hand. However, I've been doing this almost constantly during my waking hours. My only relief is in meditation and sleep.

Thus, I'm giving up one job in favor of the better/closer one. This will free of some of my evenings and I won't have to work 50 hours a week (yes... 50 on top of school. I know. I'm crazy.)! Though this won't truly come into effect for another 3 weeks, I'm still looking forward to some free-time (but it might turn into more homework time and I just won't have to stay up as late nor wake up as early). Perhaps this will allow me to fix the other issues in my life.

Shh --

Listen up. Nothing.
Hushed before substance in hearts.
From naught bloom's a depth.

Will you answer?

Life's built of questions
sunrise, between known, sunset
Will you answer them?

Holding Emotions in Hiding

Break apart within
Outward still, collected peace
Touch: release the Dam

The New York Within

How easy it is to see
a city like New York;
to watch the sea of people
washing down the streets
among stoic buildings and
elegant skyscrapers;
to breathe the smog
hugging close like a veil.

Harder still to know
the hue of masses.
It's a city of its people,
for its people, with its people.
The city of walking sleepers,
dead faces and blank stares.
The city of meetings,
hardships and lfowers.
The city of music:
shouting, lyrical, and art.
The city of stereotypes,
non-conformists and tourists;
and still they are all
the same.

Hellishly difficult to know
the truth of the city
where eyes belie the strength
and hearts cry for more;
where souls secretly yearn
to escape and remain;
where a genuine smile
breaks tedium in the ocean;
where free hugs melt
the sorrow and fear of life;
where culture is regarded
and forgotten from step to step;
where lunch dates solidify
friendships needed to survive.

However, this isn't just within
a city that never sleeps.
It's easy to see this life
within us all.
It's harder to understand the
delicate movements of living.
It's magic to know
how we live in survival.

New Energy

Dancing life journey
comes in through windows opened
play across the grime.

Changing Seasons

It starts in morning
Cold tinge in the air
The days are shortened
Moon pushing her care
New seasons of thought
Bring much to our fair
And loneliness lost
Wrapped up in Her care

The Sentence: A Haiku

one line of your words
sheds blood where we stood just then
where are we as one

Torture: A Haiku

One feels for other
sort of Love hidden behind
Welcomed in Secrets

The Invention (Part 1)

Against the windowless wall, where darkness loomed from the crevices all around, a woman watched with intent eyes wondering from where her will to deceive came. It came naturally, thoughtlessly, and maliciously even though she cared not for the delicate intrigues permeating every instance of her deception. These myriads of information swam in her ind, developing, creating, and deepening the world towards which she worked.

Her desires didn't include the dead body before her. Nor did they include the pool of blood expanding towards the opened door.

however hard she pressed against the light-less wall, she couldn't escape without stepping into the world again. Into her world, and though she didn't feel emotions about the deceased before her, she understood the blame that would fall upon her character. None wold understand, no-one would help her once this was revealed.

Determination crept up her spine like the tingle of nerves being reawakened during a massage.

If I stay and call this in... They won't pin me for his murder. I haven't touched him. I didn't do anything. There isn't any evidence connecting me to his death. They'll find me innocent of this event.

And with that, she reached into her right pocket of her cargo pants and extracted her cellular telephone. She flipped it open and called the police, allowing the light to illuminate her face for a second.

"Hello, what's the nature of your emergency?"

"I'm in a room with a dead body. I didn't see it happen, but I was in the room when he died; I don't know who did it. Please send someone quickly."

"Yes, miss. Where are you?"

"At the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn. Third floor. Room 5."

"What's your name, dear?"

"...I don't know."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes. I'm quite alone."

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"Can you leave the room and get to the ground floor?"

"If I exit the room I'll step in blood, compromising evidence. There aren't any windows in this room, only a door leading to the hallway."

The lady on the other end began to sound genuinely worried. It was obvious she had some training in psychology and thought the worst of the situation. "Are you sure you can't find a clear path to the door? Look down at the ground around your feet, dear."

"I'm not in shock. The pool of blood is clearly blocking the entire doorway and has spread very far. I don't know if it's all real or if it's even all his, but I cannot bypass it without compromising it. I'm standing against the west wall in the dark so I won't be near the body."

