In Search of Inner Peace: Beginnings

"Write hard and clear about what hurts." - Ernest Hemingway

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When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to grow up. I couldn't wait to grow up because I had this vision in my mind, this idea, that when I was older, everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be right, everything was going to be as it should be. I was going to be okay, I was going to be fixed -- I wasn't going to be sick anymore. 

I'm not sure what put this idea in my head, but I just couldn't imagine a future where I was still sick. Surely, it had to end. But high school came and went, then 18, 19, 20, and.... nothing. Nothing changed.

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I feel betrayed by my body. I feel angry and cheated. This isn't how it's supposed to be, this isn't how it's supposed to work, but that's just it - it doesn't work. Something went haywire in my immune system and instead of functioning properly, it can't tell the difference between healthy and foreign cells, so it goes into overdrive, leading to joints that swell and bones that ache, skin cells that don't know when to stop reproducing, causing bright red patches across my face and limbs, and leaving a body and mind that feel tired beyond their years.

So here I am at 23, feeling betrayed and tired. But also feeling like I'm finally ready to come to terms with my body, my reality, myself. There are a lot of things that I've kept bottled up my entire life, things I've never faced or vocalized or worked through, things that have caused so much inner turmoil and anxiety. But I think I am finally ready to start letting go and to start on this journey of searching for inner peace. I'll try to be as brutally honest, transparent, and vulnerable as I could possibly be -- feel free to come along for the ride.

Dreaming

I'm dreaming of a rainy day, followed by a stormy, chilly night. And the power going out, and bringing the candles out, and not wanting to step a single toe out. I'm dreaming of becoming mountains, with blankets and blankets piled atop us, and only a couple fingers peeking out to put down our cards. I'm dreaming of the chill creeping toward us, but the laughter and delight warming us from within. I'm dreaming of a late, dark, night, filled with simple pleasures and cheer, filled with love so warm, it keeps the shivers at bay. I'm dreaming.

A Late Walk

"When I go up through the mowing field,
       The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
       Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
       The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
       Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
       But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
      Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
       By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
       To carry again to you."

- Robert Frost, "A Late Walk"


That last stanza -- beautiful. It makes me sad, in a melancholic way.

Let's Take a Train Ride to Anywhere

Let's take a train ride to anywhere and when we get there we won't know where we are and we won't care. We'll find a coffee café and drink some espressos and lounge in the chairs outside, and maybe have a cigarette. We'll converse for a while and then sit quietly because we don't need words to fill the spaces between us and we'll just breathe in the moment and then breathe it out. I'll smile at you and you'll wink back and then we'll have a laugh, realizing that several hours have passed and it's time to be on our way. We'll get back on that train and maybe doze a little bit to the rhythmic turnings of the wheels on the tracks and when we finally arrive, we'll collapse on the couch and dream of future train rides, together and apart.

Keeping Time

Breathe in - breathe out, count
  one
    two
      three
and I don't care anymore.

Breathe in - breathe out, count
  one
    two
      three
and I don't know you anymore.

Ataraxia

Ataraxia: (literary, Greek philosophy) a pleasure that comes when the mind is at rest.

Lacrimae Rerum

Lacrimae rerum: (Latin) the tears of things; the inherent tragedy of existence.

Kind of beautiful, isn't it.

Stuck in a Dream

I feel so stuck in this life. I want nothing more than to be sitting outside some quaint, little cafe, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cool breeze, listening to jazz. I want to be alone or with one of my few friends with whom I can talk about the real things, things that actually matter and stimulate introspection, not just the colloquial, inconsequential things that tend to domineer conversations these days.

I'm currently reading Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald and it's - good God, it's beautiful. It's as if his pen was bleeding beauty and emotion itself. It is just so bewitching and elegant and smooth - it makes me feel like I belong in a different era.

It makes me feel like an old soul, yearning to be back in the times of the roaring twenties, the jazz age, but instead I'm here. I'm here in the midst of hip hop and pop culture and societies that have lost the understanding of beauty, in regard to all things.

I feel so fed up with the world around me at times, with the attitudes and standards and beliefs that dominate our communities, all I want to do is run away. It is not like my desire to escape, but a different sort of running. The kind where I eventually find a place where true beauty, creativity, intellect, conversation, hope, and happiness reside.

Hopefully I will find this place one day, and hopefully you'll be right there with me, by my side. But I guess in the mean time, I'll be stuck in a dream.

Hope

What a perfect weekend.

I woke up before nine on Saturday morning, went on a bike ride, and lounged outside of Starbucks for several hours reading Everything Is Illuminated. The sun was bright, but the breeze was cool, and the coffee was chilled.  I caught up with the news, had a few epiphanies, and wrote a little bit. Then I relocated to the picnic table in my court and read some more. I read so much, and just kept on reading. (I don't quite know why I'm so enthralled by this book, but I just think it's wonderful. No doubt I'll be posting some excerpts soon.) Then the night didn't end until five in the morning, after several drinks, smokes, and talks.

Today, Sunday, is how I want to spend every day - eating new foods, drinking coffee, relishing nature, reading, being at peace. I had lunch in a French cafe with JC and then we spent several hours at the park in downtown Monrovia. Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe the atmosphere - big, green trees; the bluest sky; everyone lounging on the grass, on the benches, reading and cherishing each other's companies; the only sound being distant chatter, an occasional car, a child running by. In one word: peace.

I haven't touched my homework, but I don't care. I was able to read so much, drink so much coffee, and have so many good conversations, the kind of conversations that induce introspection, challenge what you believe, forcing you to give a defense for what you've accepted, the kind that bring you closer to yourself and to others.

But the weekend has come to a close, and I'm brought back to reality. It's time to hit those books, but my goal for the week is to not get submerged. To keep a clear mind and not get over stressed, to sleep and to study, to follow my own advice.

It was a beautiful weekend and it's times like these that give me hope for the future.