aimless walking writing
this has been one fuck of a week, season, decade, lifetime, generation. what a fuckin headtrip it is just to be alive. my particular journey or sensory explosions occurring to my neurons and my accumulation of molecules, my personal experience on this floating deathship called earth (i mean think about it...really think about it...the only thing we are all certain of is if we dont do, we die...everything dies. take comfort in it, love it, grow it like a fruitful garden and collect its seeds of memory. earth is full of life, but it is all slowly fading, that is what existence is.) has been wayyyy more than i couldve expected or created on my own, thanks to the billions of other selves out there injecting the atmosphere with brain spurts. my journal used to be my tool, a testament to this existence...but i think what happened was that i lost the value of it, of writing, of my memories, of myself. this journal isnt me, its a collection of me trying to be me. i am thankful it is electronic and free, otherwise i would have an existential panic about the panic about letting it go. like i did when i thought about moving all of myself and my turtle and my things across this country, or any place outside of buffalo...hahaha...it would be expensive, stressful, painful, dangerous...but if i shed all of these masses and take my needs and my cares with me...but but but...but those books...fuck those books...fuck, those books. my books...my heart stopped. and then with the next beat, i realized i was white-knuckled, gripping tightly to paper things that were made and purchased with money and not even physics could convince me that they were totally there, totally mine. i have to find a way to accept things into my life, accept their existence, their impact, their impermanence. i have to love things with intensity and then graciously thank them for the moment and then somehow rearrange some dna and some brain connections that will allow me to let go. that is why buddhism is so attractive. it calls out to me "tanya, you already know how to be happy...just let it happen...just let it be" and my grip loosens, "tanya, you already have all of the love inside of you, enough to love the entire world, the more you open up, the more love you will find" and my grip loosens, "tanya, all of experience is a memory of that experience, happening in another dimension, right before your eyes, time to flip the record"
another dimension? i should leave my cares in that other dimension. this dimension, i mean...the physical one, with all of its mass, and all of the senses that i use to perceive it...i know in the end, it will cause me less pain to be able to even understand this, let alone do it...i cant pick and choose which moments or things are more important, because part of experiencing and accepting a moment into my life is knowing that all of these moments are integral to existence, to mine, and the people and things around me. i feel sorry for objects because they are not able to have these moments, share them. the carbon molecules in the food and the silverware and the cookware and the gas, the accumulated time spent there in that moment, and the one leading up to it, and the moment after, and this one for recalling that moment. i feel sorry for these moments because we are all just arrangements, none are more important than the other, especially if they are together because they exist that way. i think my only really serious regret over the course of my life is that i have been having these thoughts since i can remember, and just not able to acknowledge them. not able, not ready, not sure. 2 decades being a kid is totally enough to destroy any confidence i may have had in myself. i'm adaptable, malleable, resourceful...but those things arent a good thing to have for a person that cant argue. i lived in a world i couldnt argue with, no dissent, seen and not heard, spare the rod this one is too small to hit.......so.....my best trait became a survival skill instead of a tool for success. or you could argue that i am this way because of the way my childhood happened. i couldve turned out a thousand different ways. so yeah, i had some choice in the matter. i survived.
i even survived christmas. traditionally a difficult season for me to enjoy for thousands of reasons, but i managed to squeeze out a few good moments, admittedly with the help of some significant others, such as a husband. i definitely have something to smile about. even though, my dad has been a fuck since forever ago, my family is wrought with the discomforts of life and all of the complicated distractions it provides, my place of employment is not right for me, and all of the feelings of strangeness havent stopped, they havent stopped me. this happens every christmas...hahaha..well...i only have so many grandmas, so i guess that part needs to be mentioned. Nana, head of the burgos pack, the alpha female wolf, the all-knowing, all-seeing, the powerhouse. the last living grandparent, the toughest, nicer but not without flaws. yes, ladies and gentleman, the quintessential mother, the chairman, the leader, the guide, the protector, the chef, elvis has left the building. she died while i was squeezing in a shift of work in between a mostly-all-nighter and a family gathering. i never said i'd make time, and after only being able to write a 15-sentence letter, i knew that i might never see her again and a person that old can only go to the hospital so many times before it's finally over. but i just wanted to be in a family. i know i am in one that i really love, but i had a family....where the fuck are these people...WHO are they?.....so...yeah, i went home...but i really went there. not the building where i live, or my stuff, or anything like that. i really went home. to a place in my heart. it really made a difference to me to be able to go home to james. just interacting with him gives me the ability to feel better.
