Fair Flying

I've had that "thumb under the chin and finger on my lips" kind of look lately. It's that look of focus, of pondering, of wonder and concern and speculation. I am curious about life and all that comes with it and I am fascinated by the cacophony of concepts that swirl around in my mind.  Some thoughts are good. Some are bad. Most are so big they won't even fit in my head, despite how I keep trying to squeeze them in. Some of them are like those little sponges we got as kids that grew when placed in water. They absorb and expand and inflate, full of new opinions and frivolous frights that eagerly replace all the soap bubbles. It's pretty cool, and pretty ridiculous at the same time. I catch myself making the "thumb under the chin and finger on my lips" look when doing all kinds of things, but mostly when I'm reading. I've been reading a lot lately. Mostly articles and forums and other media and social media, encasing my brain in whispers a...

That burning behind your eyes that can’t be compromised gives way to the spies who are devised among cries and lies. Tame the tears behind your eyes and create compromise instead of demise. For you will die; so will I, but try. Try .

I've been searching in all the wrong places for all the wrong things: for love in the wary waves of the ocean, for pain in the kind kiss of the sun, for fun in all matters material and for dreams in reality. They've been hiding in all the right faces of God and bright things for the joy of great jovial jumps, for the love of embraces that come in tons, for the laughter and light that draws near and for everything good in between.

It's funny how water seems to boil faster when you ignore it... And how steam rises but it is rarely seen falling... And how icebergs could always be something much more below than what they seem from the surface... And how the moon reflects off the ocean like a dazzling beacon, and how the sunlight dances across the waves... And how bodies of water can be hundreds of thousands of miles away from each other and, under proper circumstances, are still as cohesive as ever... Not to mention: how -even in a world full of high expectations, rage and fear, and impatient tendencies- life can fill the emptiest of cups to the very brim, ever so plentiful. 

Desiderium - noun - an ardent longing, as for something lost. You know that feeling? That epic black hole in the pit of your stomach that's weighing you down, making you feel small and helpless and perhaps even abandoned? I know that feeling, in small doses like painfully bitter medicine, but I do.  It's not as sharp and clear as one would think it to be... It's more large and round and heavy and smooth, like a large stone one carries in their palm with a cooling sensation of hope. The longing, the yearning, pure desideria... It appears to be a part of life, that feeling. It comes and goes, with unimaginable amounts of other emotions and sensations that prickle the skin and knot the stomach.  What I feel right now isn't exactly the wild, oddly unknown desiderium, but the fear of it. What I feel is the fear of a child clinging so tightly to their innocence and precious thoughts and magical worlds, and the idea of losing all of it just seems so terrible.  ...

("Met" = metaphor) I saw a picture of roses with the caption "grow where you are planted" and then I thought "hey we're all kind of like plant seeds in this world, aren't we?" We're quite small when you think about it, compared to the rest of the universe, but we inflict great change upon the masses.  We float about and do our best to grow where we were originally planted. Although, in some unfortunate cases, some are blown away and carried far by the wind and all its toils. Others are found by animals and chewed, swallowed, then tossed back out again in the most gruesome way possible. And yet, most of us, we keep zipping around the earth. We are small, yeah, but we're freaking invincible when you think about it (to an extent). Our only enemies are ourselves. Forgive me if this is messy and cheesy and possibly rather tasteless. I didn't really give this metaphor much time to boil.  (Metaphors and puns? you ask. She...

Let me start by saying: I had an excellent weekend full of friends, family and partying. I laughed and hugged a lot. I am, as always, so utterly grateful for all the amazing people and experiences in my life. Sometimes I can't get enough of them.  That being said, lately I've been feeling kind of down. Mentally, physically, emotionally down. Low. Grumpy. Sour. Meh. Not myself. The first half of summer was practically riveting. ( Okay, so it wasn't as great as it usually is, but so what? It was still just as exciting and big as ever... ) And then August came along and I kind of just fell in a trap of sour moods and party hangovers. And I haven't even been partying that much! I'm usually a valiant optimist with a stupendous skill at ignoring the negative. And it's not like I'm even paying any attention to the negative, really. I'm actually rather happy. However, due to party-hangovers, future worries, hormones, and a few other bumps and bruises, lately...