Ego is deafening
Ego is blinding
It’s a graffiti painted wall
It’s a filter
It’s a magnetic field
Whatever it is… has cut my umbilical cord
To the outside world
Now Pregnant with Desires
In the form of Chains
Pushing outward, I was
Giving Birth to Control
….Over my environment
The beginnings of my sufferings
Disguised as my pleasures
Not letting anything in
No questions nor suggestions for my mood
No challenges to my feelings
…whom guards the storm within me
Protects me…from the truth that hurts
The clarity that purifies and dissolves
The contractual vestment in pleasures
Quarreling with ego
Losing the fight
Addicted to the drama like many others
Flooded with negative thoughts
Grey Clouds that appear in the form of situations
Now a Severe Weather-storm in the forecast
From Life’s Gravity, which moves me
Moody with High Temperatures
These are the makings of
….a Movie about my True Nature
A documentary of
An obscure storm
The sound-waves of thunder do not travel fast enough
Nor far beyond for you to receive them
Thinning out over time
Yes…this segment of me may be too dark for you to see
The frictions and afflictions
Sketched as Violet Lightnings
That Strike Violently…Quick
Punching the Air
Snapping and Cracking
The Innocent Skies into Fragments
Looking like Black Shattered Glass
Inside of my vast being
As this is all compressed in a globe the size of a peephole
A Small World within my Universal Self
A sphere of thought
To be thought of as fear
A collaboration of
Rampaging oceans and earthquakes
Present with great movements
And an absent stillness
Whom knows me but we are distant lovers
Incarcerated in one Cell, we once were
For many fallen suns
And since there’s no Conviction
At the moment, we simply don’t Jail (Gel)
What remains is a Statue of a Storm
Memorializing the life that no longer lives
A Rigid Coagulation of Currents
Juxtaposed as a Fighter with a Rocky Role
A web of fiery desires
A magnetic field
A graffiti painted wall
….Music always seems to fill in the blanks. There’s so much criticism against hip hop, and with these types of songs…these type of people…that are captured here, I’m proud to support it. Just hearing the beat brought tears to my eyes. That doesn’t come easy. R&B rarely does it. Gospel has tried, but (finger waves) (smh). Soul more often does. Jazz and lounge, even more. But somehow, hip hop ALWAYS moves me emotionally. I don’t know why, but I always feel the Hip Hop tunes that boom through. In this song, the Drums Kick like an Unborn Child as the melody massages my tensions to loosen me up. I was moved to the end of streams deploying from my eyes. And as a dessert, the words were served so smoothly and complimentary. I see places that I’ve never visited when I hear this song; places uncharted yet familiar. I feel revitalized as I digest. This is music that I would even create if I were a beatmaker. This weakened me like Kryptonite, and strengthened me like Solar energy. I hear hope in the strings. The aroma of notes makes this entire song seem like garden. And as I listened….the garden extended…..
The MC’s name is Asheru. For those who are estranged to who Asheru is, he’s the first voice you hear when The Boondocks’ opening. And what I love even more are the respects paid to the true ambassadors of conscious, positive hip hop.
It’s just incredible what She…..Hip Hop…..does to me. And she appreciates what I do for her. I’ll let her tell you in the next one.
So even in my sh!tty moods, music seems to be a life-force that fosters my health. Music is my air. Music is my substance. And in the absence of words, it fills in the spaces that cannot be captured by words. And in the presence of words…music seems to peaks at volumes that silences words. Hip hop is not dependent on words. It is a flavor of life. And sometimes, a delectable doesn’t require words for presentation….listen, vibe, cry, smile….because these three have inspired my freedom in doing so.
As I polish up my palm reading abilities, I learn more about myself and human nature. I further my studies by bridging the valley of psychology with palmistry as a means to deepen my comprehension on both subjects. Today, my mind’s grasp of this art is tighter than M.Bison’s Fist as it charges up for a Psycho Crusher.