"Alright, miss. The police are on the way. Feel free to stay on the--"

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

"I have your information here. I'll call you as soon as the police enter the building."

"Again. Thank you." She closed the phone and placed it back in the right pocket of her cargo pants. The waiting began. Enveloped in silence she was able to think about everything.

She honestly couldn't remember her name, which bothered her. She comprehensively knew the characteristics that made her personality, the psychology that motivated her thoughts, and the inherent strengths of body, but much of her past was unknown. Where was she from? Who were her parents? How did she get to the third floor of the Invention Hotel on the corner of Styx and Dawn? The more she thought, the more questions arose in her mind about the situation. Who killed the man and why wasn't she killed also? How likely were the police officers to believe she didn't kill him?

This thought triggered something deep in her body. She knew, without a doubt, she didn't kill the man. It was an odd knowledge, though; like knowing she had driven from point A to point B, but not remembering the processes used to get there. She also knew that the man was familiar to her, someone who had spent much of his time around her, but not in a sexual or friendly way. The feeling was more business oriented, calculated and determined. She regarded his body and wondered if he was her bodyguard.

That answer was too simple.

Somewhere three stories down, the main door opened and closed with a hushed thud. The woman felt the vibrations of the building and knew the policemen were walking cautiously toward the stairs. In her mind, an accurate picture of five officers blossomed. The same dark blue outfits fit slug over their bodies with the same tool belts. Their guns were poised shoot anything that might attack from around any corner. Their steps were gentle but rushed, eyes darting everywhere. Tension hunched their shoulders forward slightly and their breath was shallow and smooth. Two of the officers had longer hair, while the other three kept to a shorter style more akin to masculinity. Each of the officers was ill-prepared for homicide: the small town wasn't custom to much more than petty theft.

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone a split second before the call came.

"Hello." She tried to make her voice sound a little less together this time.

The slight quiver seemed to have worked. "It's alright. The police officers are just downstairs. I'll stay on the phone with you until they reach the third floor hallway, okay?"

"Yes. That would be nice. I'm sorry..."

"There's no need to apologize, miss. You'll be fine."

"I just want to get out of here. I think I can smell his blood." The added drama only generated more compassion from the woman on the other end of the line.

"Dear, you're going to be alright. Don't look at the body, keep your eyes on the door. Soon one of the officers will call down the hallway and you'll reply and he'll appear in the door to get you."

She closed her eyes and saw the officers reaching the third floor door in the stairwell. "Are they almost here?"

"Yes. They're just downstairs. Don't worry. They'll be there in a moment."

The woman felt the door to the hallway open. Time to turn the excitement up. "Oh-my-god... I-just-heard-something... Someone's-in-the-hallway-What-should-I-do-Oh-my-god..." The words tumbled out of her mouth.

From the hallway, a shout resounded with perfect clarity. "Miss. This is the police. Are you alright?"

"Miss, it should be the police. It's okay to respond to them now. They're there to protect you."

The woman smiled in the darkness. Her chest was pounding, her breath quickening slightly, and her body tingling with excitement. This felt natural and fun, manipulating people to believe her to be in distress. "I'm down here... in here..." She closed her phone and put it back in the same pocket.

Loud footsteps, much louder than downstairs, came thudding down the hallway at a jogging rate. An instant later, the first police officer stood outside the door, shocked by the monstrosity displayed on the floor. The blood was everywhere, pooled entirely around the door and his body. His head was twisted with a bullet in his temple, eyes open wide and his mouth appeared angry. His cloths were in tatters, revealing skin which had been ripped open somehow, though not falling off his body.

The second officer pushed him out of the way and started taking pictures of the scene. As soon as a few were acquired, the third officer gingerly entered the room, shining a flashlight around the tiny, empty utilities closet until he found the woman. He froze.

She was almost a dream. Her hair fell down her shoulders: black with the shimmering hues of red, purple, and blue. Her face was thin with a cute nose and oval eyes. Purple irises looked back, tears wetting their lids and dropping down her pale cheeks. She wore a tight black shirt made of a material the officer couldn't name. The outfit revealed her strong, lean build in a perfectly proportioned frame. Once he had taken the vision in, she collapsed to the ground, fainting, as it were.



To Be Continued...