343: How I long to be the sun

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How I long to be the sun…

I am such a dichotomy of prisms, multi-faceted in a way that confuses me, the observer.

I keep looking into myself and finding only tunnels, web-like hallways leading in all directions. There is such mystery here, and clutter. I am an open book, but not to myself. I am an open book to only that which I let out and that which I allow in. Even as I share so much, I hold eternity inside. I worry, when I have all the reasonings harvested of why not to worry. I fear, when I have all the reasonings set out of why not to fear.

I am this pendulum; this constant pendulum. I know not what moves me, but I am continually moved. At times I feel I become the person you are. At times, so many times, I lose the person I am. I absorb the world, all of the ingredients brought into me; and then I am left, in my loneliness, both awe-inspired and drowning in pain of recognition.

I see too much. I feel too much. I know too much. And there is no remedy.

I am the heap of pain that one carries on his shoulders. I am the sorrow of the mistress. I am the angst and guilt of the destroyer. I am the pillager weeping at the joyful bounty. I am the child in the glee-filled park. I am the mountaineer on highest peak. I am the widow crying at the grave. I am the tie tightened around my very neck, chocking me from the outside, to match the fury of pain within.

I am enveloped in need and then enveloped in release. I am tortured by thoughts and misery, and then let free by understanding and the depth of beauty. I am unstable, yet stable in my instability. I am consistent in my varying degrees of emotions. A spit-fire of desire brought to tender knees by only the touch of your words.

I am affected by all and none. This silence speaks to me. And the loudness hurts. I am the fury in your eyes. I am the heartache in your bosom. I am that raw pain that eats away at you. Time and again I rise, some mercenary to the many; unable to stop my vengeance; my need to take revenge, to beat the rhythms of my own soul down.

I am anger. I am rectification. I am renewal. I am lust. I am all this and more. And they merge and spin inside of me, claiming their take, and taking more than was offered. I eat of myself, devouring the agony.

If only I could find a way to balance the esteem of you with the esteem of my own being. If only I could find a way to stop the pain you feed me. Your naked trembling fear. To unchain the leash that takes me to the dark side of my own moon.

How I long to be the sun, the perfect sun shining overhead; and then with one touch, without consequence, to set free with flame this yearning for rescue.

~ Sam 3/20/13

342: Joy Sings

Yesterday, I saw the cover photo
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The brief moment of joy quickly passed to confusion, then sadness, then balance, and then back again to sparks of joy watered-down by questioning.

I was confused by the emotional and spiritual process I went through. I had been published! My words in print. Was this not a vision come true? Was this not a distant dream?

But still, with the news, with the confirmation, I felt a lingering sorrow.

I know I was battling between what is ego and what is self-satisfaction. I wondered if they were indeed the same.

I know I battled with humility. I know for an instant I felt proud or pride, or some related cousin. And I didn’t like the feeling.

At first I thought I was feeling guilty–guilt for feeling good about an accomplishment. I reasoned I was stifling happiness with the guilt of pride and the fear associated with losing humility.

I compared myself to others, and what I “should” be doing; how I should be celebrating. And then I logically debated all the reasons why this publication was not celebration-worthy. I questioned my capacity to feel “good.” I questioned my adequacy as a being. I went round and round in this circle of mixed emotions and deep, complex opposing thoughts. I searched out the caverns of my mind, until exhausted. And then I sank into body submission of fatigue.

Last night I prayed for refinement and serenity. And for much of today, I have found peace. I understand that I do not have low self-esteem—to me this is illusion. I understand that when I am confused about how to feel, it is because I have based my emotions, like much things in life, on a rule-book that I created founded by personal experience filtered through my senses. I realize, too, that yesterday I was no further from the truth than I am now.

It’s not that I had or have low self-esteem. It’s not that I don’t think I am unworthy or worthy. It’s not that I am acting prideful or humble. I am none of those labels or names.

It’s not what I was or who I was. It was where I was. I was lost. I was lost and pulled away from my faith. I was momentarily swept out of the presence and present. I was enticed by outcomes and promises.

I recognize when I am tuned into the collective universe, when I believe in the magic of the world, in the magic of you and me, and in the beautiful infinite possibilities for love, it is then I am whole and complete. The feelings don’t get jumbled and the thoughts don’t get all twisted, when I am clear in my connection to my higher power and higher good.

On reflection today, I spent some two hours reviewing joy and reviewing sorrow.

In my mind I saw the illusions.