My left and right palms holster some similarities, yet they also mirror some distinctions in personality. Why is this relevant? Well, one palm echoes the essence of your inner child while the other sketches the blueprint of our developments. One palm is a personality with whom our lifelong intimate family, friends, and lovers are the most familiar. Usually, the webs of experiences act as layers to this core personality and form our conscious selves. This conditioned self is an actor for the public stage while the former self rests in the deep, dark core behind a thick and colorful mask. The developed self is how we wish to be perceived; hence, the wall-like layers constructed around our inner child are self-created. So, how do we know which palm reflects the inner child? Well, the active self (the developed personality) will be the hand that you condition yourself to use the most. This hand is used as a means to protect and preserve the passive self (the inner child). One alibi is that both hands reflect each other, and that the inner child remains active. And I know some people are ambidextrous; so, in those cases, the stiffest thumb is the active self. (Pull the thumb back from the index finger towards the wrist as a measure)
My active self is a mirror of introversion, self-centeredness, stubbornness, focus, privacy, and autonomy. I seemingly operate better when alone. And with an attraction for personal space, I don’t appreciate authoritative types – people telling me how to live. When I’m conflicted within myself, I close the world out, and crawl into my fortress of solitude. I’ve received a lot of complaints about this from friends. One moment I’m warm and expressive, and then unexpectedly, I’m withdrawn, cold, silent, observant, and irritable. Yet on the cooler side of the pillow, I’m inventive at the consequence of perfectionism. While submerged in my space, I’m always creating, preparing and perfecting to share something; I just limit a lot of what I share, and I’m picky about how my inner world is ordered. Some women have wondered: how do you think women will respond to this? You know we’re expressive creatures. We love to talk!! And I manage by telling them that I need time to myself to figure things out. So usually, when I’m in a pitfall, I resurface with a warm heart filled with joviality. So with that observation, it’s concluded that John likes to handle his personal problems on his own. But, sometimes…the smiling and enthusiasm is a cover-up to buy me some more alone time. All the more reason to avoid intimate relationships, it seems.
My inner child is extroverted, charming, passionate, sensitive, charismatic, extreme, instinctive, and optimistic. He’s a natural born leader that’s always active in something that’s life changing. He’s a magnificent dreamer with a fiery disposition; not the type with anger issues, but one of ambition. “I can do anything”- type of attitude meets “talk to everyone, and don’t let anyone bring you down”. We’re talking about a thrill-seeker that charters the mission of preserving his inner fire through the spirit of competition. This guy is hardly ever cold; pulsating with human warmth while psychically and emotionally expressive. He’s bouncy with humor and zeal, but his fire can be doused, as sometimes he’s so idealistic to the point of being blinded from realism. Those who’ve met John prior to his enlistment in the armed forces have experienced this inner child.
Now before you go charging the US Army with murder, there are a lot of experiences that contributed to the creation of the active persona. I’m still saddled with the weight of their energies. And as mentioned, I’m unearthing this knowledge (more like blockage), and calling them to the witness stand for questioning. The JROTC and the military-mindedness provided me with structure and discipline that I lacked.
The flexibility of my hands makes the impression of my noncommittal attitude. Think of it as A.D.D…. a testimony of promiscuity in terms of focus. I’m easily distracted and I’m very inconsistent at times. In line with this, I don’t possess the desire to share my all with one person. I like to distribute to different springs of love, whether it’s intellectually, artistically, sexually, emotionally, and/or spiritually. One person having everything is unfathomable to me right now. The reality of having only one soul to pour into doesn’t excite me. And as I recollect the characteristics of this peculiar hermit, whom is currently typing, I understand why I’m shy of excitability for that una mujer especial. This hermit would no longer have a fortress of solitude, and he would lose his identity. His individuality would expire; hence he would have no sense of self. It would be congruent to a hacker who gains access to the Pentagon’s database. Everything would be compromised. No more silent sufferings. The inner world and the outer world would be abridged. No more self-created rules. All secrets will have been dissolved into a clear solution of truths. Even as I type this, I feel my conscious self in tottering fear of its loss of life. Yes, this mask has a life; and it’s aware of the probability in losing it. I often struggle in relying on others for assistance. And like many others, I just don’t like asking for help. Either I don’t trust them….
….or I just don’t trust myself….
