Monday 26 February 2018

Etched into my being

Desire to express lagging
Is it because I feel out of control?
Or that I keep hearing
My mother's voice in my head
Saying poems should rhyme
And shouldn't carry socially
Unacceptable residue of depression

Come now, I felt so free
I felt something release
When I wrote about that street
You will kill not only my writing
But my soul in the process
But you can't unspool the repressive coil
That has you captive so far

I just want to scream out
Be heard
Sing into the void
Put tinsel up in hard to reach places

Transform, catapult, recover, heal

With the nagging sense of urgency
Of a landmine on the radar
Clasped within my curled fingers
The embodiment of agency


Sunday 25 February 2018

Post-Hobart

When bell hooks, who is influenced by both Christian and Buddhist teachings, promotes forgiveness in her 'All About Love,' I am inclined to take on the challenge.

You seemed to be ill-aware of all the ways I'd changed.
The anger bubbles up within me. Why do I need it?
But then I can't expect you to have noticed: gradations of change over time
I want you to understand
I want you to love me
I want you to join me: as a feminist activist
I want you to be the soul mate you never were, that I pretended you were at times

You were tired of opening up and being hurt
It doesn't seem worth it to dive back in
In the world of the social
Waiting for a friend to cross your path
Waiting and longing are never enough

Saturday 10 February 2018

I hardly know what to do with myself

"So I took the path less travelled by/
And I barely made it out alive"

- 'Rebel Heart,' Madonna

37 countries. 2 universities, no degree. Incredibly bright, no official occupation. 3 extended periods of living across 3 different continents. 4, if you count those 5 weeks in Thailand. Hospitalisations in China and Australia. Exalted volunteering. New friends. Lack of financial independence or mobility beyond Australia.

I don't know what to do with myself. I've lived an extraordinary life, and it's probably time to take the plunge and write my first book, but it's scary. Until I learn to earn my own money, I will invariably feel trapped by circumstance. I've been planning to write a book for a very long time.

With every innovative book I read, I feel I can follow in these authors' footsteps. But then that feeling quickly fades and is replaced with self-loathing and a sense of worthlessness.

They say, 'one step at a time.' Build your self-compassion. Keep reading. Yes, keep reading. Books are artificial narratives of meaning to consume, but hey - why not. There's much to be gained in their comprehensive tours around the writerly soul. They help me.

I am facing an existential crisis of sorts. A flight from Sydney to Hobart next week will include me as a passenger. I have concluded that it's almost sort of affordable to move out in Hobart, providing I like it enough. My parents will supplement my income by a small amount. I will be free!

But I fear loneliness. I fear being isolated in a city where attitudes are provincial and I am even more of an eccentric than I am now.

Moving beyond fear is where I'm trying to be at - but first things first: What will my week in Hobart bring into my life, and will I wish it were reproduced for the foreseeable future?

*

Oh, and I really don't want Gary Oldman to win the Best Actor Oscar. I was instinctively repulsed by him long before I learned of his defence of Mel Gibson, or calling Nancy Pelosi a c*nt.

Too many horrible things floating around in my consciousness. You'll forgive the purge. 

Thursday 8 February 2018

Non-Judgemental

It's one of the principles of (Buddhist) meditation: non-judgemental observation of whatever happens to be in your headspace in any given moment. I welcome this into my life. I flourish the more with every instance of non-judgementalness.

My mother told me a story recently about my early years. She was interested in me starting to walk. One day she placed something that would be of interest to me to obtain (an item) some distance away, and waited to see what would happen. I eyed the object longingly. For a long time. I was willing for me and it to meet. And then, finally, I began to move in a new way, towards the target, and managed to reach it.

I felt like what my mother had done was cruel. Instead of helping me physically in getting to my feet, she watched with detachment as I had to figure out how to get up all on my own. She frames the story as proof of my tenacity to get what I want - even if it's eventual. But I feel the force of maternal abandonment.

Reading bell hooks' 'All About Love,' she uses a definition of love to guide her journeys past and present: [Love] “as the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” bell notes that this definition of love excludes abuse, neglect or cruelty. Like her, I must acknowledge that while I was given care and affection when I was little, I was not given this kind of love.

Through my romantic relationships I have achieved loving connections, which I long to find again in this present instant. I'm so afraid that my doubts and insecurities keep me stuck in the prelude to love.  I'm afraid of taking action. All the same, the search for love drives me, and when I'm motivated by the pursuit of something that's good for me, I have confidence in my knowhow. I will find a way - disabling judgement, enabling enthusiasm; facilitating sharing, reciprocity and openness.