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...THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE...
in progress, of course more to follow later because I have ever known biological family, I adopted people as family ewhen I find someone I feel could or should (or maybe actually is) part of my family... sometimes these adoptions last a moment or as long as it takes to write a letter... sometimes they last forever... they are always meant to last forever, and do in my heart, though time and space sometimes get in the way... and sometimes, the other half of the adoption process is not completed cuz just cuz I want to adopt someone that doesn't mean they want to adopt me... all that said, the most recent person I've adopted is an beautiful writer and reading her journals is one of the most comfortable, relaxing, exciting reads I've found lately... she's one of the reasons I haven't finished The Salmon Of Doubt (in case you've noticed and wondered)... and though most letters to strangers or friends appear in their own gardens, I felt like sharing this letter Neb inspired here... maybe she'll give this journal a bit of class or at least allieve the narsicist tendencies around here :) Neb: I fall in love with sound bytes and em p threes and strumming guitars mixed in with words...but it leaves me nowhere, like brushing my finger to poetry before it flames. Why do you write? Question reflected, it bounces to me. The understanding of irony...to be understood, to understand. The goal of our instruction is a pure heart, a sound mind. Inscribe the vision, the text, so that the one who reads it may run. Write in a way which cannot be misunderstood. Be understood to.... "In the end the craving to be understood is merest egoism." Is it? And is this ignoble? Write to connect. But connect out of fear of the opposite? And what is the originator of that fear, that fear of loneliness. I haven't fallen from the tenth story, but on the window ledge, cars, horns, branches, cement below, I fear the fall. Something innate.... .. Hello Neb... I thought about reading your diary from the very beginning and then, when I couldn't actually find the very beginning, likely due to my IE4.0 level browser reading the code on your older pages as unreadable or something, I decided to reach back somewhat randomly (a year or so, I think, I forget the exact date I started now) and start reading... I thought about responding to each entry with whatever your words inspired and then, when I realized you might be too busy for such a potentially tedious communication (you may be too busy for this as it is, but I shall reach out just the same) and with us being relative strangers and all (though I feel as though we are twins at times as I read you), I backed off on imposing so much of my one-sided reading of our potential closeness until you decide what you'd like from me for yourself... that is meant to be respectful of boundaries, but it may also be a cop out on my part... could be the guest/trespass thought... I do not wish to trespass... I wish to be a guest, welcomed, wanted, and encouraged to come over anytime... I wish to be a respected and treasured and above all else, trusted (would unconditional be too much to as for at this juncture?) friend... I wish to be accepted for myself as I am... I wish you could see through the serious irreverence and irreverent seriousness to come to understand that I mock the serious seriousness because deep down I can be very insecure and do not like rejection at all... but I risk it because I wish find friends (people who want to take the time to know more about me than I know so they can help me in ways nobody else can... well, that's one definition of friend I like)... I wish I had more creativity coming into my daily life... I wish more music would play, more ideas would come from people who actually cared about me and things I care about (honesty, life, love, people, children, animals, truth, creative expression, words, music, innocence, and diminishing human experiences of suffering, hunger, homelessness, overwhelming fear, and ultimately eliminating {yes, I can dream big} all negativity real or imagined)... I wish it was easier, sometimes... as I read you, I find myself tearing up just before you mention your tears and I find myself grinning just before you mention your grin... I think your grin would be a wondeful elixor... and your tears may be a cleansing bath... I find myself wishing I could be there for you when you feel lonely or want more creative energy in your life... I find myself wanting to put salve on your raw knuckles and I want to protect you... from what?... I don't know... reading your words brings out paternal/maternal instincts in me... I wish I could give you the hug precisely when you want it, an unconditional hug that only asks you let it comfort you... I wish my hug and wishes and wants would mean something to you... I am drawn to your love of literature not because I have any extensive experience in the field, not even because I read much of what is generally regarded as classic, but because your enthusiasm for it tells me there is much worth to be gained in actually reading it... I wish you would teach me, read to me, and let me read to you... I am a relative virgin when it comes to classics, the rebel in me ignoring reading lists for most of my years through various schools of elementary, middle, and higher learnings... my degree in psychology is a joke to me, even though I took more than thirty credits over what was needed for the degree just because the ideas in the course brochure seemed interesting at the time... I learned not to believe in course brochures... I wish I could know what is not written in your more nebulous entries, what happened to the mother pushing away adoption papers, what name did your fish get, did you burn yourself on 2/2, did you fill out the survey you received 2/6, what secrets rest in and wrestle with you heart, and Peter Pan, I wish you were my baby sitter... I too fall in love with sound bites, lyrics, words, even photographs and characters in stories and film... and much more... it is how I live and survive when I am not sharing being in love with a flesh and