The library has always been a magical place for me. Not in a stereotypical way for I would not want to be typical. The library is full of stories full of lives written. None of them are lost to time but instead kept neatly lined on shelves. The ordered way about the place lends my heart to be content in the space. I love how I can find almost anything I want all on my own. I love the quiet, busy nature of the space, bustling with muffled noise. The library seems like a safe haven in the midst of our busy lives. It is a place with books rather than just a space. Knowledge and adventure await the eager reader. Even the traveler wants to spend a lifetime here.
Yesterday, where I live, there was a huge storm. It down poured with rain. The winds blew so hard it picked up things and smashed in windshields. A hormonal teenager, really. Darkness hovered over everything while the rains spat down on us. It felt like a temper-tantrum. But then, you know, after going to sleep. I wasn’t sure what to expect the next morning. More outbursts? More hormones?
Happily, instead I was graced with a little bit of sunshine. This light, these rays shone through me the rest of the day. And a I wore a smile on my face not because I thought it was trendy but because it finally reflected my heart.
So yesterday, I waited.
I waited around for people to like my blog post. I waited for my little bell to have an orange dot, signifying my worth in this world. I sat there staring at my computer for about 10 minutes. It was through this dull staring with my eyes glazed over that I realized I have a serious problem. I was sitting there and waiting for people to make me feel better about myself. I wanted to know that someone somewhere liked what I had said. Through the staring, I realized how ridiculous I was. Sad really. Somehow my blog posts sat at the forefront of my personal meaning. I stared blankly at my posts some more. I stared to jeer at my inner self. Really?!? I am pathetic, waiting for some random person to satisfy my desire to feel included. All I wanted was one like, was that too much to ask?
Yes, yes it was because no reader has any obligation to the author. There is no mutual understanding of readers delight and then authors praise. So I sat there, staring at my computer waiting for something to happen when in reality I needed to write more and read even more. I need to pull myself away from those categories of worth and inclusion. Regardless of what people think, I need to write.
I am very foolish. A very silly girl. Typing away. Hoping to gain drastic popularity.
Those likes will be the end of me.
As I lay down each night, my mind drift into dreams. I am captivated by my own imagination. I find myself in a beautiful forest. Trees shading the path before me. I even feel the soft breeze brush my face. I blink and my mind has brought me to another place. I am at a train station trying to go somewhere. My friend is right beside me and I am happy that I have a traveling companion. She and I are anxious to not miss our train. With our tickets in hand, we board the light rain and it zooms off from the station. I blink again and I am brought to a familiar place but it still seems a bit unrecognizable. A gentleman reaches out his hand and asks for a dance. I swing and twirl and laugh. I am so happy. Happy as can be. Who will wake me from this sweet eternal bliss?
I rose this morning with a song in my step. I was happier than usually. For once, I was not dwelling on my own internal dialogue. I was celebrating someone else’s existence. Yes, it’s just a small gift and it might not mean much. But it resembles me looking out from myself. Noting others reality and being happy that they are part of mine. The gift wrapping crinkles in my hand and my heart pounds in expectation. I hand over the gift excited to be part of this moment. I am happy to be apart from my own thoughts and desires. This other person. This other life. Today is set apart just for them.
I thought that I would take a week off to re-evaluate where my mind is at.
But instead I lived in greater fear of the tomorrow and only dwelt on the past.
I think that I was made to continue creating.
Without it, I feel dead inside.
My mind flittered and fluttered and I was never able to write anything down.
Even my drawing became robotic and my words sounded like metal.
My heart didn’t beat but kept churning out blood for me.
It really was an off week.
We seem to live in a world, where A means B and there isn’t even a C.
I can ride down the street with my window down as fast I want because my skin is white.
Families and holy men and women cannot pray in safety because their skin is black.
This world we live in, where no means yes and love means a gun.
Let their souls cry out as their blood hits the earth.
Am I my brother’s keeper?
Let the Lord mark you as a murderer
Let Him judge this world for their love of the gun
Hate drips from my sweat as my knees bruise from my posture
My heart cries in a prayer of confession for the souls lost and lost souls
Give us justice we seek let your revenge be sweet and turn us away from this world of hate.
He fell from space so I decided to draw him
As I fell asleep, as he fell asleep, as we fall asleep, there I lie looking up at the ceiling. I am waiting to bring to mind all the reasons I love you. I have cataloged them in my heart but haven’t told you yet. I turn and hear your breath. Soft but continuous. Knowing I am safe and sound, I love us.
I thought a lot about words today. Words can heal and bring life but also tear down and hurt. Words are merely sounds that we string together to create meaning. Babble that makes sense to the listener. If I create a new word, I merely put chaos into order. Words mean something to most people. Then to others they are empty and cavernous. My words are typed. My words come from my mind. I wonder about my words. Are they the kind that are helpful? Or are they empty? Do I decided to type my words everyday to feel a little less lonely? Words bring community and togetherness when someone can hear them. I guess my computer doesn’t count.