Exhausted...

I have been sitting here trying to type something, anything out of my mind tonight. I need to release, I need to stay in the habit of self expression. Yet, I am faltering. I have felt numb, exhausted, and my mind is so overwhelmed it is almost blank...finally. Now that it is blank however, I am uncomfortable, nervous, and solicitous about this blank state of mind. Strange, I yearned for this, and now that I have it, I don't want it.

I suppose I feel this way because of the mental exhaustion that finally allowed it to happen, something beyond my control, or at least something I believe to be out of my control. In reality we all have control over our emotions, or in the least in the way we express those emotions. I just finally cried and broke down enough these past few days that I am just numb, enervated.

A lot has been jumbled inside since returning home. Many things are slowly changing, and others not changing fast enough. I question my ability to hold onto a normal facade of life; trying hard to dissimulate my true feelings, my true internal identity, so I may fit in, so my children can fit in. Hell for that matter trying to understand and develop my own identity.

I am trying to focus on what these actions of my past and present are, not view them as good or bad. Just as is. Thus learning from them, to grow, evolve. That is what we are suppose to do right?

When I came home today at lunch, I stepped out my back door to let my pups out of the kennel, it is then I realized how much more the corn has turned colors, changing. I felt so powerless, so frustrated at the realization once again of the loss of control we all have in our lives. No matter what type of mood I am in, no matter what I do for a living, one thing will stay the same. Time will move on, and the seasons will change. My corn will be harvested, leaving an empty field, abandoned, disgraced. I wonder if the land feels disrespected having the all nourishment it provides to us reaped and stolen, over used, over worked.

As we came home tonight and pulled into the garage my daughter and I were discussing how windy it was. We watched it swirl the top of the stalks of corn around in little circles, having it wave, almost dance. The dirt from the road was being lifted and carried easily over the rough, buffalo grass I call a yard. How things move on, and we cannot control it even when we want to.

I don't want time to move right now, I am missing too much as it is. Leaving each day, having my children be raised by someone else, leaving very little time and ability for me to inspire and leave a mark on them. I wonder what they will think about of me later on in life. I know my own feelings and thoughts about my childhood has changed and been rethought about and changed back so many times, and yet I still come to the same conclusion. Will I be as lucky in the future to have my children's heart be filled with warmth, forgiveness, acceptance, thankfulness, and love, as I do for my mother? I hope so.

I feel as though I am weighted down tonight, one stone on top of the other. A slow burial that makes you feel helpless, heavy, unable to move to stop it and yet it is a slow enough burden I should be able to stop it.

Nathan called tonight and told me to look out and look at the sky.

There is a harvest moon tonight, but upon the first glance all I could see was dark, hardly a star in the sky. I felt as though even the sky knew the darkness, the emptiness floating inside of me tonight. Yet, there was the lighthouse beacon, the harvest moon.

"Where is the white moon?" my daughter asks out of nowhere, I think quickly, momma needs an answer. "The moon has changed colors tonight, it wanted to be a different color just as we want to where different clothes." "Why? The moon doesn't wear clothes, why change color?" Crud, I almost panicked.."to help the corn change colors so we may harvest it. It will eventually be the same color as the moon." "Is it the same as the white moon?" "Yes it is the same as the white moon, just a different color. Like momma, sometimes she has dark hair and sometimes she has light hair." "Is that why there are no stars?" Oh no, another tough one...where does she get this inquisitive mind that breaks down each bit of information and analyzes it? "I think the stars are just sleepy tonight, perhaps the moon wanted to be by herself."

The conversation is over and she climbs into my lap asking if she can sleep with me tonight. This is normally against our rules, but she has left her lion at her aunts, and she says she does not want to be like the yellow moon, she does not want to be alone.

She lays her head on my chest and we say one of our good night blessings:

Mother of all things, watch over me tonight,

Hold me in your arms, until the morning light.

Blessed be the mother goddess, by all her many names.

May she bless my family and friends.