blood human and it is fuel for my creative muses and written gardens... I always felt writing a resume was selling myself and rejected the idea, but then I realized nobody (or very very few people) wants to hire (or buy - and that is what hiring someone is, investing money in someone for some expected return) anyone unknown to them... that's where the resume comes in... it is a structured letter of introduction specifically pointing out what aspects of your experience and character makes you the right person for the job... the cover letter is where character should be mentioned, and the specific points that will benefit the specific job it is written for... so yes, it is a sales pitch, but that is what trying to get a job is about, really... selling your skills, knowledge, experience, and potential to someone who is going to buy it - pay you for your time, skills, experience, and potential... I still don't like the way the world is set up and this selling myself business still grates on me, but that is... life?... well, maybe survival... at least in our culture... I want to tell you to rest, but don't take too long a break from push-ups and sit-ups and running... I did, and it's horrible climbing back into good shape once you've become a couch potato... stay active, very... I want to tell you that you that you should pick up lost or tossed scarves and offer them back, in other words, let that person inside of your head come out so others can see more than your wondering pondering eyes... if a prospective employer read you, especially a well-edited version of you, you'd be hired in an instant... you are a caring, imaginative, witty, intelligent, dedicated soul out to do a good job... that is what you must convey, for that is what every prospective employer wants to find and pay for... and once you realize you must sell yourself, find a way that is right for you and do not selling yourself short... I don't want to use you lose your dream either... I sense you might be too distracted by your hunger to be loved and appreciated and held safely in someone's arms (by your insecurities) to find the inner courage you need to return scarves, to make the right actual physical introductions, to physically present yourself to those who can help you achieve your dreams... but then, all of us are potential failures at any time in life, most especially at the time when we take our first steps out of the safety and sanctuary of our parents homes and into a physically independent (and alone) life... I want to encourage you to be strong inside... to not need another person as much as you need your dream actualized... I do not know if it is possible to not become addicted to being wanted... but I do know choosing the right person to depend upon is the most important decision in life... and I believe some years of being alone to really get to know yourself is a prerequisite to being able to make the right choice... I do not like this belief much, because I am alive to share everything as much and as deeply and as completely as possible, but I love myself and can be happily alone... until you can be happily alone, you should not depend permanently (or too much) on anyone... reading about your younger years, I wish I spent my childhood with you, growing together, earning trust and respect and fun... the "whole" you are becoming is you and I am (trying not to use overwhelming words here) enchanted by the you presented in words on the web... I could have said enthralled, intrigued, attracted to, enamoured, challenged, awakened, stimulated, jazzed, blown-away... would you like me to go on?... I could have put, before the "you," adorable, beautiful, amazing, wondrous, eclectic, ponderous, insightful, kind, precious... before the word "words" I could have put intelligent, wise, fresh, shrewd, sapient, powerful, clever, amusing, thoughtful, generous... but I do not want to be written off as some gushing fan (in time, each of those words shall be used to describe you words and you... but we wouldn't want your head to get too big right off... that's the prudent thing to do, right?... I just figured you might like the warning :) reading you, I find myself wanting to quote you (and I shall) in my journals... sometimes because I love your expression... sometimes because you said something I want to say better than I said it before... or at least better than I said it that day... and why do you write?... exactly. on being first or last, nobody is first... we are all supporting players and those perceived as first are standing on the backs of those perceived as seconds and thirds, without whom the whole network or system, be it social, political, economic, creative, or whatever, would crumble... please do not let fear of failure or inadequacy keep you hidden on paper, your heart longs to actualize the love you feel for humanity... and humanity needs you to overcome your fears and be the gift you are... personally (and only very slightly irreverently), I'd rather be third... there's a lot more time for friends and family and creativity when you are not on top, yet at third, you have access... also a lot less necessary criticism and people looking to tear you down... ultimately, I think seconds and thirds live much more productive and happier lives than firsts... and the difference is not in who is 'best' but in who really wants to deal with the crap of being on top more than living a fulfilled and balanced life... egos want firsts, hearts want seconds, souls want thirds... spirits just want to be free of the whole rating system... your riddles are profound, even as they only scratch the surface... the answers may haunt you now, sometimes, but they are where your dream is found... please continue riddling and please - answer yourself, pick up and give away those scarves, and please, say more... it is never enough... honest love, ric if wishes were horses I'd get on and ride a stallion that would take me right to your side where time can pass slowly and nothing can hide from true friends in which we can always confide and no dream is ever denied if wishes were horses I'd get on and ride where no dream is ever denied J |
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