And after talking to my mother about this, I perceive a poisonous spring that’s been spilling into a few of my relationships. Since I have abundance, I definitely try to avoid adding more to my cup. But, there’s hypocrisy here. I’m always willing to help others, but I’m unwilling to reciprocate. People have the courage to endure me receiving and nourishing them, but I’m too controlling for them to return the love. I even noticed that I’m hardly ever the one to initiate a phone conversation. Not even a text message! It’s rare when I call anyone for anything. John always has to be self-sufficient. Independence is healthy, but this type of independence is extreme. It’s rare when I call to check up on those in my circle. I relate to people I know and love, and then after the warmth, I’m cold. There’s no consistency spouting from John. If there’s one thing that my network will say about John…it would be: “if you don’t call him, you won’t hear from him because he doesn’t call for anyone”. If my relationships depended on me initiating the conversations, I’d probably be a loner. I hardly initiate anything in my relationships. I was asked “how would you feel if others did it to you?” I can take what I dish out, believe it or not. I just don’t wanna push the limits of potency here. You see, the mask that I wear reflects a low-risk, safety prone individual; and he relates to everything in this manner. I have a lot to say, but I say it to myself in pool of silence. I may decide to share my thoughts and feelings….later on….and often, it’s to an unfitting audience. I’m very quick to be cold to someone who has inspired my inner conflict. It’s a passive meanness to some, but it’s an avoidance of conflict to me. So yea, I’m nonresponsive as a statement of: “I’m ignoring your challenge”. A love for comfort, I guess. But comforts don’t promote growth; they decay it. If someone upsets me or saddens me, I’ll isolate the emotions and thoughts, and I’ll pour them out on a Microsoft Word document before I address the stimulus. Afraid of fighting or perhaps too nonchalant? Oh, and if someone makes me happy, sometimes I’ll isolate the emotion and the thoughts, and I’ll enjoy them in solitude. John always has to have a sense of control. He doesn’t like people telling him what to do, or who he is as he filters what and who comes into his world. His pickiness makes it difficult for people to connect; and despite his awareness of this, he refuses to change. The consequence is that he fashions mystery. He’s always emotionally clothed. So no one can fully feel who John is…..not even John. It’s no wonder why some of my female companions have always sought to stir up some emotion in me. Ugh! (Smh)…and that’s when I exit the stage quietly like “ok, now you’re bringing me outside of my character, and that’s that sh!t I don’t like. I’m playing somewhere else. Good-bye (waves)”. But it’s a misunderstanding…not just for them, but for me. She’s looking to mine for some emotional substance that I’m not willing to release. I shouldn’t penalize someone for seeking to explore the crevices of my soul. That’s what chemistry is all about – functionality. …………..(Sighs)
I’ve risked enough making this public. When people have you figured out they’re likely to use that knowledge of you to their advantage, which suggests a loss of control. I mean, you hear so many real-life dramas about how people are pawns of abuse because they invite it in their lives. There was no defense mechanism in place. So the damage done is perceived as an impediment to progress. The soul is left with some healing and a small deposit of resentment. The lesson learned becomes “be more cautious of who knows you”. So, that caution is employed as a manager of your relationships, whom has been tasked to protect you from…pain. But we forget that we are the employers of our vices. We hired them, they didn’t hire us! Thus, the harvest yields an android. We become this stale, machine-like creature who lives according to probabilities and protocols in this little room that’s too cluttered for adventure. Caution creates rules for the able-body to follow. << Love isn’t fully responsible here; fear is a shareholder in this deal. But let’s refrain from jousting condemnations – fear has had a hand in preserving human life as well. Without it, most of us would be dead before our 6th birthday. Risk-taking calls for the elements of ignorance and innocence. The unknowns give a distinct appetite to the relationship. Some would rather have not tasted at all, while others would rather have tasted in order to steer clear in the future if necessary. << that right there…is wisdom. The alternative is to taste, and vow never to taste again. Where’s the fun in that, right?
It is just so astounding how one person can ruin a lifetime worth of rich relationships. One person can color you hostile if you permit it. That person can be anyone…including yourself. And that’s why I do my best to forewarn newcomers of my behavior; not as a means of control (or maybe it is since I’m setting parameters), but as a statement of love. I want others to know what kind of water they’re getting into before they dive in it. If you’re told that the water is cold, should you really be surprised? Maybe, since the thought is never as intense as the feeling. What’s profitable about this monologue is that when I’m ready to change, I’ll know what to do. There’s a lot more dimensions of John that’s scribed in my palms; but for now, this is about as much as I can tolerate. As my wise mother advised me before….take your time, don’t rush it, son.
The enemy is self, that’s the worst kind
If kindness kills…we should commit suicide ~ J. Skywalker
My youngest nephew (1.5yrs old) has osteogenesis imperfecta also known as brittle bone disease. This is a genetic disorder that’s usually is the fruit of abnormalities of the genes that control the production of a protein called collagen. This is the main protein in the bone, and it’s essential for its strength. It has nothing to do with the calcium component of bone, which is what shows up on X-rays.
