Monday, June 20, 2016

And so it is - revised (#3)

[I want to see if it is possible to live without writing all the time.]

I have decided to stop writing on my blog for now.

My blog has had ten years and one-hundred-and-forty-one days of active posting (which makes a total of about three-thousand-and-ninety-one days). 32572 pageviews and 1806 posts (including drafts). Openness and sincerity have both been my strange and awkward reasoning in life and on blog.

I have not written enough poems!

Did I write about the community compost project I initiated and am starting in my hometown (and about the group of environmental activists I put together)? 
I haven't written much about the plans for our 2017 in a mini-van in America, because we plan on opening a travel blog and writing about it there.

Did I ever write about how I used to imagine my life as words in a book? (This idea was written on a paper 8 years ago, and I lost the paper and with it the strength of it all.) And about how I do want some of me to be turned into a book?  Did I mention that I love working with children? That I want to study teaching and be a teacher? Do you know that my old bedroom is like a colorful museum of my life? And I haven't yet written the song I'm writing for Tal. I haven't even gotten a sound-recorder yet! I also wanted to write about the vulnerability of Being, did I do that? I wanted to share the video "Earthlings" so that other people would watch it, too. I haven't made enough art to share here. I want to record the sound of everything. I don't know if I have written enough about life (and about death)... Have I written enough about the inconsolable scariness of it all and also of the blissful loveliness of it? Have I written about depression? Have I written enough about love? Was I ever, oh ever, serene when writing a post, or am I always agitated or frustrated -- ever since eversinceness? Did I ever write about what's unfair in the world -- and about what's fair? And about leaving family? And about leaving parents -- about the era of intentional separation? Have I written enough thank-yous? Why no, I have not. I surely have not. I still have 1,234 or 5,678 more people to thank. Perhaps 9-10-11-12 thousand.
Have I said anything of meaning? Anything of importance? Anything of inspiration?

After reading my blog, do people still eat animals and knowingly pay for atrocities like animal exploitation? Why?

Can people change? Become stronger?
Will we? Will you?
Can writing make something in me immortal? Can I pretend - or believe - not all of me will die when I die?

Are there bad people who will use the information on this blog against me?
Will I be sorry about my sincerity and naivety that came through in this personal blog? Is there any reason in the world to be sorry for such things?
Will someone use my fearfulness to scare me? 
My vulnerability to hurt me?
Will the world share with me the same innocence I tend to share with it?
Is it so that the fragility and compassion I hold toward the world will always be a mirror of how the world will treat me? Can it be so?

Can people be kind and soft-spoken while speaking to me? Can I ask the world- Oh, Goodness, Please? 


Thank you #5,679: Thank you to all my readers.

My travel blog from my USA travels in 2015:

26/6/2016 Fear
You know how sometimes the physical and mental space you live in automatically makes you cheery when you wake up inside of it in the morning, and sometimes it does not? That was an important realization for me; if I don't wake up in a fine state of sunniness, my surroundings are not in a good state of 'feng shui'. Whether it be the mess, the heat, the smallness of the home, the fear and anxiety I feel toward almost everything I do.  What am I scared of? I need to wake up, smile deeply, and tell myself: There is nothing to be afraid of. Nothing and no one should take me out of my Me-ness. I have suffiecient Me-ness and somebodyness to be strong throughout the entire day. I do not need to fear authority. I do not need to fear feeling small, for I am not small.
I fear the speed of time passing. I feel the rushing of it in physical waves. As I get older, it seems that time passes faster with such urgency; much more urgent that the positive energies I am able to conceive.
I feel that I spend too much time worrying and being afraid of death, instead of being able to climb above the sphere of this anxiety and be the cultivator of a much larger and happier faith.
I know that a perfect Love is not enough to hold me in a place of Carpe Diem and present serenity. Something more is needed to make me be Here, be Now.
Something more, beyond the mess and the fear and the time passing. Something I guess I have not yet found.
I try to fumble through the things I do, like searching for a small pain-killer inside a bag, pulling out old papers and unimportant things, trying to figure out "what are the things that truly make me happy?" I want to surround myself in those things, if only I knew what they were.
I'm afraid of speaking to adults, and yet speaking to other adults is a fundamental part of living and of working.
I wish I wasn't afraid. I wish I was fearless, omnipotent, invincible, able and willing, optimistic and positive in a world of sadness and stress, strong and courageous in my little shell of insecurity.
Writing this makes me feel stronger, in the small space I have to breath inside my home. Words have always been my anchor to something more stable. I'm writing and it's as if the meaning comes to life; the words are in real form, creating themselves in my heart like a vaccine, immunizing my blood system against further fear.
There is no reason for me to feel restrained. I'm a free, free, free human being.


And then I started working in a place I love.
There's a guy there who's doing community service. When he complained about how he hates being there, I immediately exclaimed, "but it's great here!" And he said, "for you maybe... Look, we both come to the same place in the morning. You feel good and come with a smile, and I hate it here..."
And I said, "I completely understand you", because I do. It's just that.
It's so individual.
I guess that's it.
I've learned that everything is so individual. Morals and ideals and taste and happiness. And there's really no place for judging other people. There's nothing absolute, there's only how you Feel.

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