The soft dive of oblivion
I am drinking Hazelnut coffee and listening to Mat Kearney’s "Ships In The Night" and contemplating the many facets of my life.
I am doing my best to immerse my senses lately. This ritual has always given me peace and stability in trying times. Not that these times are extraordinary — they aren’t, and after some time passes, certain events that I mourn or glee about will lose their luster. I will be left with sensual memories only, and this I know, so I am embarking on a sensual journey.
Like savoring the hazelnut flavor in my coffee,
or burning a candle called "Enchanted Garden", whose scent is best described as earthy,
or like the thrill of my blood when elements of a song I love come together,
or how my flesh feels chill, my hair feels soft, and I feel a constant, numbing lethargy lately,
or maybe how the stars gather, all content, as I walk briskly, time-pressed, beneath them.
Senses. Not thoughts. Not even feelings, most of the time. Just senses.
Because it seems more worthwhile, less risky even, to pay attention to these things.
To be mindful.
To be present.
To be aware.
I am unapologetic for who and what I am, which I covered in my last entry.
It isn’t just a thought or something best left written and tucked away in the pages of my history.
Living it, in essence, is beautiful.
I have won myself the ability — or rather, simply realized — that I can say "no".
I can be as distant, or as close, to others as I want.
I can have a dream to make my own clothes, and if others decide to laugh, that is their problem. For not having a dream. Nary a tangible one.
I can mourn love long buried and not compromise my current relationship, because I cannot control my emotions all the time. I can only ride the several waves of them that bombard me every day, and gently coax myself back to the present when it’s time.
I can sit in Tarot forums and learn, and I can peruse the Enneagram forums and learn even more. Even if people don’t understand my fixation on these topics.
I can smoke as many or as few cigarettes as I choose. I can choose to quit, or I can choose to be lost in the sea of addiction. An addiction that keeps me calm, pushes my feelings under the surface, that makes the possibility of seeing his face in this town snort-worthy. Cigarettes give me all this but it takes so much more away.
I can choose to live in fear, or I can choose to embrace trust, and misplaced love, and acceptance that life isn’t always roses. Another thing: it isn’t always a veritable shit-storm either.
I can choose to drown in the past, ignore the present, and fear the future. OR I can choose to learn from the past, embrace the present, and look forward to the future. The choice is mine. And sometimes it changes depending on the day. This is OK.
You don’t get to choose your family, but you can choose how you respond to them (which sometimes involves not responding).
I can choose to be smug and self-satisfied in my wisdom, condemning all those who are too "stupid" or "lost" to realize the things that I have. Or I can gently coax others into being more objective about their lives.
Pain is temporary. Bad decisions are not.
Listening to sad songs only heightens sadness and frustration. Happy songs are celebrated for a reason.
Patience is a virtue. That’s why impatience is so easy.
I am not perfect. I shouldn’t aim for perfection. But I should always aim to improve myself, brick by tedious brick.
Time heals all wounds, unless you keep ripping them open in desperation to reclaim what was lost.
I’m beginning to bore myself with all these "life lessons".
My time is probably better spent doing homework, or looking at apartments, or cleaning….or something.
Love,
Amanda