Even though one of my visions has been realized (being published), I am not as joy-filled as I had expected, or perhaps as others might have expected. And that is okay.

Today I am recognizing joy’s partner: sorrow.

I couldn’t have completed The Ten Traits without decades of suffering. The words would not have been searched out by others had they not first had cause. My message would not be whole without first being carved out through pain. Both yours and mine.

And thusly, I am left wondering if indeed I do understand joy quite well. That if in fact, I am in a state of continual joy. But only through recognition of the ashes of suffering.

Joy Sings
I am joy.
Squeezing me out of me.
Releasing being like some over-expired lemon.
Disappointed in the bitter sour that remains.
Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
Some ravenous fowl picking away at barred plumage.
My substance an existential shell of resistance, once labored to create.
Inside whispers: Complete though illusion.
Outside weeps: Unworthy in existence.
Opposites.
Naked, though cloaked in tattered rags, I waver, from one to the other.
Bemused, as sadness quakes, I sleep soundly through unawareness.
Forgotten upon shallow waters.
Until waved onward to deeper grounds.
Still bearing witness to starlit nights.
Though standing erect in dissatisfaction.
Invited by command to denounce self.
The suspicion of being, the suspicion of joy, scoured.
Incomprehensible happiness holding the hand of the lingering voice of no one.
“The obsoleteness of temporary. The absolute of change,” clangs the bell of the imagined captains.
I respond without breath.
And I question.
In accepting misery to circumvent suffering, did I not modestly forbade self-joy?
In rendering joy denied, do I accept misery in completion?
Thusly moves the wheel.
One axle: Seeker of non-truth whom claims found truth righteous.
One axle: Seeker of truth whom believes found truth not-righteous.
Who is this joker? This shadow? This phantom?
This awkward misrepresentation set down.
Left to squander in misgivings.
Where does this joy I am speak?
When not formed in shape and drifting.
Where does this joy live?
When unseen unless trapped.
Captured fleetingly in passing moments when invisible brother is silenced.
When the suspicion is eased. When the noise erased.
There I sing, this joy released to captivity.
Caged amongst the residue of sorrow escaped.

Sam 3-20-13

I found this a day after I wrote this post. Made me feel better. ❤ http://drarorasclinic.wordpress.com/2013/03/02/happiness-tips-13-experts-weigh-in-on-the-pursuit-of-joy/

329: Oops! I did it again! Who the Beep Am I?

This little girl who lives inside me was crying today.

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And through the tears, I started punishing myself saying, “This is ego; don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.”

Until I remembered that by focusing on ego, I simultaneous give ego power!

One of the things weighing heavy on my mind is this chameleon presto-chango act I do.

As chameleon, I have perfected several degrees of metamorphosis. I do this by mimicking someone else (real), a character (tv), or the stereotypical characteristics of a specific role (detective/when I was 8).

I’m quite good at imitation; I can pretty much take on any role to perfection.

It’s like a hidden talent. A type of hidden talent that seems like it would come in handy, like double-agent-Jacquelyn-Smith-from-Charlie’s-Angels handy. But it doesn’t. It just pretty much sucks.

Case in point, when I first moved to the state of Washington, two and a half years ago, I meet a spiritual teacher I admired.

Bingo! Bingo! Bingo! Some part of my subconscious brain screamed, upon the acquaintance of this lady; and then, without telling me, some part of me set about to transform. Not to be her exactly. I mean I didn’t want to live in her house or steal her husband; that’s kind of loony, fatal-attraction-psycho-scary. But a piece of me did mean to clone her using my body. Hmmmmm.

In regards to this one woman, I learned how to mimic her voice, how to dress like her, and then studied to become a spiritual counselor, just like her! Surprise. Turns out I make a pretty good spiritual counselor. And, even after I tossed her persona out, I kept her cool, mellow voice. Bonus!

I think this self-discovery of self acting out a role that is not actually true self, has to be one of the oddest sensations known to mankind. And you can't really debate me, unless you've experienced this; and if you have experienced this taking on of roles without your conscious knowledge, then I am certain you would agree with me about the oddness factor, anyhow.

For all you non-chameleon types, the presto-chango experience is akin to being possessed by another life form or like being in a drunken spell for several months, and wondering what you did during those black out moments. Only you never black out completely, just a part of your awareness does. Maybe it's like waking up and finding out you have had a third hand for a few months but didn't even see it or know you were using it.

How, with my keen observation and analytical skills, I could not see my very own self doing something so obvious confuses me.