May she bless the animals of the world,

and all people everywhere.

Diana, goddess of the moon,

Shining in the sky above,

Bathe me in your magical light,

And protect me with your love.

It is with this I say good night, and turn off the computer. It is time to rest our minds so we can explore tomorrow. I am thankful I have her to turn my thoughts into simple pleasures, or to cease them when they are to loud.

Ghosts of Places Past...My Own Haunting

"Houses are not haunted. We are haunted, and regardless of the architecture with which we surround ourselves, our ghosts stay with us until we ourselves are ghosts." ~DEAN KOONTZ, Velocity

Thursday I had received news from my Grandma that her best friend, the closest thing she has to a sister, had passed away. I immediately began my plans to leave early and go to Yuma. Sharon was a very blunt, honest, and not always tactful person. But you knew where you stood with her. To me she was amazing on how she was able to freely express her opinion without a worry. At the funeral a preacher spoke about the time she actually slapped him. That's right folks she slapped a preacher! I am thankful I was there to be by my Grandma's side, I am thankful I got to say goodbye.

However, being there also meant facing ghosts of my own. Ghosts of the past, the ones that linger in the present, and the ones to be in the future.

I have a habit, of stopping at the flower store and picking up a flower for each grave of those I knew and lost, buried in the Yuma Cemetery. The ones I love, the ones I miss, the ones that sometimes haunt me. I know where each of them are laid to rest, where to find them, what their tombstone looks like. I do not go there to talk to them as if I think they can hear me, I believe they are no longer there, they have moved onto the next plane of existence, be it their next life or the in-between stages awaiting the moment for them to decide to go onto the next life. I believe in reincarnation, and I know eventually the all will have the ability to enjoy a living again.

As the closing of the graveside service came to an end, I placed one daisy upon the casket of my Grandma's best friend. My metaphorical hug goodbye. As I walked away with three left in my hand, I knew which direction I was headed in next. I glanced around to check on my Grandma and Great Grandpa, seeing how they were still visiting I continued along my journey. That is when I heard my name.

I always hesitate when I hear my name while being back in this town. I truly never know who it could be. I slowly turn and see an old friend of my mothers. She was happy to see me, and I was relieved to see how healthy she appeared. This lost person from the past expressed her excitement in seeing me and asked about my children. She continued with me on my walk across the cemetery to my next destination.

The first resting place is perhaps the hardest for me to go to this time. He once was my step-dad, and loved us very dearly. I had just started to send cards and call occasionally within the short months before he passed away. I even made it to this town to see him. I brought Jacki with me that time, my beloved pit whom remembered and loved this man. He knew I was pregnant with Sandra, but in my own selfishness, the days preceding her birth, I did not call him to tell him of her arrival, of the complications that arose. To be fair, I called very few people in this time period. He passed away four days after she was born, he never heard her name.

I was unable to come to the funeral, Sandra was in the hospital, I was fighting an emotional roller-coaster. Between trying to pump so she could eat, what little she was eating, the fact she was four pounds, it was finals week, no to little sleep, and her being there, stuck for ten days. My Grandma went on my behalf as well I am sure for herself.

I know my mothers friend was saying something, I am not sure what. My eyes had blurred, and I was running my finger across the carvings of the letters that made up his name. I apologized for not calling, for not letting him know all was okay. I closed my eyes and felt the breeze kiss upon them, flowing through my hair, and then settling somewhere amongst the trees above, dissipating into the sky. I laid the daisy in front of the marker of the resting place of his body, leaving with it sorrow, and walking away with love, and hope.

As I stood up, off my knees, I felt lighter, and more relaxed. Two more to go.

I walked with my mother's friend from the past back to the congregation of people. I once again glanced around at my group. They still looked content and conversing. I headed out towards my second dead ghost.