christmas was still fucked, because after that my sisters and my mother fought, i didnt get to see my niece's or nephew because my sisters scattered like rats as soon as xmas happened. i dont know how they manage to carry on this way. they just love to hold grudges. dont understand that. i dont want to, and you shouldnt either....it comes from a bad bad place, and i never want to even know how to get there.
but i dont feel all that badly, because this experience is my own perspective of a unique experience of a weird situation. which basically means it doesnt matter all that much, because i know even if i havent fully let it go as of right this moment while i'm writing this, eventually i will, and i will find peace.
huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i dont want to go back to work. i think i want a vacation...somewhere else, i dont care if its the woods or a city. i just want to practice leaving this place. i honestly think the opportunity for me to become a better person is out there, not here in buffalo...i need to make the right effort...and it just gets smashed here. im sick of fighting for scraps. this is one area of my life that i hope to improve.
maybe.
another dimension? i should leave my cares in that other dimension. this dimension, i mean...the physical one, with all of its mass, and all of the senses that i use to perceive it...i know in the end, it will cause me less pain to be able to even understand this, let alone do it...i cant pick and choose which moments or things are more important, because part of experiencing and accepting a moment into my life is knowing that all of these moments are integral to existence, to mine, and the people and things around me. i feel sorry for objects because they are not able to have these moments, share them. the carbon molecules in the food and the silverware and the cookware and the gas, the accumulated time spent there in that moment, and the one leading up to it, and the moment after, and this one for recalling that moment. i feel sorry for these moments because we are all just arrangements, none are more important than the other, especially if they are together because they exist that way. i think my only really serious regret over the course of my life is that i have been having these thoughts since i can remember, and just not able to acknowledge them. not able, not ready, not sure. 2 decades being a kid is totally enough to destroy any confidence i may have had in myself. i'm adaptable, malleable, resourceful...but those things arent a good thing to have for a person that cant argue. i lived in a world i couldnt argue with, no dissent, seen and not heard, spare the rod this one is too small to hit.......so.....my best trait became a survival skill instead of a tool for success. or you could argue that i am this way because of the way my childhood happened. i couldve turned out a thousand different ways. so yeah, i had some choice in the matter. i survived.
i even survived christmas. traditionally a difficult season for me to enjoy for thousands of reasons, but i managed to squeeze out a few good moments, admittedly with the help of some significant others, such as a husband. i definitely have something to smile about. even though, my dad has been a fuck since forever ago, my family is wrought with the discomforts of life and all of the complicated distractions it provides, my place of employment is not right for me, and all of the feelings of strangeness havent stopped, they havent stopped me. this happens every christmas...hahaha..well...i only have so many grandmas, so i guess that part needs to be mentioned. Nana, head of the burgos pack, the alpha female wolf, the all-knowing, all-seeing, the powerhouse. the last living grandparent, the toughest, nicer but not without flaws. yes, ladies and gentleman, the quintessential mother, the chairman, the leader, the guide, the protector, the chef, elvis has left the building. she died while i was squeezing in a shift of work in between a mostly-all-nighter and a family gathering. i never said i'd make time, and after only being able to write a 15-sentence letter, i knew that i might never see her again and a person that old can only go to the hospital so many times before it's finally over. but i just wanted to be in a family. i know i am in one that i really love, but i had a family....where the fuck are these people...WHO are they?.....so...yeah, i went home...but i really went there. not the building where i live, or my stuff, or anything like that. i really went home. to a place in my heart. it really made a difference to me to be able to go home to james. just interacting with him gives me the ability to feel better.
christmas was still fucked, because after that my sisters and my mother fought, i didnt get to see my niece's or nephew because my sisters scattered like rats as soon as xmas happened. i dont know how they manage to carry on this way. they just love to hold grudges. dont understand that. i dont want to, and you shouldnt either....it comes from a bad bad place, and i never want to even know how to get there.
but i dont feel all that badly, because this experience is my own perspective of a unique experience of a weird situation. which basically means it doesnt matter all that much, because i know even if i havent fully let it go as of right this moment while i'm writing this, eventually i will, and i will find peace.
huhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i dont want to go back to work. i think i want a vacation...somewhere else, i dont care if its the woods or a city. i just want to practice leaving this place. i honestly think the opportunity for me to become a better person is out there, not here in buffalo...i need to make the right effort...and it just gets smashed here. im sick of fighting for scraps. this is one area of my life that i hope to improve.
maybe.