Dysfunctional

The absurdity of people my age is...we assume people give a damn; or rather we are hoping, longing with every fiber of our being that someone does. Blogging, twittering, facebooking, etc. They are all testaments to this fact--we want someone to care. We believe somehow that other people care about the intimate details of our lives, or at least put up with them--perhaps I am being cynical, but I think not. Also, I am a member of, what seems to be, a most "self-aware" generations: personality tests galore, the emo-scene out of control--for example. However, despite our obvious attempts at understanding ourselves, I do not believe there has ever been a generation so at odds with itself. We are absurdly unaware and disconnected. We have more opportunities for connection (i.e. twitter, facebook) and introspection (i.e. personality tests) yet we live horribly dysfunctional lives...but who doesn't, right.

Shells and pieces

The heart so quickly attaches. It is so apt to cling and hold on for dear life, to something, anything. As humans we so easily surrender ourselves to the unknown, to the unexpected. We so easily entrust our fragile shells to the abyss, only to be broken to pieces, by some unforeseeable force. Why do we trust...?

Unexpected...

Life is never quite what we plan...We strive and contrive, attempt to formulate and set goals of grandeur, yet our plans seem always to tumble and we always to fumble along the way of the unexpected. We anticipate and hope, long and desire after fantasies of our own making, and yet reality always surprises. Such is life...unexpected.

A Sea of Words

I am inundated in a sea of white and black.

Words surround, engulf, envelop me.
I cannot seem to escape.

I am swimming in the midst of p's and q's;
However, they are not minding me.

I pass a plethora of r's, who are getting a little rowdy
And shouting something about the Transcendentalists.

I latch onto a semi-colon, hoping to float to shore instead of swim;
Yet, it sinks sadly beneath a pile of o's.

A question mark peaks its quizzical head
Out from underneath a gaggle of giggling s's,
Wondering, I'm sure as to my presence.

Periods dot my view, one appearing indiscriminately after an M and an R.

I finally wade ashore and find Ralph Waldo Emerson
And Henry David Thoreau chatting it up with Queen Elizabeth and Thomas Middleton--

Something about women's rights and the importance of self, but I cannot hear their whole conversation over the clamor of the ocean behind me.

The driving force

What drives us? Makes us tick? Often, I discover that it is fear. We act, decline to act, choose, refuse to choose, etc. because of fear. It is crippling. The fear of failure, rejection, denial. Fear of personal harm, whether emotional or physical--it's all driven by the same factor. Fear immobilizes us; stifles our dreams, hopes, desires and ultimately prevents us from ever entering fully into life, complete and alive. Fear is never a beneficial thing--almost never. A healthy fear of heights and razor blades is advisable; however, the daily fears which haunt us could be done without...I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

The flood

Life ebbs and flows along; however, when it floods, there is no stopping the torrent. It seems that the old saying is true, "when it rains it pours." The floodgates of life are enveloping and cannot be escaped. The enormity of life is at times too much...

Opposition

We are creatures of a severe dichotomy. Flesh. Spirit--Opposed. Our two natures are contrasted directly and this truth is daily evident. We live in a paradox. Be in the world, but not of it--good advice, but maddening reality. We are to walk in the spirit and not in the flesh, but which will reign today? Denial of "self" is unnatural, but what is natural and what is "self" really? Which is the "real" us--flesh or spirit? They cannot be divorced. What then?