I take off my shoes as I feel the pain on my heel from one of them cutting in, I proceed to carry them to the pickup and lay them down on the bumper, and walk away. As I walk through the buried, I feel on the bottom of my feet various things. Soft, lush grass that seem to give the faintest impression of what walking on a cloud must feel. Tender and sweet. Areas of harsh, hardened grass, poking up between my toes and digging into the soles of my feet; as if I was walking on pins and needles. The scattered sections of stickers that occasionally hung onto me. The random sticks and tiny stones feeling as though they were lost, alone, never bunched together and sporadically scattered. A game of battleship, hit or miss.

I glance up to find the one that had brought on such pain, confusion, and fear at the time of loss, that I have stopped trying to understand it. I have just accepted it as is. He had to tie up lose ends as David Foster Wallace would say. This was a man with young children, he was loving and kind. He showed me that no matter where you came from, what past you held, you could become something other than a statistic if you tried. Going from punk kid, in trouble, to eventually a prison guard. Of course life was bringing him full circle I think, back to the in-between stages, the place of adulthood and the choices he made while there, versus the beginning. Perhaps its not really a circle, but I think you get the idea.

Once again I kneel, look squarely upon the gravestone, at the picture of him holding his children. I smile remembering my high-school graduation party, how proud he appeared to be of me. He gave me a writing pen that he had earned as a reward for his job as a guard. A true symbol of the lesson I have held onto. I always felt it was his way of saying...see you do not have to be like those around you, you can choose a different path.

I rub my finger over the oval picture. It is a fairly smooth surface, relaxing and peaceful. I feel the sun beat upon the back of my neck as I have it bent slightly down. I place my third flower down, leaving with it confusion, and walking a way with some relief and strength. You see this is the one ghost who I have conversations with in my dreams. He is the one that continues to encourage me, he is the one waiting, watching. I think he is stuck in the plain of in-between lives, unwilling to leave the watching point over his children, I am thankful for this as I too appear to be one of those he observes from time to time.

Once again, I feel more relaxed as I push myself up off the ground. One more to go.

I was having a hard time finding her. I knew where she was and must have walked by her several times. I noticed that they were waiting on me. This visit would have to wait until after the lunch, the conclusion of the goodbye service, the funeral coming to an end.

I returned later, again with my shoes off I searched. A helpful worker stopped and asked of whom it was I was seeking. I told her and she led me straight there. I had walked by many times, and must have not been fully aware of my surroundings, off in thought as I searched prior for this spot. I do not remember thinking anything, just feeling, trying to be aware. Still, I had passed it by.

I glance down at this person who also had tied up lose ends, leaving behind a daughter. She was not the first one to take her life that I had exposure to, she was just the first one that really hit me hard. I believe the first one, and I know my mom will correct me later if I am wrong,so I may be assisted in placing the sequence of events in the right order for my own benefit, was when I was very small. I don't remember then what my mom said to explain it, I just know that she said it with sorrow. How does a mother explain these things to her children anyways?

On my knees, kneeling for the last time on this current visit to this town, I look at the picture placed upon it, and I remember. I remember being very young, the duck pond, her home, the cop pulling her over while borrowing my moms car to go to 7-11 with myself and my sister in it. I smile. I am also reminded however, of others this time. The ones still living, but lost. The ones I have left, and hope not to run into. The ones that were in my life and hers at the time she ended it, these people are from a time far from the duck pond. Pushing these thoughts away I try to focus back on my "hug". Breathing deeply I can hear the grass under my knees crackle as I try to settle back down. Smiling once again I leave my last daisy. What did I leave behind here? I am not sure, I think I have left behind all the negative emotions, the hurtful, burdening emotions long ago at the foot of this tombstone.

This last time, standing up, walking away, I have a bit of laughter in my heart of fond memories not just of her, but all four that I had contact with that day. The latter three, are part of my ghosts of the past.

As far as the ghosts of the present, those lingering, clinging onto a living facade, yet a slow and self inflicted death, my heart aches. This visit I ran into one.

My Grandma and I were walking into the bar for dinner, and I heard a comment..what you don't talk to me anymore? I know this voice, I actually thought about him off and on throughout the day with a few others. My heart sinks, my stomach is hard, twisting, as if I have been punched, I fell nauseated.

