At the Museum of Natural History
by Bushra Rehman
As we both look up at the Tyrannosaurus Rex
its bones painted black, its danger extinct
I can hear the sounds of children echo
throughout the museum
And we are not afraid this way
to stand a few inches away from each other
We are not afraid because it's over
The Tyrannosaurus Rex does not scare us
We don't scare each other
It's over, the bones are beginning to fade
and bleach in our failure
But if one day someone finds our remains
and decides to lay them right next to each other
will they lay them in their proper ways
will they mix up my hip with yours
will they place the fingers of my hands
on someone else's palms
Will they ever know
this flesh answered the other
that my fingers traveled all over
the empty space around your bones
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
megs
My beautiful (inside and out) friend Megan and I met up yesterday for coffee/tea. I always feel much better after being around her. She calms me down, helps me to remember what's important, and inspires me. She is a gorgeous soul. She reminded me of how much I wish to focus on myself - how I want/need to take a break from the expectations of my environment. I want to shift my perspective. I want to embrace the feminine. I want to be soft, tough, fearless, and unapologetic all at once. I'm going to actually start living my life for me and daaaaamn it feels so good.
I love you, Megan.
and
I love you, Meghan.
I love you, Megan.
and
I love you, Meghan.
pema
I am sitting here crying. Crying while reading Pema Chödrön. Her words touch something soft in me that I try over and over to harden with various obsessions, compulsions, patterns, and harsh words. I'm told to not be soft. I'm told to not be raw, vulnerable, or a complete beginner. But through this freshness comes compassion and freedom.
I feel free to love again.
And I'm not really talking about the love you might think. But then again, I don't know what you think. I don't know what I think from one moment to the next, either, and I love that. I love who I am - and I guess that is the kind of love I am starting to feel again. Was this love not "free" before? Was it held hostage somewhere inside of my slowly shrinking bones? Maybe. It sure felt like it. I've been trying for some time now to excavate self-compassion and I think I may have just about found it.
Still.
It takes work.
I have the scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove how bad things got. Some days I don't give a shit. Some days I'd rather be a million miles away from myself than to actually face that person I suddenly don't know in the mirror. But there are moments where I catch a glimpse of the warrior I am, neuroses and all. In fact... Here's a quote from Pema that explains this better than I can:
"The problem is that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth. Our neurosis and our wisdom are made out of the same material. If you throw out your neurosis, you also throw out your wisdom." -Pema Chödrön
I feel free to love again.
And I'm not really talking about the love you might think. But then again, I don't know what you think. I don't know what I think from one moment to the next, either, and I love that. I love who I am - and I guess that is the kind of love I am starting to feel again. Was this love not "free" before? Was it held hostage somewhere inside of my slowly shrinking bones? Maybe. It sure felt like it. I've been trying for some time now to excavate self-compassion and I think I may have just about found it.
Still.
It takes work.
I have the scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove how bad things got. Some days I don't give a shit. Some days I'd rather be a million miles away from myself than to actually face that person I suddenly don't know in the mirror. But there are moments where I catch a glimpse of the warrior I am, neuroses and all. In fact... Here's a quote from Pema that explains this better than I can:
"The problem is that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth. Our neurosis and our wisdom are made out of the same material. If you throw out your neurosis, you also throw out your wisdom." -Pema Chödrön
Monday, September 19, 2011
drug yacht
How in the holy world that is the Celestial Kingdom do so many Mormon Mommy Blogs have so many damn (er, dang) followers?! And I would bet my tithing that 99-100% of the blogs are poorly written and have ugly pictures. So why so many followers?
So why the sour mood, Meg?
I dunno. Just that general anxiety that I struggle with on a daily basis. Just coming to the realization that I avoid and ignore way too much. Just metaphorically kicking myself for choices I did (and did not) make. Just, you know, life.
Buuut I am reading a book about poverty in America right now and I now feel like a real jerk for complainin' 'bout what is most likely middle class white girl problems. I mean, even clinical depression is a middle class white girl problem to some extent, right? Drug companies label sadness as "depression" and then supply us with drugs (too much! too soon!) and then we take them and then we get all zombie-like and clock in/clock out and they get to dock the yacht and why not? They are wealthy assholes who have drugged us up for their own benefit. True story. SCARY story. And one that I actually kind of disagree with. I am actually okay with antidepressants in some cases; I am also okay with ending sentences in prepositional phrases. I could care less about being a Grammar Nazi, okay?