I imagine, beyond my ability to see, somewhere inside of me is a tug-of-war, where the participants are fighting: This way; be like her, be like her! No this way; be like her, be like that!

Which leads me to today.

Lately,I have been having a lot of spiritual experiences.

I am woken about three in the morning to vivid spiritual lessons. I am still half-asleep, but very aware that the lessons are occurring. But before I awake fully, most of everything is erased. Sometimes it’s poetry, other times images, sometimes Biblical verse. Also, I have been having powerful prose just pour out of me. And I have felt grand moments of serenity, peace, and healing. All of this is divine, in and of itself; the only trouble is that a part of me, that subconscious part, has been latching on to a new role; that of guru, or seer, or prophet, or even martyr. And it doesn’t help that my mom, who is always overly proud of me, bless her heart, is sending me links to saints!

And it all kind of sucks big time. Because that role of a seer, unlike suburban bimbo bunko player, is super serious and frankly no fun at all. And yes, I did the suburban bimbo bunko player part well, until I realized the acting had just about crushed the whole of me.

Oh, poo poo, crap, yuck-o!I so don’t want to drive down another road of roles again! “No way!” she exclaims. She being me, and flipping off ego, to boot.

To get sucked down the hairy drainpipe of yet another role will kill me. And this one role of the perfect seer is just too much.

I was already too serious (INFJ, Idealist, Cancerian, Only child, Aspie)…label Queen I be. How could I get more serious?

Crap! Where am I?

Damn it! (ahhhhhhh)

I’m tired of this role playing. I’m just plain tired. I’m turning in my costumes for good. I don’t care if the rest of me protests. I just can’t live anymore pretending. And if my brain won’t listen to me, then I’ll just have to take measures into my own hands.

Today was a step in the right direction. I figured out what I’d been doing, again. And then did something to symbolically stake my claim for change. I am happy. I am relieved. And I am excited… Unless, of course I am a seer channeling Shirley Temple and perfecting the role of a twelve-year-old, which is pretty darn possible.

And just to think two days ago, I was wondering if since I’ve been married and had kids, if I could still join a nunnery, and if my kids could live there, too, and my husband could have those special type of visits. I figured, likely not.

Here’s what I did today! So twelve and so loving it!

Hugs and big juicy kisses ~ Sam

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322: The Observer

I am experiencing a great shift in consciousness as of late, and am stepping back and watching two characters of self emerge. One part of self is clinging to the label of spiritual awakened and one part of self is clinging to the label of Aspergers.

In a direct sense, both selves are neither right or wrong, they are merely playing out a game at an unconscious level inside of me.

What is interesting is to watch this other self I be: the observer.

Thusly, inside of my mind I am able to see 1) the two ego selves at battle for power, 2) the observer watching the ego’s game, and 3) one in lesser form watching the observer.

When I try to step out beyond the third level, the place in which one is watching the observer, there doesn’t seem to be a fourth level, and all I can see is black or even the absence of color.

I am beginning to see, or further seeing, the world and my mind at complex levels, and reacquainting myself with truths that seem more familiar to me than my very own self, or more recently selves.

Coincidence after coincidence is occurring, and dreams are revealing to me events. The walks I partake in through nature are coming too with images of the future. Some of this, actually most of this, is nothing new to me; what is new is the intensity, the frequency, and the verification from others of what I am experiencing.

I do not know what is happening, but I seem to be tapped into a higher –frequency of sorts, almost as if I be an old-fashioned television and someone has lifted and extended a long metal antenna from my very being.

What is new, as well, when compared to my childhood, is the darker side of this is no longer affecting me. There is a new found peace, and with this peace a knowing that brings me a sense of safety and protection, as if a legion of guardians, angels, and ancestors have formed lines and are marching to show their support and unyielding faith in me.

I feel overwhelmed with love for people and animals; and the observer part of self perceives others in a way I never thought possible. This observer does not seem to have any attachment to things, people, or even life. He is one that would willingly sacrifice self, even without calling it sacrifice, for sacrifice itself involves ego. He would simply release and be.

There is a calmness with the observer that very much resembles serenity. I have found an increasing amount of energy flowing through my body, both my hands and feet, but particularly with the whole of my body feeling much aglow.

As of late, I am having difficulty holding onto fear. Though, I recognize the emotion comes; however when fear appears it is liken to a small ripple of water; wherein before the fear was like a tsunami. I am able to stand inside the ripple and watch the effect of fear within and without. I am able to see where this fear is and where it is carried. I am able to feel this fear, understand fear’s source, and then release.