I turn and smile, I am truly still happy to see this man, to hug him, remember who he once was. We talk about my children, I show him pictures. We talk about the loss of a friend, the one whom died after Sandra was born. He comments about those who died, are dying, by their own hands. About the people they once were because they cannot, will not, or do not want to change their lifestyle.

He has tears forming in his eyes, and I know I will not be able to be strong if I stand here any longer, I give him a hug and tell him to take care of himself. He says he is clean, only drinks...I don't believe him. I go onto dinner, my appetite now gone.

There are many like him, lingering out there, my heart aching, these are the people I grew up around. These are the people that played games late into the night, listened to me talk about school, hugged me and some even loving me. How miraculous it is, as I look back, I see so many there, so many caring. How many children had a village to help in the hand of forming a perspective, a past, experience to broaden their mind?

Then there are those that I must consider, and think about constantly, the ones that are in my present and will be in my future. Those who have made changes, those who did not fall, those who escaped the devastating atmosphere of this little town. This cursed little town.

I know I have written a lot tonight. I thank you for your patience, you reading this, helping keep the memories, and not the ghosts of the past alive. In sharing in the minute and limited feelings of a larger burden I hold in on those who are lost in the present, and my thankfulness of those who I still have in my life today.

I know some of these are sore issues for you out there reading this, those who know who and what I speak of. It stabbing at you like a thorn from a rose, the rose sweet as the memories, the thorn painful as the reminder of loss.

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." ~Dr. Seuss

Maya ~ The World of Illusion Created By Our Thoughts

As some of you know I have fallen in love with the writings of David Foster Wallace. I started some self reflection and need to reclaim myself, to feel less of a shell and more like the person people from my past say I am, deep inside of myself.

I will be blogging about a book I am reading called "The Cow In The Parking Lot ~ A Zen Approach to Overcoming Anger" by Leonard Scheff and Susan Edmiston. It will sound a lot like a book review at times, but there will also be my muddled view point of what I believe is the underlining theory and practice is. How to live a fuller life and not spread our suffering and anger onto others.

"Learning how to think rally means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience." ~David Foster Wallace, Commencement Address, 2005.

To me the first step in letting go of anger, disappointment, hurt, all that leads to suffering is to first reverse the way we have been inculcated by society.

I have labeled this blog Maya, the Buddhist word meaning the world of illusion created by our thoughts. Scheff points out that most of us create a scenario in our minds that is a mixture of our view of the world, our view of ourselves, our early conditioning, and the habitual ways we respond. He argues that if often times has very little to do with reality.

At first I struggled with this concept. Just because it this view point is a mixture of what makes an individual, how is it not reality? Did we not experience these events, is this not how and what we lived? Thus if it is our experience how is it not true? It was at this point I thought of my own muddled mind and how I struggle with what I am , what I do, how I feel about my existence. Of course I was brought back to the commencement address.

"Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe, the realest, most vivid and important person in existence....Think about it; there is no experience you've had that you were not at the absolute center of...Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real."

It was through those thoughts of a writer whom carried out the sentence of death, that I realized our own reality is true to us but not true to the world. Society places upon us beginning with an extremely young age what it believes in that time period, what will make us happy, what success is. It sets us up to constantly work toward that thing that makes us happy, always looking forward. When we fail or are hurt we then begin to look in our past.

Thus this chain of events leads us to not live in the now, this living in the present is what truly will bring happiness.

Buddha, has a meaning, "awake" or "aware". It is through the very teachings of Buddhism that we are taught to live in our present, experiencing each moment fully, directly, with an open mind, without preconceived notions, assumptions, and limiting that experience with our judgments, and concepts of reality. We constantly confuse these limitations as knowledge and thus we prevent us from truly gaining knowledge.

