A Yellow Submarine
I'm just sitting here, trying to get some peace. How do you get peace? Is it something you can own? Maybe peace can own you. Sometimes I don't know what's going on with me. I think I'm scared, scared to think too much. What will I come up with? Where am I, no like the real me? I feel like I am hiding in a box. I live in a box. I feel like I'm also made of cardboard. I'm a little more tough than paper, but like paper, I ruin in the rain. I think it's been raining for years. When will it stop?
It's hard to live in a box. Remember that song, We All Live in a Yellow Submarine, by the Beatles? A yellow submarine.What do you live in? What is the nature of your box? Remember when humans lived outside? I don't remember either, I wasn't in this life then. We lived in nature, we connected with nature. Now when I see the sun or trees, I feel like I'm looking at a painting in a museum I can only visit sometimes. Even when I'm outside, I know it's just temporary, most of my life is lived inside.The air inside a building is significantly dirtier than the air outside, even though the air outside is pretty dirty too. We can't escape the filth that is our life. We breathe it. When you meditate they tell you to pay attention to your breathing. I do this, I have discovered that the only thing that can keep me sane, keep me out of depression and mania, is meditation and writing. That's it, if I don't do either of those two things, my mind starts to falter. I get really tired like I need to sleep for a year or so.I have spent some years sleeping, in a haze in my box, never breathing better air. The more time I spend outside, the more I realize that I am living in a closet of my own making. A jail I have sentenced myself to.I sit all day long, I only move around when I have to. I am inside most of the day unless I'm driving somewhere, and when I get to where I'm going I'm outside for only a moment before I enter another building. What kind of a life is this? I mean I don't think I should be surfing on the waves of the ocean at all times or anything, but this is ridiculous.Aren't we animals, the only animals that hide from the rest of nature? Aren't we connected to all living things? Why do we keep them so far away from us? I am connected more to my couch than I am to the tree outside my window. The tree is more alive than I am. I read somewhere that trees talk to each other through their root system and warn each other about bad weather etc. Do they warn each other about us, humans, before we chop them down?
I'm gonna tell you a secret. I don't really love writing, I have to do this. Every single day, otherwise I perish.I don't always love what I come up with on these pages, but I share them anyways because this is how I express who I really am. This is how I am me. Sometimes I am more me in these words then I am in the flesh. Sometimes I'm just a bunch of words that don't mean a thing. If you say a word over and over again, it starts to mean nothing. If you say words, and only words, to be yourself, you start to mean nothing.In a sense I am empty, I am like nothing. The Buddhists say that emptiness is a good thing, something to strive for. What is fullness? What does it mean to be full? What does it feel like? I'm always hungry.I eat too much, I sleep too much, I'm basically an infant that has overstayed her welcome in childhood. I should be more active, more real, more alive. I should smile more, think more, be more. I always feel like I'm never enough. Do you feel like you are enough? Is there enough of meaning, to go around? Apparently, there is actually enough food to go around, none of us should be hungry. But is there enough love? What would be enough love? At what point would we say, no more love needed, we are at full capacity? At what point what would we say there is too much love people, too much? We are going overboard.When will we realize that life should be different? Different how? I don't know, but I need real air when I breathe. I need it to be clean air and good air. I need to be good and clean. There are too many dirty thoughts going around the air. There is so much filth in the minds of people. Can you even imagine the worst of it?All I do is say, say, say. I never shut up.But what am I saying after all? Anything at all? Does any of this mean anything to anyone?Where is this going? What is the point? The point of it all? Why are we here? Why are we not there?I can only think of one goal. To fill that empty space in my heart. To feel. I think I came here not to think, but to feel.What is your plan? Do you plan on thinking this life away? Do you plan on doing this life away? Or do you plan on being something in this life? Who are you? What are you being? Is it anything we would think is worthwhile?There is so much pain and suffering, so much that I can't count it, it's not in the realm of numbers. It goes beyond numbers, numbers will do us no good here. We think we can calculate and count things, we can't count feelings. They just are, they have no numeric value. I don't know where my love ended and my hate began. When my loneliness started and my love ended.I am alone. But that is not the reason I'm lonely. In fact, it has nothing to do with it. I'm lonely because I don't know if anyone hears my words. If anyone understands them. If anyone knows me, really knows me. If anyone would love the real me if they saw all my flaws, all my problems. How do I love myself with all these scars? I know it's a sin to say this, but sometimes I think I'm ugly. I don't look in the mirror some days in order to not see the mess it reflects back to me.It's not like I don't love myself. But it's not like I do.How do you love something so unoriginal, so imperfect?That person that is you, doesn't know you.Think about it, how well do you really know yourself?But you know this, you are. Remember that saying by Descartes, "I think therefore I am."Maybe I am therefore I think.I am, first.nina
I'm gonna tell you a secret. I don't really love writing, I have to do this. Every single day, otherwise I perish.I don't always love what I come up with on these pages, but I share them anyways because this is how I express who I really am. This is how I am me. Sometimes I am more me in these words then I am in the flesh. Sometimes I'm just a bunch of words that don't mean a thing. If you say a word over and over again, it starts to mean nothing. If you say words, and only words, to be yourself, you start to mean nothing.In a sense I am empty, I am like nothing. The Buddhists say that emptiness is a good thing, something to strive for. What is fullness? What does it mean to be full? What does it feel like? I'm always hungry.I eat too much, I sleep too much, I'm basically an infant that has overstayed her welcome in childhood. I should be more active, more real, more alive. I should smile more, think more, be more. I always feel like I'm never enough. Do you feel like you are enough? Is there enough of meaning, to go around? Apparently, there is actually enough food to go around, none of us should be hungry. But is there enough love? What would be enough love? At what point would we say, no more love needed, we are at full capacity? At what point what would we say there is too much love people, too much? We are going overboard.When will we realize that life should be different? Different how? I don't know, but I need real air when I breathe. I need it to be clean air and good air. I need to be good and clean. There are too many dirty thoughts going around the air. There is so much filth in the minds of people. Can you even imagine the worst of it?All I do is say, say, say. I never shut up.But what am I saying after all? Anything at all? Does any of this mean anything to anyone?Where is this going? What is the point? The point of it all? Why are we here? Why are we not there?I can only think of one goal. To fill that empty space in my heart. To feel. I think I came here not to think, but to feel.What is your plan? Do you plan on thinking this life away? Do you plan on doing this life away? Or do you plan on being something in this life? Who are you? What are you being? Is it anything we would think is worthwhile?There is so much pain and suffering, so much that I can't count it, it's not in the realm of numbers. It goes beyond numbers, numbers will do us no good here. We think we can calculate and count things, we can't count feelings. They just are, they have no numeric value. I don't know where my love ended and my hate began. When my loneliness started and my love ended.I am alone. But that is not the reason I'm lonely. In fact, it has nothing to do with it. I'm lonely because I don't know if anyone hears my words. If anyone understands them. If anyone knows me, really knows me. If anyone would love the real me if they saw all my flaws, all my problems. How do I love myself with all these scars? I know it's a sin to say this, but sometimes I think I'm ugly. I don't look in the mirror some days in order to not see the mess it reflects back to me.It's not like I don't love myself. But it's not like I do.How do you love something so unoriginal, so imperfect?That person that is you, doesn't know you.Think about it, how well do you really know yourself?But you know this, you are. Remember that saying by Descartes, "I think therefore I am."Maybe I am therefore I think.I am, first.nina