My heart is full.

(http://www.insidepersonalgrowth.com/2010/07/podcasts/podcast-199-a-geography-of-time-with-robert-levine-ph-d/)

…I started to think about the importance we place on time.

In his book, he explains all different cultures have different concepts of time. In Brazil, he tells many different accounts of people being late. This is the same in many countries. Here in the States, it is rude or unacceptable to show up late. Time is money, here.

What is most interesting to me is the duration concept. Like, what are you doing with your time and how fast and/or slow is time moving for you? For instance, the duration of being with a lover seems to move incredibly fast…while studying for a test can seem to take forever. Is it truly the task at hand that becomes so boring, or our (Westerners) inability to be able to sit still and know life is still important.

I stare off into space when I am bored and find spaces in my brain of the most banal, insignificant thoughts. These kinds of thoughts then lead to the most common thought, “what can I do so I don’t have to sit here with these thoughts?”.

In Japan, it is important for people to sit without talking…and without feeling uncomfortable about it. Life is changing, even if you think nothing is happening. To be silent around others is a way of connecting, still. I can’t even begin to imagine this kind of group interaction in the states. People sitting still and silent, and not becoming incredibly squeamish.

Why is it we want to fill the space with words? Words we have completely borrowed, words so unoriginal, words so easily spewed out? Why is it difficult for us to be patient, to wait for the truly ripe moment when our words are necessary?

There is a tribe in Africa that has no verbal communication whatsoever. Can we even begin to imagine looking into the eyes of our peers and feeling the sense of understanding?

In addition to feeling a constant sense of urgency, there is also a complete neglect of simplicity. Like appreciation of the very small parts of life. When watching the sunset with a guest, she said the beach is so relaxing for people vacationing. Because nature is the backdrop of our lives, rarely is it we are being still with it.

I am making it my personal goal to enjoy the simplicity of life more. To slow down, to inhale deeply. To not feel the gaps of space and time as a crude interruption to my usual fast paced setting, but as a healing guide to a joyful future.

Some are so genuinely ingenious, it is almost as if my own longings for brilliance and creativity created them.

A protective layer…as thin as the layer draping between all physical beings…it wraps around me…it encompasses all I am and am not…never exposing too much, always exposing enough.

You come here every day to learn what? What I am…maybe what I have or could have. I am nothing, have nothing…nothing for you to learn or find. You will search forever but it is only in yourself where you find answers. I am no threat to you, I am as weak as your questions that keep you coming back for more. Your presence in this space makes me feel hunger and pride for what never really existed in the first place. The love I have for the past remains there and stirs in a pool of self-pity and doubt. What I lack is not in what you have found. It is yours, you may have it for yourself. You have everything I do not. What more could you ask for when you take a star from the sky? Why do you keep returning to the sky when you hold the star in your palm? You are a reminder of brightness where now there is a dull darkness.

You’ve come here for some months. It peaks my curiosity, it also serves as a warm constant, a companion of sorts even if in confusion. We are connected here, in this space where you remain a mystery and I bleed my guts all over. Some days you are the only one who goes here. Almost all days you come to watch the show…

I tore my insides out for a lover, this lover was the best one…the greatest. The time that stood still shows up in many moments, dreams. It will forever, I fear. The intensity that one can only get when staring into the eyes of a great love is never…ever…forgotten. It is deceiving, this intensity…it defies gravity…and science…and defines the exact drug you could waste your life on. No food or water could replenish your body as earnestly as this kind of love. No shelter could keep you as warm. It is not justice to lose something as fine.

Now I search for connectivity…places to plug in…definitions in passing. There is no comparison, but adaptability is vital.

I wait for time to stand still, again.

These days, it passes like the speed of light.

As many times you say hello, you also have to say goodbye.

Fritz left today, the Italian German. Sadness has kind of washed over the staff and guests.

Every night, a collection of staff and guests collect on the balcony to watch over the boardwalk entrance and talk, laugh, listen to the guitar or drum. Medicinal tranquility ensues and people begin to really understand one another, really understand the space between. It is so special, it happens in everyone’s travels…those moments that are so sweet…and senseless…and you can savor them all through the next days that follow. This is a really special place, this hostel. There is some kind of magic in the air.

The guests here come from all over – Switzerland, Germany, Italy…at any given moment you walk through the common areas, there are all different languages or poor English being spoken. It is like traveling without traveling, learning through people from other places about their culture and customs.

One guy, Fritz, is German but from Italy. He is in the states to spread his stepfather’s ashes. His stepfather was in the movies about 40 years ago. Fritz thought it would be special to take his ashes to Los Angeles. He said he originally tried Las Vegas, as it was also popular for his stepfather, but he hated Las Vegas. He thought it was proper to wear a suit in Vegas so he brought with him from Italy a very nice suit and wore it. He realized nobody else wore suits and everybody thought he worked at the casinos.

Fritz says the reason he has so many stepfathers is because his mother is something of an angel, she rehabilitates troubled or lonely men. This man, in particular, was dying and she married him to give him joy for the last few days of his life. Fritz says the prize for his mother is heaven, because she wants nothing but happiness for those without it.

