Revelations while frying...

Maybe I'm sentimental since I haven't fried fish in a while, or maybe it's because it's the end of the semester, but while I was cooking I had a revelation. Not one of the cooking variety; one of the "Wow! That's what's going on!" variety. You know, game-changers. Thinking over some of my past relationships (not that there have been many fish in the sea--sexual or platonic), I realized that not everyone who enters my life is meant to stay. Sometimes I try to hold on to people, hoping that things can remain the same. Sometimes I'm successful, others not so much. But I realize now that in doing so, I'm not only preventing them from fulfilling their mission, but I'm preventing myself from doing so as well.

I think we forget that we are temporal beings. We don't last forever. We're not meant to. Obvious? Sure. Considered? Not often. We get so wrapped up in trying to build things that will last--buildings, legacies, relationships--that we forget that things in this life, things in our life, are not designed to last. Don't get me wrong, certain things and people will remain with us for years. But no matter how long they can hold out, they too must end. Either we leave them, or they leave us. Finitude is hardwired into our existence. This doesn't have to be a fight, or even terrifying. It can be reassuring at times. A great example being school. I mean, I like school, but I can only handle so many more classes! What keeps me going is knowing that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Still finite doesn't mean pointless. Though it may be finite, my time in school has a purpose in my life. (Heh. Even if it's to be my impetus for joining one of the Occupy movements.)

In the same way, I realize that every person who enters my life has a purpose. Some people are encouragement in times of need. Some people are teachers imparting bits of wisdom. Some people are cultivators helping me grow. And let's be honest, some people are tests, plain and simple! Nonetheless, there's always a purpose. And, like everything else, they're temporal, and, therefore, terminal. Trying to hold someone in place might keep them from being that moment, if you will, for someone else. More to the point, it might keep me from either being that moment for someone or from experiencing my next moment. Life is growth. Growth is change. The more we fight the current of change, the more we miss. What I can do, however, is make sure that I realize every person that I meet has a value. From the P.Oed grocery clerk who throws my eggs in a bag, to the kind lady at the dry cleaners, to the students who encourage by their dedication (haha! and those who don't), I can recognize that they all serve some purpose in my life. Conversely, I serve a purpose in theirs. Really, that's the beauty of it all: that inspiration and a smile can--just as heartache can--come from the least expected places.

Perhaps it wasn't just sentimentality. Perhaps it was. Whatever it was, I've learned people will come into and will leave my life, and that the duration of their time varies. What's important is making sure that I remain open to inevitable end just as much as I am the beginning.

Ha! Who knew fish were so wise?

Just in time.

Just a quick thought before I slip into slumber:

You're not fighting time; you're fighting yourself.

I'm beginning to realize that usually when we think that time is running out, it's not. What is running out is our patience and our ability to sit in a given situation. Time isn't as short as we make it out to be--it was here well before us, and will be here well after us. We just need to make ourselves match its vibrations. They're a lot slower and more steady than we think.

In all, the things we think we are going to lose, can't be held by rushing. The things that we are losing, can't be held by wishing time back. We end up blaming time for our inability to recognize the moment for what it is: life; a connection; a moment in all its preciousness. We let our fear of loss cloud the moment, and when it has passed, we say it was because time was too short. We rush the moments past us by constantly seeing ourselves in their endings, living there while the moment is around us.

All that can be done is to sit; enjoy the moments for what they are--the feel of a hand in your own; the taste of a kiss; the sound of your name leaving a caring mouth; the warmth of a smile. Things that are meant to be in your life will be. People who are meant to be in your life will be. Everything else goes with time.

Late night thoughts on words from a kind soul.

Sometimes, waiting is the hardest thing to do. In life, we try so hard to force our hand. Between dreams, actions and responses, and hopes and fears the only possible thing to do is to realize that there is nothing to do. Waiting can be more effective than any motion made.

So, instead of trying to force everything, learn to wait. Not everything requires you to wait, but the things that are worthwhile will; you'll know what they are, when they come. ^_^.

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Does it show?

I will be 28 this year. I just realized this. It's funny, I'm almost 30 years old, and I don't know what this means. Part of me feels as if I should have "accomplished" something by now. Part of me feels as if I am "accomplishing" something. I mean, 30 is a milestone, right? Why? Does this mean that I am no longer young?

Honestly, I am not sure what this all means. This lack of certainty saddens me, too. I think I should have it figured out by now. Alas, but I don't. There is a quote that seems to have lodged itself in my head: "Life isn't about finding yourself. It's about creating yourself." I suppose this is what I'm [subconsciously] doing. I've done the "let's search for me" routine and it's gotten me nowhere, really. Lately, I seem to be playing-it-by-ear. It's a bit scarier, but at least it's a forward motion.