So last night, the two nephews are in the bath tub, and they’re playing as usual. We hear Amari crying….but this time…. extensively. I went inside to observe him, he was pointing at his leg while he was crying. I allowed my sister to take hold of the situation. We figured he’d calm down. After much wait and observation, his leg swells. My sister claimed his leg was broken. We waited about 30 min until our mother returns from work. We noticed his leg was unresponsive; Amari is unable to move it. Sis was very accurate. We go to the emergency room for a diagnosis and treatment. 2 hours later, he’s observed by the doctor. X-ray scans were conducted, blood withdrawn, and morphine administered. I was quite proud of the young one; for a broken leg, he didn’t spaz out uncontrollably. He pouted and cried, but he was calm. He’s a strong one.
After the tests were conducted, the doctor announced that Amari was going to require a cast and few other operations…but it’ll be administered in Atlanta. A splint was installed on his leg for stabilization, but there would be a wait period of 5 hours until the ambulance transports my sis and him up north. I give my sis the keys so that she can retreat home and pack the essentials.
….so it’s just me and my nephew.
Amari has a personality that’s seems to be exclusive of our influence; but he’s very hands-on. He’s very expressive, adventurous, and familiar with technology because of our exposure to it. His forte is one of vibrancy – if he’s not chilled out, he’s high energy. In this circumstance, he seemed so mad; not depressed, but mad. His leg has been tampered with all night. He tried sleeping. And he’s aware of his refined… limitations. He looked like a passionate pro-wrestler who’s career spiraled down the toilet. I’m laughing as I write this because the expression on his face was one of emerging indifference. He fashioned a cold stare. <<<this isn’t the Amari that I know that crawls into my room every day bugging me, wearing my shoes, laughing, pointing, and chanting with all his warmth and joviality.
“Amari…..Amari….aw, come on man…speak. Talk to me, chief!”
(silence)….he didn’t even look at me.
“Hey! I didn’t do this to you….so don’t be mad at me”
I look away, and look back, he didn’t even budge. So…I pull out the phone. I take some pictures. Then, an idea….Netflix
He sees that red screen with the bold lettering…..his eyes light up. He knows what time it is.
“pon bab”, he uttered.
Yup…Spongebob got the young chap to open up. He smiled. He pointed. Heck, he even started picking at his catheter; admiring it and pointing at the baby blue bandages and the white foam-like brace. I pop-locked; and I danced for him. He laughed. We practiced some new words. We talked. We entertained each other like we usually do. Teary-eyed and slightly drowsy (it’s like 2am), I was relieved to see him being himself. And I say that with a truck load of humility because, again, I see that this guy has a personality of his own; from how he squints his eyes and stares when he’s suspicious of something, to his demanding stances, even his sly grins. He’s peculiar at what he wants, and he’s assertive with his rejections. He’s a smart one, and tough to compliment it. Amari is tougher than his older brother in many ways; but they share a healthy love for each other – both with their own strengths and weaknesses. I hardly view Amari as a baby/child. He’s capable of making choices, and I love being able to facilitate. He becomes a step closer to self-reliance. The nurses were even surprised to discover than he doesn’t drink formula. He likes to eat a lot of the foods we eat. He likes drinking from water bottles and cups just like everyone else. He doesn’t like the feeling of being an outcast or discriminated against. As fragile as he is, he retains a boiling determination. He doesn’t like settling in his limitations. He sees us on these mobile devices and these computers – he wants to operate them too. He sees kids playing on the playground; he wants to get active too. He doesn’t like being helped when he doesn’t ask. Heh, he even knows how to turn on the XBOX 360, and how to eject the discs. He understands that when the XBOX is on, the television should be on; if it’s not, he will point at it saying “mmn”. I’ll confirm “TV?” and he nods. If I ignore him, he’ll pout his lips and keep pointing until I submit or he finds another interest. This is in lieu of his ambition in exercising with me in the mornings. He moves the 35 lb dumbbells by rolling them on the floor. If I’m doing flutter kicks, he sit and just move his legs until he’s tired. He gets frustrated when he can’t lift the weights as high as I, so he commands me to help him lift them. So because he’s so active, he doesn’t like to be deprived of an opportunity that promotes his character. And he knows when I’m depriving him; he cries out with frustration when it happens. There’s no baby talk coming from me, nor any gibberish. I talk to him how I’d like to be spoken to. When he follows my directions (completes a task) he extends his arm for a high-five, a fist pound, and a thumbs-up. He wants to be recognized for his accomplishments. Amari values his independence, and he views me (and the rest of the family) as an extension of him. He may want to touch the ceiling, so he’ll point directly up, and I’ll lift him for a few minutes and allow him to feel the texture of the ceiling. He may want to turn the blind-handle just to let the sunlight in the room. And when I’m zipping up my luggage, he volunteers to zip the bag close and lift it up from the horizontal position. There’s a lot to this young one. And being in that hospital room to witness and facilitate his recovery was invigorating. Supporting Amari has been like a glass of spring water to a dying flower. It reminded me of when I was hit by car (as a child). I hated that people worried. And I knew that I’d be treated differently. Mom would tell you then it didn’t stop me from hopping around on one foot to play tag. “Injuries? Pfft, don’t mind those, they’re temporary. I still have the will to live”.