"With naked awareness of what is before conceptual thought arises, we can escape our habitual reactions. By this method, we can also observe ourselves, our moods, our prejudices, and our habits. Change comes, not by struggling to change or by fighting or disciplining oneself, but by becoming aware of what we are feeling and how we habitually act." ~The Cow In The Parking Lot, pgs 21 & 22.

I believe it is this simple and yet complex act that will allow one to fully analyze, accept and begin to transform our mind, body, and actions. All that makes us who we are. If we are able to live in the now, enjoy the present, and to observe our actions and reactions without judgement and with an open mind, we will be able to see the "reality". We will be able to make the changes necessary to keep from being angry, from suffering.

All I truly want for my children, is for them to learn to be kind, open minded, and knowledgeable. I do not want them to keep their opinions or preconceived notions from accepting and understanding beliefs, lifestyles, or people because they do not necessarily agree with them.

It is this lack of "mindfulness" that causes so much hate in the world. So much intolerance, and it is easy to get swept into it.

"The real important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline,, and effort, and being able to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day."~David Foster Wallace

St. Patrick

I purchased a token while in Northern Ireland, in 2004 or 2005? I have had a habit a carrying it around with me the past few weeks. Now, those who know me are probably wondering, what is she doing carrying around a religious token?

No, there is no spot for organized religion in my beliefs, not by the textbook anyhow. That said I find organized religions fascinating, Hinduism, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, etc...they are remarkable to me. The strong beliefs that people have, the pure faith.

The envelope that this token came in has this printed on it, "As I live each day, may I do my part to make one difference, to touch one heart and through each day may it be my goal to encourage one mind and inspire one soul."

That is an amazing concept, one I have always hoped I am able to follow through with. Unfortunately I think it is more for a selfish reason though. It is my way of saying, hey I am here and I am contributing.

I am not sure if any good deed is truly done for pure good. Good deeds are done for the satisfaction of doing something good. Passing it on so to speak. Many of us feel it improves our Karma, while others say it is the Lord's word we must follow. I don't think there is anything pure in this world, at least no action.

I have become more open of my mental muddle, especially to those whom I feel may share the same mess. I truly do want them to know they are not alone, but deep down I think I just want to make sure I know I am not alone.

So St. Patrick, guide me through my day, give me inner peace and strength. Allow me to feel how I am connected not only with another being, but the Earth that grows beneath my feet, the wind that hugs me when I am lost, the moon that smiles down upon with her glow, trying to light my way. The crickets singing, a song I cannot understand, the soft trampling I hear of grass and weeds from animals in my yard at night.

This energy, this connection, is a circle, no end, no beginning, just a continual movement from one form to another. Help those who have lost this connection become reacquainted. Help clear the muddy mess I call my mind.

Anger

"Anyone can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right persona the right time, and for the right purpose and in the right way - that is not within everyone's power and that is not easy." ~ Aristotle.

I think this pretty much explains itself.

Many of us struggle with anger, I think if we were to look deep into it we would see however that the true reason we are angry, the true person we are angry at, are ourselves.

I am struggling with a lot of anger right now. I look at it and try to follow the path of darkness through unknown waters, choppy and overwhelmed by great storm. I am having a hard time finding land, I have no map to follow, no northern star to guide me.

I think of a proverb I once read, "Anger can be an expensive luxury."

Indeed it can. We use it for excuses sometimes, an easy way out. Costing us people and lives that are irreplaceable. How do we then trace down the root of it, how do we find the eye of the storm so we can make it out onto the other side?

We must look at our vessel, ourselves. I suppose this is going to end up a bit from last nights ramblings about self awareness and trust. I believe all emotions and actions are tied to who we are, and that we must discover exactly what that is in order to be happy, productive, and strong.

If our vessel is built with cheap wood, i.e. we treat ourselves as if we were nominal, a trifle, inconsiderable, insignificant, portion of worth, this vessel will break under the pressures of the weather.

I am making this one short tonight, mainly because I am still searching through my path of destruction, I am trying to find the reasoning(s) of my anger. I am unsure as to the outcome, or the path to get there. I am sure of one thing though, it is a storm of the century.