So, what does all of this mean for an almost-thirty-year-old? Well, it creates the aforementioned question. It leaves holes and questions. It makes things scary and, yet, possible. The possibilities. That, I suppose is the most rewarding thing I have received from this path. For me, 30 doesn't have to be an over-the-hill; it can be just another patch of grass. Tomorrow is potential. And 30 holds all of the potential I want it to hold!

Lost...or Dormant?

I'd like to disperse a few thoughts. Maybe, in doing so, I can reconnect the fragments of my mind and find some clarity.

I've been charged with "following my bliss." Oddly, this has made me sad. Actually, it sparked, in me, a strong urge to cry--and to say that I cry easily is nothing short of an understatement. Maybe it was the weather--a cold gray. Maybe it was the nature of my environment--a parking lot littered with idle cars who, like me, were going nowhere. But for a while, I couldn't explain this urge; although, I instinctively knew from where it came: I've lost a lot of that spark that I once had. Not much holds excitement, anymore. Not much holds life. This I recognize. What, I fear, caused the urge to cry was the thought that, in all honesty, I am not sure when I lost it. That spark. That excitement for life. It's one thing to recognize that the spark is gone. It's another thing to not know when or why it has went dormant.

This is private stuff.

Dormant. Is this a shift from my proclamation of having lost my spark? This word seems less of choice as it does necessity. As of now, I have a desire to believe that this spark (my spark) has not left for good, but is instead only buried--somewhere deep within. Now, this would be an amendment to my earlier statement; thought, perhaps, not too much of one. I'll admit this. After all, what is the difference between "lost" and "dormant"? Are they two parts of one whole? Brothers--or, at the very least, cousins--in the great departure from the singularity of the found?

Ha! Listen to me: "the 'singularity of the found'"! What does that mean? Perhaps this is the problem in deed. Should I even consider the "found" as a singular body, when, in fact, it really is a conglomerate? Tiny fragments brought together by a concept of location. A location as spacial as it is temporal; but, then again, the two really cannot be separated, can they? Time is the space where experiences occur. Space, on the other hand, is a bit more tricky. Not only is it an expanse of Time, but it is an expanse without time. To say that Time expires in Space would be a false statement, because Time is Space; therefore, if Time expired in Space, Space itself would have to expire. I cannot accept this. However, similarly, while they may be seen as singular, there is nothing singular about them. Both Time and Space are conglomerate in their constitution. This, they share with the found. It is only in there appearance as a singular body that we seem to be able to understand them. By reduction--something we as humans seem to be very good at, by the way--we can find something onto which we can cling. So, returning to the notion of the 'singularity of the found', there is no singularity, per se, only an instance in an understanding--a reduction.

Then, it is from this reduction that I turn to the gap between the "dormant" and the "lost". If something is dormant, it can be reawakened. Similarly, if something is lost, it can be rediscovered. Or its potential can be re-found. "Re-found"? This makes sense. If something is lost, then that means that it was once found, or had. To say that something that is lost is found seems to me an oxymoron because the act of being lost assumes that a thing was previously in possession. To have something for the first time--or for a span of time--is to have found it. So, once it is rediscovered, it is not found, but, rather, "re-found". It is returned to its previous state found being found. Hm, while this may seem to throw a kink in the word's connection to "dormant", I believe the opposite is true. If something goes dormant then it had once been awake. If something is lost then it had once been found. Thinking about this, it seems that the greatest gap between the two is due to their reduction. Where dormant is a temporal displacement (or loss), lost is a spacial displacement (or loss). The reduction of the two, without connecting time to space, as was previously discussed, creates a gap in the understanding of each.

Reconnecting Space to Time allows the connection between dormant and the lost to be reunited because it becomes apparent that the two are parts of one whole. A dormant item is lost in Time, as a lost item is dormant in Space, while both span the conglomerate body of experience. Of life. Both, then, maintain an air of hope within them. The dormant always threatens to reawaken, while the lost always threatens to be rediscovered. Neither, ever the same as it was before its departure. Sometimes it comes back needing to be polished; sometimes it comes back with more vigor than it left. Sometimes...well, sometimes it waits for someone else to find it.

Now, how does all of this relate to the initial discussion of the state of my spark? Well, honestly, it doesn't really matter which word I choose (lost or dormant) because either way, it can be reanimated. With enough searching, enough prodding, enough diligence, and maybe even, enough time, I am sure it can shine like new...or perhaps, even brighter! And then, truly, can I begin to "follow my bliss".