And as I look at the pictures, and recall how our relationship missile-guided into this mishap, I realize that although all humans aren’t created equally, we often still treat others as if they are equals. The family is a bit upset with Jayden, but I’m not. I’ve watched those two at play. Amari may be an infant, but he’s not stupid. He’s very assertive about his likes and dislikes. He just wants to live. Jayden is the closest thing to a play-pal. They like to wrestle and chase each other. Jayden really supports his little brother, and I understand that Jayden forgets about his little brother’s condition when they’re playing. Jayden doesn’t observe his disabilities with so much care as we often do. And Amari doesn’t like being perceived as weak. “I can do it too…just help me with it and I’ll show you”. I hear that, silently, when he asks for assistance to do something. I observe, now that this has all happened, that Amari just wants to live like everyone else….even at the risk of harm. At the risk of losing one’s life, that how a fearless person lives – child-like. And over my years as an adult, I’ve been very cautious – fear-sponsored because I know the taste of a painful consequence. And after seeing this train of events, I don’t want be the overprotective uncle who babies and coddles his nephews excessively. I didn’t like it when I was their age, so I resonate. I’d rather be the extension of them so that they can be what they want to be. I’d find it difficult to cope with myself if I were to keep him from being the best they could be. It’s not so inspiring when people advise me to be careful, even if it’s out of love…..but I love it when people advise me to be happy.
A slight part of me is worried…not as worried as I could be, though. I’ve been in a positive mood along with uplifting, good-spirited family and friends. <<Counting my blessings. The portion of me that worries has attention on the reality that I don’t have a job; yet, I do have a purpose. Often, we become so consumed in financial ambitions and obligations that we divert from the emotional, spiritual, and psychological aspects of healthy and stable relationships. The conflict in lack of resources to provide for myself and my family settles within me. I do see that there are lessons to be learned in this sphere of experience. I’ve been giving for so long that I forgot “how” to receive; this is the fruit of imbalance – I go to extremes, sometimes. There are messages of love that I’ve even overlooked; ones that I have probably deprived myself of for a long time. Motherly love…yep, it’s almost blasphemous how you forget such a phenomenon as this. I’m not speaking about conceptualizing motherly love, but actualizing motherly love. One that’s felt rather than conceived in the mind. I’ve been giving love to my mother for so long, that I forgot how to receive love from her. But, I will say that the forgetfulness inscribes more definition to motherly love. I’ve been home since late January 2013. I’ve been spending a great deal of my residual earnings on….family; at least, more than usual. Furnishing the homes and creating memorable experiences with the children have been the peaks of my journey at the home front. A lot of money has been vested, and this is in spite of a zero-revenue generating, John Nicholson. Here is it, month #2 and the bank account is down to the last few hundred dollars. In my attempt to spend some time with the children (inspired by Patrick), I spend the last $300 to rent a car and facilitate a little food/gas. My mother is aware of situation; she helps me out.
“Eric, are you good on gas?”
I stumble with saying yes. I know she’s in a bind as much as I am. She’s spearheading financial support for the family. So, of course I’m reluctant to ask.
“Eric, it’s no problem man. Here, I’ll give my card so you can get some gas”
A small weight floated away from my center…she gave me her debit card….effortlessly. It was a familiar love, but from a different vantage point. I was thinking to myself “I just did this very same thing for my little brother recently….hmm….”