Trust Myself

"I've learned to trust myself, to listen to truth, to not be afraid of it and to not try and hide it."~Sarah Mclachlan

I am not sure where to begin. Perhaps I should break it down, and maybe that will help me explain the whirlwind in my head in regards to this.

Trust-reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, of a person or thing; confident expectation of something, hope

Truth-an obvious or accepted fact; truism; platitude

Fear-a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, whether the threat is real or imagined;

Afraid-feeling reluctance, unwillingness, regret, unhappiness, filled with apprehension

In order to trust myself, I first need to believe in my integrity, and strength. I need to be confident in me. I believe that this is a task that truly takes the majority of the people a lifetime to achieve. How many people can stand up and say I know I am strong, I know my ability and it is truly great. Not many, and of those who can are usually immodest, bumptious, or have no true insight to who they are. Unwilling to admit weaknesses.

It is okay to have a weakness and still find yourself strong and able. We all have characteristics and habits we wish to work on, to change, develop. The building block of doing so is to begin to trust yourself, and see what you are truly capable of. How can you truly trust others if you cannot even rely and trust yourself?

An additional stepping point in building this trust is truth. On the road to self discovery and improvement we must accept the truth about ourselves, the facts not the opinions. For instance, I have accepted the fact that I am overly opinionated. I lack the discernment necessary sometimes in order to be tactful in my communicating of those opinions. This results in offending, and yes, even antagonizing, disgusting, distressing, and disturbing people that I do not mean to. This characteristic I have is nauseating and exasperating at times.

I have accepted this truth, I am constantly working on this. I try very hard to be cognizant of this fact, so when I am attempting to communicate, I am trying to be more thoughtful about how the message is going to be received. I fail at this daily, it is a goal I feel I will never reach, but self improvement is a permanent, persistent, and unending process. All I can do is continue to try, to struggle.

We all fear what we are inside, underneath the presentation we try to give to others. Think for a moment, do you fear of someone judging you before they get to know you? Are you fearful of what others may come to think if they knew your mistakes, misgivings? Our lack of trust in ourselves may presage the fear of ourselves. I recently came to discover that I did not fear the loss of my closest friends if I were to express my mental anguish, but feared rather they would accept it. The dark side of my mind I am fearful of, and do not want to accept, if they accept it, then I should accept it; or at least learn to accept it.

I am personally afraid of all of this. Self development, acceptance, tolerance, love, self esteem. If I want to teach my children to accept others I need to teach them to accept themselves. How can I do that if I do not fully accept me?

"He who knows others is wise. He who knows himself is enlightened."~ Lao Tzu

I believe it is only through this enlightenment that we can fully trust ourselves, to no longer be afraid.

Madness...

"Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively."~Voltaire

Short and too the point, I am mad then.

I have always had an issue of keeping my mind still, I feel as though it moves constantly, a ceaseless, repetitive, affliction that I cannot escape. The weight one bears when trying to silence themselves is unimaginable to many. There is no on and off switch for some, even though we seek it, yearn for it. Our very inner selves seem to languish in confinement, leaving us to constantly endeavor in order to be triumphant.

Triumphant in what exactly? The silence? The peace? The finding of oneself? If we are victorious in silencing the madness within, then what is left? That to me has started to become my fear~the what is left. Nothing is left.

If then nothing is left, then do I not exist? The "I" now in oblivion. That thought of nothingness paralyzes my very being. So thus causing my mind to race more and the thoughts to continue onward and nonstop, restarting the problem from the beginning and the yearning of silence appears once again. This is what we call an impasse, quandary, morass, an entanglement of sorts.