I am understanding that the clinging of labels is unnecessary in the higher sense; that Aspergers itself is only a means to an end, a way to connect like soul to like soul, to bring community together; perhaps to bring more observers to the light.

Through the observer, I can see clearly the complexity of the mind. Through my own complexity, I can understand others like me in their complexity. I can see clearly the reason I am here and how my calling is manifesting healing in self, and healing in others. I understand that this is nothing to do with me, and entirely to do with source.

This is what I saw in vision that I will try to explain, as it came in quick picture without explanation, almost as an injection of thought. I am not used to understandings coming so fast, but it seems that some of my recognitions are coming now without the use of words, and even beyond the use of images; how this is happening, I have no idea, and why this is happening, I have no idea either.

The understanding I have been given is this:

1) I have a complex mind.

2) Because I have a complex mind, I have complex thoughts.

3) Because I have complex thoughts, ego runs rampant with idea after idea, and connection after connection inside my mind (see the previous post for example).

4) Because I have so many thoughts running rampant, I cannot simply let go, silence my mind, or use common means to release.

5) Because I cannot utilize common means, I am forced to find escape; this escape comes in the form of verbally processing through speech and writing, this escape comes through extreme focus, fixations, fantasy, special interest, and creation.

6) Because I escape, I am able to produce phenomenal amounts of work in a short period of time; the downfall being that I am missing out on my own life, because I am spending endless hours in mode of escape, in an attempt to escape my own thoughts, brought on by my complex mind.

7) Because I can produce a lot in a limited amount of time, I can also analyze my mind in limited time at a deep level and study the very happenings inside self, through this emerging observer.

8) With observer as witness I am able to release a lot of self-doubt, fear, and non-beneficial emotion. With observer I am able to watch ego and study my own thought processes.

9) The observer was only able to come when I was willing to look closely at thought and thusly expose ego and self-driven wants and needs, such as: attention, fame, and acknowledgment.

10) I was able to release the self-driven needs through much observation and prayer, and by tapping into a part of self that only wanted to serve and love.

11) By tapping into the part that only wants to serve and love, I was able to not remove ego, but to step outside and watch ego further, acknowledging that whenever an emotion of fear, want, need, defense, or upset of any type emerged that in fact it was ego taking over.

12) By being able to recognize ego readily, I was further able to refine my want to serve and love, and to begin to save the excess energy that was used before in ego’s attempt to acquire acceptance and validation.

13) I was able to recognize ego enough to start to remove intention, want or need from my writings; in turn my writings reflected the inner me and honesty, which enabled me to reach out more fully and freely to find other like souls; which in turn gained me the acceptance and validation ego was originally seeking.

14) This acceptance and validation was temporarily pleasing, until I realized that to accept validation also meant to accept insult and injury.

15) With this understanding of the double-nature of others perception of my self, I was able to release the want and need for any type of acknowledgment of “right” or “wrong” based on an outside perception and opinion.

16) With this release I delve deeper into my own self and ego, and gorged out the lies and untruths that surfaced there. One upon the next I wiped out the fears that were mere phantoms. I did this quite unexpectedly and oftentimes unwillingly, as events presented themselves to challenge me and my new found truth.

17) I began to see that everything related to fear was an illusion and that only love existed, once I stepped out of the need to be lifted by others, and once I stepped back into faith.

18) Ultimately it was my faith in something higher than self that I bleed my soul into, through prayer and through walking in high-awareness every minute of the day.

19) In this walking and prayer I was granted a serenity unknown to me before.

20) In this way, I can walk into the world, walk into an environment with other people, and step outside of the ego self and live as observer. In the state of observer all the fears are gone. My only thought is of listening to another and loving another and helping another.

21) In the state of observer I do not worry about conversation. I do not worry about anything. Instead I feel filled with light and peace, and simply exist as a reflection of another. In this state of observer, I can listen to each word with a gentle calmness, thinking nothing about what I want to say or contribute, and only thinking of the other person.

22) There is no fakeness, no effort, no ingeniousness involved as the observer, and seems to be a place of no ego; though in stating there is no ego, ego simply slips back in; so to say so without saying so becomes predicament.