I’ve picked up a few acquaintances that I spend time with in my room talking to and listening to music. It is like the college experience without the education. It is so diverse, so refreshing after spending a couple weeks up in the mountains away from everyone but one. The people that come here are so friendly and open, ready to talk about the differences between. I just really…love it.

—

My good friend, Wendi, recently “broke up” with me. She said our philosophical differences were too great, that everything I believed and thought was stupid. Those were actually her exact words. She said she would read my blog and become angry because my choices were immature and idiotic. She said she thinks I am very nice, but just as I would not want to be friends with drug addicts, she did not want to be friends with me. That we were too different. I’ve shared this information with my close friends, other friends, almost as if I am needing reassurance that I’m not an idiot, that my life and thoughts and feelings are important and valid. The concensus is that Wendi is incredibly judgemental, self-righteous, and frivolous. But no matter how many times I tell myself she is being a real hurtful prick and I don’t deserve it, it doesn’t change how much I love her or how heart-broken I am that I won’t get to watch her grow, her baby grow, her relationship with her partner grow. I won’t get to be a part of her craft and cooking. I won’t get to lean on her for guidance and support. Encouragement. I have been somewhat melancholy these last few days, as my heart is broken and dealing with abandonment.

I’m not at the point where I am grateful she has done this because I have realized how wonderful I truly am and blah blah blah…I’m still at the shock stage where I wonder about my self-worth and how many hours I can really spend crying in a day before I’m just a super pathetic loser. I’m still talking it over with friends and now blogging about it to try and seriously come up with a resolution. I’m coping with, to me, a great loss.

————————————————————————————–

September 22, 2009
Visionboards!

I am so happy that I have an awesome sexy bod with hot flat abs. So glad that I have an awesome sexual rockstar boyfriend who loves me and rocks my world. I am so glad the boy I am dating is Brenden Urie that I ran into him and he remembered me. I am so glad that I am a fab model on the cover of Vogue! So glad I am in the next tarrantino movie and we make love because he is really hot! I am so glad I am super wealthy and famous and every one admires and respects me. I am so glad I am happy being myself. I am so happy I can creatively take charge and make billions off of one movie. I am so glad I am funy.

————————————————————————————

Gawd, I love L.A.

Oui Oui Bon Bon.

My rideshare was a pretty interesting guy. He had one prosthetic leg and one dead arm. So he drove with one hand on the steering wheel, and the same hand drinking coffee, soda, lighting and smoking cigarettes, opening and closing windows. As anyone can imagine, the occasional bumps from the unexpected lane changes gave my heart a little throttle. Often. He was very nice. His mother had died two years ago, she was seated beside me in the back seat. Yes, her ashes in a wooden box. When she died, she had five cats. He adopted all of them. He smokes a cigarette about every half hour and his nails on his functioning hand are long and filthy. He was in a terrible motorcycle accident ten years ago where he lost his leg and the movement of his left arm. He said he retired from being a cop and had enough money to be really happy. But with one arm and one leg, he found more loneliness than contentment. He was overly gracious and accommodating. He would ask us over and over if we were comfortable or if we needed anything. Oh, we. He also drove this young lady that was part of the Santa Cruz roller derby team. She was going to L.A. to live in her parents garage apartment in Beverly Hills and go back to school to get her master’s. She said she wants to be a science teacher because she was fascinated with biology and has an equal interest in spreading the good love to teenage kids. I liked her a lot. I slept the majority of the drive but while I was awake, it was easy-going, smokey, and an absolute gorgeous view.

When I lived in L.A. about 4 years ago, I lived with two women who would change my life forever. One of them still lives in the same house we shared, only now with her partner and their one year old child. I think I’m in love. He is a mix of them both (her partner is black) and has gorgeous hazel eyes and curly curly soooooo beautifully curly brown hair. Their parenting is excellent, no vaccinations and a lot of positive reinforcement, holistic treatments to ailments, healthy organic feeding. He is perfect. Amber and Troy could not be happier with their little genius.

Can you blame them…

My friend was going away, coming west actually. But up until this point in her life we held a very gratuitous friendship. I would see her almost every day, she worked on a farm on the outskirts of Austin…and I worked at Cafe Mundi, the mecca for eccentric queers, activists, artists, and farmers. She was always so clean, it was hard to believe she ever did a day’s worth of dirty work. Her smile was infectious and her hands were small and you couldn’t help but follow their dance as she talked. She is brilliant, this one…underneath that mass of curly blonde locks. I praise her for dropping out of school to follow her true passion, but let it be known she was going to school for physics.

It made me sadder than I ever relayed to her, that she was moving and I wouldn’t be graced by that smile day after day. But I took her to see Bonnie Prince Billy her last night in town. He was playing at Mohawk. We sat there on the bleachers upstairs, my back leaning into her chest as we held hands and listened to what would be a masterpiece to my ears. A goodbye serenade unlike any other.

Although I don’t have my dear friend with me to appreciate his sound, it is her I will be thinking of. Love you N.

It was her legs, that made me want to replay the song over and over. And over once more.