It is amazing to me as I allow my fingers to attempt to move half as fast as my mind the ideas and vocabulary I have had hidden for so long. The attempted seclusion of my muddle mess called a mind has thus caused a destruction of my intellect, my instinct, my intuition, and my creativity; in essence a slow death of me. I am nervous to post as I am not confident enough that my mind is appropriately communicating in the English Language sense as it begins to spill out these words and thoughts onto the screen. I have pushed it aside for so long trying to seek out the normal, reasonable, well-adjusted appearance that I for some "mad" reason think I need to have.

Madness, I believe is almost an identity, an integrity of a person. We should not take that away from ourselves, it will lead to the very extinction of the being, the spirit. A hollow shell, the by-product of such grotesque limitation of oneself. I do not want to be a carapace.

I do not think Voltaire was inferring that madness is wrong and unnatural, only stating what it is. So I will cease this endless cycle of this topic and end it by leaving you with a more straightforward to the point conclusion by someone else.

"I am interested in madness. I believe it is the biggest thing in the human race, and the most constant. How do you take away from a man his madness without also taking away his identity?"~William Saroyan.

Momma's Lost Her Magic

My daughter has stayed yet another night at her Nana's house. I did not pressure her to come home last night or tonight, her cousins are in town and it is good for her to spend time with them. I still miss having her here though.

Tonight, I arrived around 6:30, after working late and having a very stressful day at work, and was greeted with smiles from my loving boy whom is partaking in one of his favorite activities, eating. Happy boy. Once done he smiles at me and gives me a hug and snuggles right next to my neck. This one is almost always happy to see me, he is yet to the age where mom is no longer magical.

My daughter is no where to be found, I ask knowingly, if she is downstairs and was told yes she is. I place my little man on the floor and watch him run towards the living room jabbering at the bird. I make my way down the steps slow, heavy steps. The day has left so much upon me that I feel like I can barely move.

I hear the kids talking, the television going, and Rick saying something to one of the kids. I barely turn through the door and I am glanced at by each of the children, each one smiling as the glance back to the television. My daughter is sitting on her uncle's lap and I smile at her, waiting for the fight to begin. See, she is at that age where mom is no longer magical.

Rick says lets go upstairs and get your shoes on, and off she bounces from his lap and leaps toward me grabbing my hand. I didn't even have candy to bribe her with. She is talking nonstop about her day and what her cousins said or did. We make it up the stairs and I begin to hear about the new little one at daycare picking on her, I reply with the usual did you pick on him first? Which abruptly ends the conversation, and my mother in law smiling.

I am hopeful and yet surprised at this point, she is coming home! That is when it happens, she runs toward her Nanna and says I dont want to leave. I want Nanna. I don't fight it, her cousins are here.

I give my daughter a kiss, and feeling defeated turn to my boy and pick him up, and he nuzzles his head against me. As I begin to walk toward the door I hear, "Wait mom you forgot something," I turn around and ask her what it is I had forgotten, "your kiss and hug."

I guess I had forgotten so many things that it took her a good ten minutes to make sure I had everything. With one final hug and kiss goodbye she walks me to the door and says, "I will always be in your heart." i smile and go to bend down to give her a kiss, and that is when the door begins to shut in my face.

Maybe momma has not lost her magic after all, perhaps little girl is just trying to find her own. :)

How We Think

I have really begun to explore David Foster Wallace and his writings the past six months or so. Brilliant mind, amazing man, someone I think a lot of people can relate to, even if secretly they do not want to admit to it.

I have been rereading his commencement speech he gave on 2005. There is so much there to evoke the mind and explore. I have been trying to do it in sections and wanted to hear from others on this portion.

"There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, 'Morning, boys. How's the water?'

And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over a the other and goes, 'What the hell is water?'

This is a standard requirement of US commencement speeches, the deployment of didactic little parable-ish stories.

The story thing turns out to be one fo the better, less bullshitty conventions of the genre...but if you're worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise old fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don't be. I am not the wise old fish.

The immediate point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, ubiquitous, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about.

State as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude-but the fact is that , in the day-to-day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life-or-death importance."

Now it is hard to look at just one portion of this speech at a time, without knowing what the rest says, the tone of voice used as speaking it. The heart of the matter I feel is exposed here though.