So, I’m driving back to Florida; making good time for the ETA that I communicated to my son’s mother. I drop the kids off (giving my son a nice, firm “I LOVE YOU”-hug) and I leave. My body communicates the “hunger signal”, and I’m tense. Intuition tells me “it’s ok to get a few things for the morning and something to eat for tonight”. I walk into the store. I look at the things I wanted. But….I said “no….you told her gas for the trip….let’s stick to the bare minimum”
I broke my diet out of desperation to eat….ugh…I ate gummies. And loved it….(smiles and sticks out tongue)<<<maybe bland to someone who’s not trying to maintain some discipline, but some pleasures are still worth the submission.
The point is…I could’ve listened to my intuition (which was my mom speaking to me, by the way), but I was still in the thought process of “giving to my mother”. So, I rejected her offering. In this moment, I empathize with how that must feel for a mother – rejection from her offspring. Of course, I was so submerged in my sphere of consciousness that I was unaware and disconnected of her feelings. This is who she’s always been. And here I am, making a statement that she can’t be who she is. Here I am saying “no, it’s still my turn to be this way”….blinded..
Eyes are opened now….I see you mom.
We’ve always been the team. I always supported my mother; even as a little boy. I remember carrying grocery bags for her when I was a child; this was during a time when we didn’t have a car. As short and underdeveloped as I was – I became something in order to make life easier for the both of us. I was protective of my mother, and she was protective of me. That’s what Cancer Crabs do, right? That’s one thing we’ve always agreed on; especially since we’re the same sign. We’ve always acknowledged this about each other….it’s a mother-son friendship. Of course, everyone doesn’t get to experience this type of motherly love, but I appreciate the flavor now than ever.
My mother has always been a behind-the-scenes type of woman. Blessed are those whom are chosen to receive the love this woman emotes. I lived the perfect day because of this woman; I even thought that Mother’s Day was today (laughs). The sun exuded it’s brilliance amongst blue skies and lightly accented clouds. I received a real good physical fitness workout (inspired by my mother), and she helped me to return the rental car. We had a refreshing conversation too; we talked about….family. I vented about my recent discovered feelings and questions of my father, and she helped me to develop an approach. She reminded me of her degree of trustworthiness. She fashions it proudly…as I. On our ride, she reproved to me that no matter how old her children are…she can still provide for her family….and then some. There are 7 of us in one house, currently. The electricity is surging day and night. From experience, I know the light bill is high. And yet today, she pays the light bill – in the moment, my mental light bulb was off, add my distraction of a text message; so yes, I was numb to the reality. Yet the fact remains: she performs the faintly impossible. Then, we journey to Rent-A-Center to pay a bill for someone else: a friend of hers. Now I’m thinking to myself “she COULD have taken that money for herself, and just left ol’ buddy in debt (her friend moved to another state).”….but that’s not in her character. It never has been. She even told me the story how of how she paid the debt of my brother’s girlfriend. She furthers the story saying how Budd (my brother) give her a wad of money, and explains that the money is from our brother’s girlfriend. He’s like “woman just spend the money!! It’s for you”. He didn’t mention that it was repayment for the debt. My mother was thinking: “ohh weeee…it would be nice to have this money to pay for the rent” << Appreciation for the smaller things. So, she attempts to contact my brother’s girlfriend to inquire about the purpose she gave her the money. When finally reaching my brother, he says “oh, the money? It’s for you…for when you paid the loan off”. She was flooded with joy, as she exclaimed. She didn’t even expect repayment; she just felt the impulse to love. I know that feeling, very well: it’s an often forgotten love. It’s unconditional love; the type that sponsors the loss of self-sightedness. But then it finds you….when you least expect it. My mother and I share in that love. And today, I was reminded in so many ways. She loved me with intense purpose. She made it so that I couldn’t dodge her gifts too (chuckles). I asked without even saying a word – she just knew…through observation. She knew through intuition and instincts. She empathized, even when I was silent in asking. <<< That requires a lot of sensitivity. << And ironically I’ve inherited that gift from her. There were numerous times where I would intuitively and impulsively know that my mother needs help. <<Unoriginal, yet paradoxically, it’s original by virtue.
There’s a grandiose humility that penetrates me when I recall her degree of joviality in being who she’s always been. She hugged me at the end of the day as I was on my way to the store to shop for some critical grocery items. I melted in her arms….feeling like a kid again. Just when I was shifting into a low-dimensional energy field, my mother chimes in and keeps me elevated with her healing ability. I felt revitalized throughout the day.