23) I have concluded through this process of my own self that there are key elements I needed in order to find peace of mind. One is connecting to some source greater than self that need not be a religion or specific spiritual practice, but need be a source. A second is humbly submitting to said source repeatedly and walking in awareness of this goal and effort. Thirdly a sacrifice through self-examination and release of fear. Wherein the fear is held up to the light and all frailties of self exposed. Fourth, once exposed, ego must temporarily step in and seek support and connection of some kind while rebuilding and regrounding. Lastly, a disconnection of ego is necessary through trials and challenges brought on through higher-self.

24) This is my experience. I do not think it is the right way or only way, but simply the experience I was brought through.

25) I am not complete in awakening, and know that when I think I am, I am not, an only when I am no longer attached to awakening will I truly be awakened; which is a dynamic paradox I cannot venture to grasp. But I know that I walk in a light and love. I know, too, that now I see a great sadness in many people, and a huge heaviness; the energy I used to feel and collect at a subconscious level is now at a conscious level. As is my own pain. I can now pinpoint my pain and often know from whom or from what thoughts the pain has come through. I can also often release this pain.

26) I am not in a state of awe or grandiose thinking; I am not manic; I am not giddy and joy-filled; but I am very much at peace. There is not a façade of healing surrounding me, in which I want to be a healer so I live and act like a healer. The healing is radiating from within without instruction or want. This is new to me, this being without effort. Yesterday, I did experience my first moments of overwhelming joy in which I saw signs/omens in nature; I was overcome with extreme understanding and love, and literally was laughing hysterically for ten minutes like a mad woman. Interestingly enough at that very moment I had flashes and images of all the ones that have come before me laughing hysterically, and I felt extremely connected and whole in my journey. I have never heard such effortless and joyous sound in my life.

27) My main struggle now is one of humility; a struggle that God is continuing to answer for me. He has shown me that my fear of pride is also ego-based and an attachment to a goal and ownership of accomplishment; that accomplishment being the achievement of humility. He has shown me that because I continually ask for humility and am against pride that these natural thoughts and wishes, in and of themselves, display my heart and want for humility. I cannot go into detail with my humility journey, as to me this seems prideful and self-serving in and of itself; but I say this for those that are also struggling with this part of their journey; because as was scribed in the Wounded Warrior, humility is one of the markers of the healer.

28) I work now towards no longer working towards anything, and just being. I accept I do not know what this transition will look like, but I know that with my trust in my higher power and true wish to heal, serve and love others that I am walking in the light.

29) I will continue to strive towards being the best I can be while continually detaching from ego, though even this gives ego spotlight; and so I will fumble like many others, as I try to find the meeting point between submission and honor of self.

30) This concludes my thoughts, and I hope to continue to walk with a clear mind and in a state of peace.

321: Don’t make me look at you!

Don’t make me look at you

I am often depleted energetically in new environments with unfamiliar people. Part of the reason is because I am empathic and can innately pick up on others’ emotions and state of being. The other part of the reason I am energetically depleted seems to be entirely biological, at least in the way my brain senses the stimuli around me and in the way I process the input I am receiving as a result of the stimuli.

Sometimes, quite frankly and honestly, I would be a better listener and friend, if I didn’t have to look at you.

Because I am extremely analytical, acutely self-aware, and live in a heightened state of sensory awareness, I often forget that the majority of mainstream society does not process their environment the same as me.

I forget that the majority of people are not responding to me in the same way as I am inexplicably responding to them.

The first part of my energetic depletion is spawned from the belief system that I am being sliced and diced and dissected visually by another, only because when I spot another, I generally have to take each piece of person apart and put the features back together to make sense of what I am seeing. As a result, distinct markers of a face and body are found, categorized and reorganized.

I try to take apart another perosn and piece him or her back together without being judgmental. In other words, if a “big” nose is the first thing I see, I remind myself that “big” is a judgment and based on my limited perception and biased collective experiences, while understanding that societal norms determine the essence of beauty for most folks, norms which are indoctrinated onto a sub-culture by profiteering establishments.

Thusly, as I’m beholding another’s appearance, and trying to make sense of what I am seeing, in regards to features and taking in the whole picture, I am also simultaneous reminding myself that the individual’s features are not right or wrong, good or bad, or striking or dull, they just are.

And beneath this linear thinking of releasing judgment based on the indoctrination of societal norms, in the same juxtaposition, of me being with me, I am trying to remind myself, that according to many spiritual belief systems, that self and this other person in my line of vision do not even exist.

All of these thoughts pass through me, just as I am stepping into the line of vision of another: the release of judgment, the reminder of the limitless of the illusion of universe, and the fact that I am entirely analytical when it comes to viewing another.