Okay.
So why the sour mood, Meg?
I dunno. Just that general anxiety that I struggle with on a daily basis. Just coming to the realization that I avoid and ignore way too much. Just metaphorically kicking myself for choices I did (and did not) make. Just, you know, life.
Buuut I am reading a book about poverty in America right now and I now feel like a real jerk for complainin' 'bout what is most likely middle class white girl problems. I mean, even clinical depression is a middle class white girl problem to some extent, right? Drug companies label sadness as "depression" and then supply us with drugs (too much! too soon!) and then we take them and then we get all zombie-like and clock in/clock out and they get to dock the yacht and why not? They are wealthy assholes who have drugged us up for their own benefit. True story. SCARY story. And one that I actually kind of disagree with. I am actually okay with antidepressants in some cases; I am also okay with ending sentences in prepositional phrases. I could care less about being a Grammar Nazi, okay?
Okay.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
zoning out and birthdays and chillin'
Do you ever get slightly sad when it is incredibly beautiful outside? I do. All the time. I'd rather it be horrible weather so I am "forced" to stay inside and zone out in front of the TV while watching Celebrity Rehab and killing my insides slowly with soda pop and sugar free mints. (It's been a rough couple of weeks for me for some reason. Hence the reality television and poor diet and general disinterest in beauty.)
Happy Birthday.
The phrase "That which you are seeking is causing you to seek" is stuck in my head. Better than a Bieber song, but just as frustrating. (Actually, great phrase. It's only confusing because it makes me think and I would rather be zoning out in front of the TV and sucking on lemon drops.)
Happy Constitution Day!
Today I did loving-kindness meditation for 15 minutes for myself. I plan on doing it everyday (at least once a day) for me and only me until my self-love muscle develops nice and strong (what a dumb way to say that - whoops! inner critic!).
Wow, that caffeine buzz was sure short. Sure short. Sure short. Say it! Say it really fast. "Sure short." It will piss you off so much! You'll be like, "AAAAGGGGHHHH!" And I'll be like, "Take a chill pill!" And you'll be like, "Do you seriously have some chill pills I can have? 'Cause that would be sweet, dude." And I'll pause for, like, ten seconds and say, "Well, no, I don't have any chill pills." And you'll say, "See ya later." And I'll say...
See ya.
Happy Birthday.
The phrase "That which you are seeking is causing you to seek" is stuck in my head. Better than a Bieber song, but just as frustrating. (Actually, great phrase. It's only confusing because it makes me think and I would rather be zoning out in front of the TV and sucking on lemon drops.)
Happy Constitution Day!
Today I did loving-kindness meditation for 15 minutes for myself. I plan on doing it everyday (at least once a day) for me and only me until my self-love muscle develops nice and strong (what a dumb way to say that - whoops! inner critic!).
Wow, that caffeine buzz was sure short. Sure short. Sure short. Say it! Say it really fast. "Sure short." It will piss you off so much! You'll be like, "AAAAGGGGHHHH!" And I'll be like, "Take a chill pill!" And you'll be like, "Do you seriously have some chill pills I can have? 'Cause that would be sweet, dude." And I'll pause for, like, ten seconds and say, "Well, no, I don't have any chill pills." And you'll say, "See ya later." And I'll say...
See ya.
Friday, September 16, 2011
puns and plunges and lunges, oh my
What I need to do:
1. be kind to myself
2. eat more mindfully (which means no computer allowed while eating! plus, it makes my computer all crumby, which is crummy...)
3. don't make any more terrible puns - they are so rePUNgnant! (ohhh whooops)
4. probably stop taking adderall
5. but it's fun/helpful to take adderall sometimes
6. so i'm conflicted
7. maybe cut out the caffeine? yeah. cut out the caffeine.
8. either USE punctuation or DON'T USE punctuation - no in between
9. but what's wrong with the in between?
10. have we really asked that question to ourselves?
11. do we not ask it because we are afraid of the answer?