My mother exhibited the type of excitement that parallels passion. And that’s the point of me jotting this down…it’s to identify this high-vibrational passion; the type that leaves a trailblazing legacy. Authentically, being a mother is a career. I’m not talking about a job, which is where you do something that you’re not passionate about. This isn’t a career where you seek to become the most popular, but you seek to be the greatest at what you are. And I may not have it all, but being in the auric field of this woman, is the equivalent to the all. And that’s the best part; she gives her version of the all. << This is how passionate people live…by delivering perfection through the webs of illusion. So, in spite of the slight stresses, my mother gave me what I needed to strive forward – she shared what she had. And in the midst of my gratitude she responds:
“(smacks lips) aw, Eric…you know I gotchu”
She knows how I feel; and I know she knows how I feel. The love she gives me is one that I return. She’s like the Oracle to my Neo. And when she receives my future love, I’ll know what to expect…conceptually, but the feeling just doesn’t seem to get stale. << And there we go again with that passion, huh?
I mentioned earlier that I spent my residue earnings on family. I financed some upgrades to the home – this made mom feel more confident about her living conditions. We never really had a lot; we’ve always had enough. The excess that we’ve ever had, we always shared in order to make room for the new. We cherish with patience – that’s always been our family legacy. From helping my mother get seated into a new career (doing her resume and helping her apply online) to financing a new washer, dryer, and living room set; even scaring rodents out of her room (we had a recent pest problem). I’ve made a career out of being a loving son. I know (now) that she’s been eager to return the love to me after my healthy devotion of financial earnings and my insured car. She reminds me, just as I remind her, that no matter how independent one is, one will always need help.
…and she screamed it through a window of chained-actions.
So….I still retain some lingering worries.
I still haven’t received any responses on the job, and I’m low on currency. Child support is due this week, and I can’t pay it. My son’s mother relies on that…..what to do? As Sade said to me last night “don’t walk round with a frown, with your head in your hand…oh, no….keep looking”
So…I’ll keep on watching as the gifts keep magnetizing towards my way. There’s a reason for it all, and I’m realizing the bigger picture. I know how this chapter ends….
So much thinking in one day
So many thoughts….observations.
I used to feel as if 24 hours was an extended amount of time to summarize a day. And maybe it’s because…I was moving slow…emotionally, anyway. Today, zipped by so fast! So, I observe that the speed of life depends on our vibration; at least that’s my hypothesis. Our moods, the emotion….the feelings….they affect our perception of time; and we know this. I felt quite a few ways today. The morning was sorta sluggish, but as I got into my routine, the paced elevated. I felt good, and my level of wakefulness was higher than usual. I still tend to get distracted, but I still dedicate some love to my life. Rather than Facebook, television, movies, games…reading, and studying, I questioned inwardly on how and why I felt the way I felt about everything. If you haven’t noticed I’m speaking about emotion as if it were something new. And for a guy who is over-protective about his emotions, it is.
Detour: My little brother was about to take my marijuana stash!! (laughs) Hehe, Such a shame! If I wasn’t keen on observing his facial and his vocal expressions, he would’ve achieved his goal. I still loved him enough to give him a jacket though. That’s what you call a love-hate relationship.
Riding the bike, I listened…a lot. I was very open and receptive as I digested the world with an….altered perception. I felt differently about the world. I didn’t think differently until after I felt for something first. I’m talk about empathizing on an emotional level first in order to stimulate the intuition. It felt like the child in me had made a connection with my conscious self. I came home questioning the stuff that was on the television. After fasting from processed food for so long I realized how strange it looked. The messages in KFC Commercials are slick punchlines to arouse your ego into being a consumer. The message: “our chicken is so good, it’ll make you sin. It’ll make you lie to your children just to eat one!” And it used to be funny…when I was eating KFC, that is. And label me critical, but please don’t label me holier than thou. I’m like “Damn! What a man will do to get that money!” Here is where you can label me hypocritical because.…even I’m chasing money.
Oh, and the reality television shows! Pumped up with so much emotional content – heh, this is a legal drug! We all know what drugs do; and we all know they’re infamous for their addictive quality. They stimulate the body’s hormonal system in such a way that produces a desired effect. Some of us are addicted to the element of surprise. Some of us are addicted to shock. Some of us are addicted to anger and frustration as if it’s all we’ve ever known. Yes, many Americans are addicted to the emotions that accompany drama. Let’s admit it, when you’re submerged into those scenes, it’s almost as if you’re there! You feel everything that the characters feel…and it’s even more eerie when you love it! Amazing powers we have here, right? You don’t even have to be at the scene to FEEL like you were there. Yet, the body behaves as if it were; quite the control mechanism. And now I know why some of us behave the way we do. We’ve been watching TV since we were kids – imitating.