We get to involved in our day to day living, that we forget what life is, just as the fish forget what water is.

I will not say any more then that at this time, I want to listen, no correction, I truly want to hear what others have to say about this before I go into my lengthy rant of what it means to me.

Relaxation Technique With My Obsession

I tried to start my morning out right, stepped outside before the kids awoke from their slumber and walked down to the edge of the yard and into the beginnings of the cornfield. It is here where I stopped for a few brief moments, closed my eyes, and held my breath.

For once in southwestern Kansas the wind was not blowing, just a small breeze pushing the leaves of the cornstalks up against me. I could feel the hairs at the end brush up upon my skin, soft, almost like a feather. Taking in deep breaths of the fresh, crisp, green. I thought to myself, who could not love this?

Slowly, I opened my eyes and turned back toward my house. Each step seemed to weigh me down, making it harder to go into the house, then leaving it.

You would think that something that seems to bring me so much relaxation, so much release, would help me start my day with a smile. Sadly, no.

Yes, this was my relaxation technique with my obsession. I love looking out toward these fields that are slowly turning golden. It is one of the few things that seems to make my mind cease all movement, even for just a moment. Pure silence, not unlike what parents feel when looking at sleeping babes. I wonder how I will feel when the combines come.

Once back at the house my routine had to begin, shower, dress, answer phone, talk to husband while doing hair. Not that I do not find any of these things displeasing, it just means my day is beginning, and the routine has started. This morning however was a bit different, my son awoke first, my niece was here, and Sandra did not argue. So we were all up and out the door early. A good start, and yet it was harder to drive myself and the kids into town then it has been in awhile.

Perhaps it is the longing to just stay home and stare at the corn, play with my kids. It is hard to let go of the things, even briefly, that give us peace.

Thoughts In Progress

Since I am not sure where to begin, mainly because there is so much in my head, I decided I would like to start by doing a weekly quote and my random thoughts on it. An exercise of the mind really.

I want to begin by thanking Jason for pointing me towards the author of my very first quote.

"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings-always darker, emptier and simpler." - Friedrich Nietzsche

Honestly, I find this to be very intimidating.  If thoughts are just a portion of our emotions, then there are a lot of us out there that have some very complex and unchartered territory that must be explored. Even though there is a large amount of scientific study and yes, my friends in the field of psychiatry,  I feel that emotions (or the subconscious if you will) is beyond our ordinary understanding.

I want to break down three important words that I feel are tightly connected with our thoughts and thought processes.

1) Subconscious-existing or operating in the mind beneath or beyond consciousness; the totality of mental processes of which the individual is not aware; unreportable mental activities.

2) Emotion-an affective state of consciousness in which joy, sorrow, fear, hate or the like,  is experienced, as distinguished from cognitive and volitional states of consciousness

and of course the main word of my topic

3) Thought- the product of mental activity

See, I have a problem.  I tie emotions not only to the conscious state but to the subconscious as well. I cannot seem to grasp the idea that there is this thin line between the two states.  Perhaps there isn't and I have misconstrued what I was being taught on this subject, perhaps it truly is a state of gray.

If we have this mental activity that is just a slight portion of this huge object, for example a glass of water taken from the ocean, then how can we say emotions are an affective state of consciousness?  Is this middle ground, this portion of gray, between the two states were the mental processes begin to emerge from beneath the surface and connect?

What happens when this glass becomes a gallon, and the gallon a pool, and so forth?  Is this beyond our mental capacity to handle?  Is this what causes people to go "mad"?  Is this an example of what happens to our great minds?  The more aware and knowledgeable a person becomes of not only the world around them but of themselves, their shadows slowly emerge to a bigger picture? A picture we just do not want to, cannot, refuse, or are too overwhelmed to process?

In my final conclusion, while I have more questions then answers, and probably will never fully find a theory that I feel comfortable with, I agree with Nietzsche, the thought is truly only a shadow.