12. stop exercising so much (yeah... i'm one of those obnoxious people - but my exercising isn't "cool" and worthy of praise in, like, a jillian michaels kind of way (i googled her name to find out who exactly she was! she's on a tv show!), it's a compulsion and it sucks most of the time and it leaves me really physically sore and not in a "cool" way, in a i-can't-sit-or-walk-easily-and-i'm-gonna-really-regret-this-but-i-have-to-keep-exercising-because-it's-the-one-thing-i-can-control kind of way)
13. wow. maybe i should start a new post. this one is giving me a headache.
1. be kind to myself
2. eat more mindfully (which means no computer allowed while eating! plus, it makes my computer all crumby, which is crummy...)
3. don't make any more terrible puns - they are so rePUNgnant! (ohhh whooops)
4. probably stop taking adderall
5. but it's fun/helpful to take adderall sometimes
6. so i'm conflicted
7. maybe cut out the caffeine? yeah. cut out the caffeine.
8. either USE punctuation or DON'T USE punctuation - no in between
9. but what's wrong with the in between?
10. have we really asked that question to ourselves?
11. do we not ask it because we are afraid of the answer?
12. stop exercising so much (yeah... i'm one of those obnoxious people - but my exercising isn't "cool" and worthy of praise in, like, a jillian michaels kind of way (i googled her name to find out who exactly she was! she's on a tv show!), it's a compulsion and it sucks most of the time and it leaves me really physically sore and not in a "cool" way, in a i-can't-sit-or-walk-easily-and-i'm-gonna-really-regret-this-but-i-have-to-keep-exercising-because-it's-the-one-thing-i-can-control kind of way)
13. wow. maybe i should start a new post. this one is giving me a headache.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
litter hurts
Long before we retired the idea of being saviors for each other, we anticipated fireworks.
He met me at a booth. I was warning the general public about the dangers of litter, about a woman who swerved to miss debris and ended up crashing and perishing. Looking back, I must have been somewhat of a clairvoyant. But who was the litter? He or I? I may be a clairvoyant, but I'm not much of an interpreter.
After clocking out, we walked into the crowd. We searched for a man without a face. With no luck, we left. Everyone had a face, or at the very least a mask.
My foot hurt. My foot really hurt. But I was determined to keep up with him. Truth is, I needed a crutch. I would never let him know, though (although I suppose I'm letting him know now).
And now here's where it would be nice to be a great poet - Here's where I would describe the fireworks that we both almost saw together, but departed moments before the first crash of color. Here's where I would show the color. Here's where I would relate this to the time when I saw the traffic lights, frozen fireworks, through blurry eyes while driving home in his truck, silent. Here's where I would make a point, some kind of point that would break your heart and leave you deeply affected by my poetic explanation of fragile love lost. Oh, but I would never use the word "love." But you would know. You would feel it.
Instead I imagine him smoking his cigarette. He's forming an internal monologue. I am not very well liked in this monologue of his. I am silly. I am shallow. I am young. I will never change.
I still need a crutch.
He met me at a booth. I was warning the general public about the dangers of litter, about a woman who swerved to miss debris and ended up crashing and perishing. Looking back, I must have been somewhat of a clairvoyant. But who was the litter? He or I? I may be a clairvoyant, but I'm not much of an interpreter.
After clocking out, we walked into the crowd. We searched for a man without a face. With no luck, we left. Everyone had a face, or at the very least a mask.
My foot hurt. My foot really hurt. But I was determined to keep up with him. Truth is, I needed a crutch. I would never let him know, though (although I suppose I'm letting him know now).
And now here's where it would be nice to be a great poet - Here's where I would describe the fireworks that we both almost saw together, but departed moments before the first crash of color. Here's where I would show the color. Here's where I would relate this to the time when I saw the traffic lights, frozen fireworks, through blurry eyes while driving home in his truck, silent. Here's where I would make a point, some kind of point that would break your heart and leave you deeply affected by my poetic explanation of fragile love lost. Oh, but I would never use the word "love." But you would know. You would feel it.
Instead I imagine him smoking his cigarette. He's forming an internal monologue. I am not very well liked in this monologue of his. I am silly. I am shallow. I am young. I will never change.
I still need a crutch.
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