And the added fact that I know way too much for my own good (and would apparently make a good sitcom character).

With all of my thought-processing, I become distracted and don’t realize that the other person I am analyzing is most likely not viewing me in the same manner as I am viewing him or her.

While my mind is shooting a million miles per second, the other person’s mind has probably just thought: nice red sweater or there’s a brunette middle-age woman; or, if it’s my husband: There’s my hot wife.

But I forget this.

Somewhere between wondering if my fly is open, my teeth are flossed, my nose is big, my hair is brushed, and if I matched the right color socks, and wondering what the other person is dissecting about me, and what this makes that person think, and how he or she has categorized and judged me and has fit me into his or her comfort-level of classification, I turn into a tailspin of panic, fearing that the other person is not only doing to me what I am doing to him or her, through dissection and examination of part, but also reaching conclusions based on the data received.

Ultimately, when all is said and done, in the midst of my boggling analysis of said other person, I am fearing the conclusion the other person has reached about me, whether it be red sweater or big-breasted tart; I am wanting to huddle into a corner and make myself entirely invisible and inaccessible to onlookers.

Wherein if I lived in a world where I was masked and cloaked, and perhaps entirely invisible, I think my anxiety, and resulting depletion of energy, would be drastically reduced.

But since I live in a world where I am seen, I am also faced with the fact that I am judged and categorized based on my appearance.(It’s no wonder my son with ASD refuses to wear anything other than plain clothes—no designs, no images, no nothing.)

And in so being keenly aware that I am looked upon with deciphering eyes, whether fleeting the observer’s glance be or not, I want to then explain to the observer as much about my true self as possible, fearing that the person has reached conclusions about me that are entirely false and inaccurate, because the gathered data is based solely on my exterior.

In the meanwhile, I am having a miniature debate in my mind about how the release of fear and the release of worrying about whatever people think of me is optimal for my state of well-being and reciting the random quote that says: what people think of me is none of my business, while holding back an entire dam of dialogue longing to be thrust upon the person returning my glance, so that I might attempt to accurately describes my spirit behind this cloak of humanness.

When all is said and done, all of these processed thoughts, (including the deductions of reasonings circling around the non-beneficial and detrimental effects a fear-based outlook to the collective of spirit, mind and body), have left me wiped out, and wondering how it is that up until this point in my life I have not become dependent on the port wine I savor some evenings, or at least a stiff shot of cough syrup.

For my brain is such a grand uniform of thought that even a sergeant general, marked with the stoic stars and stripes, could not maneuver his troops inside me to find the potential threat of enemy.

And then, with the coming of more and more rushing thoughts, I begin to laugh inside, realizing again that more than likely the stranger is not analyzing my distinct features; and then the sadness settles in, or at least what seems like sadness, but of late seems more akin to the knowing I am different and likely a different species of human all together.

In the meanwhile, with all of these aforementioned thoughts, my mind is continually involved in a game of connect–the-dots, bringing all the facial features together to make a collective whole.

And quite frankly sometimes I don’t like what I see. And then there is always the lingering notion, that this is all much-to-do about nothing, because if I was ever to see this person again, I wouldn’t recognize him anyways, because I cannot retain visual images of faces in my memory banks.

By this time, when my thoughts have run full course into a state of exhaustion, the person I was looking at has either moved on and out of my view or he or she has moved on in conversation. And where the person is left waiting for me to respond to something said, that she assumed I heard, just as she assumed I was ready to listen, I am still wondering, if in fact, if I look older or younger than this person, because I have wrinkles under my right eyes in the same way, and likely the same depth; and this person is still so pretty even with the marks of age; and I wonder if the wrinkles are appearing more engraved because of the lighting and what the person would look like in an alternative setting, with say a red scarf instead of green; and if her hair is naturally blonde, or now with her aging, recently dyed; and when I should stop dying my hair; and if I remembered to mark my hair appointment on the calendar, and why at times I seem so forgetful.

Through all the analysis piled upon rhetoric and philosophical jargon, added to the process of scaffolding current information with past information and connecting other to self, and the tangent of strings my mind travels to, I am left literally spent, my pockets of reserve penniless, and my wallet flung open for the taking.

And so it is I wonder, when the others, perhaps less aware of this process, say: “Look at me, while I’m talking to you.”

I wonder if a person realizes what one glance, what one look, what one simple demand, demands of me.

Pass me the port, please.
~~~~~~~~~~

(dang if I ain’t one prolific goofball and a half)