Detour: I met a white girl today. She has ADHD…she announced it. She was quite scattered in her mannerisms admitting that she was impatient. I asked if she watched a lot of television. She said “yes”. And I realized the effects of mind control. I squinted at the idea of her being married; being with someone while at such a young age – heh, young love. (And cue: my high school sweet heart, Angela).
Amari has been quite the experimentalist. I realized how much of an influence I am on him. I’ve been really observing his characteristics. He’s eager and has a little bit of a rebellious nature. (smirks) I see his father in him….but I’m also seeing a lot of myself in there. I mean, he loves working out with me in the morning. He’ll try almost anything once….if he’s capable. He’s very, very sensitive – Receptive. And he’s well seated with his emotions. He’s developing a bond with the family, and he has a personality. For the most part…he loves us. From emulating all of our mannerisms: playing the Xbox to watching TV, to even typing on the computer. Occasionally, he plays tag with his little brother, but today I did something different with him – we went outside. There was a slight chill, but the sun was beaming, and the birds were chirping. I just wanted him to feel nature as I felt it earlier in the day. I wanted him to feel a glimpse of what I felt because I went on a bike ride without him. I bathed in the sun and the forest green to replenish my soul….to regenerate…like a plant. Oxygen, solar energy, green spectrum from the leaves, and the sound of the wind, assisted in my empathy with my spiritual roots. And what a high! So, here’s my nephew…experiencing what I felt; with this facial expression: “ah, this is what love feels like”. I swear it was like he shot himself up with a syringe. The way he touched that green leaf (chuckles)…his arm went limp.
I know he loves me. I mean heck, he tries to fill my shoes. Every day he sees me on this computer, yet when I leave, he sees me wear my shoes and my clothes. And my shoes are located beside my bed. So when he wants to use my computer with me, he waddles beside the bed…and puts them on. I write; and I realized in those moments that my young nephew intended to write. I drew….and he saw. And so he yelled for paper using undeveloped English. And then he yelled for the pen; although the pen’s tip wasn’t clicked, he wrote. He scribbled. He drew as if he knew how; careless of who judged. He was focused and absorbed in this simple activity.
…..And he learned it from me…..
So now I have seen the fruit of this deed. Looking at this seed, and reflecting on the bottled water that we shared together. Heh, the light I’ve brung; not just from my presence. When we went outside in the sun, I had him cradled in my arms with a blanket. And he was so serene. He had this look on his face as if he was in heaven. That feeling was not just my presence, it was the environment. It was nature. This feeling didn’t arise until his hand touched the green leaves. I smile. Heh, it was a really intimate moment. I felt what he felt by just standing in the sun soaking in nature as if nothing else mattered. No television, computer, or video games. Why did I do all of this for him? Hmmm… I felt like….giving something back, I assume. I haven’t really given a love like this before. But when I look at him….I see myself. I’m like:
“I remember when I was your age. I didn’t have an older brother to look up to. And since I know how you feel, being new to this human experience and all, I’m gonna help you out. I can only show ya what I know”
But this dialogue was never verbally spoken. I’ve just been acting this way. I never had an older brother – Miscarriage. Yea…imagine how my mother felt. I didn’t at the time, but the sorrow she felt lingers in me; often showing its shape-shifting face. I’ve just been acting this way; to be strong for her…and my siblings. We all need that inspiration, right? And after observing their suffering, I’m on this mission. I’m looking for that promised-land; that paradise. Sounds cliché doesn’t it? But that’s the intention…clichés are original; they’re well known, but original. And some clichés are worth following.
Especially when it leads you back to the Origin.
I guess my life is cliché. Who am I following? Who’s following me? I see a few images, but I know that there’s more. And as I feel more inwardly and outwardly, I bridge long forgotten plateaus, and delve deeper to my spiritual roots….deeper in this tree of life.
How do you know when you’re waking up?
You can either count your blessings or your problems. Counting your blessings causes your problems to shrink. When we don’t count our blessings, they disappear from our mind. Although they are still there, if we don’t think about them, we forget about them. Count your blessings and your problems. If your problems out number your blessings count again. Chances are the things you take for granted were not added. Each day you need to remind yourself of your blessings to keep them active in your mind. We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude. ~ Yasmin Shahnan
This inspired me to speak to Cosmic One; the All That Is…..