Living #1

 

We live in a scary world. The dictionary says that fear is:  1. Alarm and agitation caused by expectation or realization of danger.  2.  Reverence or awe.  3.  A state of dread or apprehension.  4.  To be frightened.  Fear is something that we all live with; the following is a generous, honest, sensitive, sharing of a woman who lives her life courageously with her fears, which are as follows: 

 

Afraid by Julie Andrus

Afraid of not being good enough i.e. mother nurse, friend, daughter sister etc. 

Afraid of what people will say about me especially to my kids.

Afraid of not being able to support everyone.

Afraid of not being able to accomplish what I want to do with my life.

Afraid for the freaking world.

Afraid of letting my parents down.

Afraid my close friend and my kids will never really know each other and know the real people that they are. 

Afraid of the response of others, especially my family, to my true self.

Afraid of repercussions for my kids as people see me differently.

Afraid for my Tyler so far away.

Scared that one day I’ll drink again.

Afraid that I’ll lose control.

Afraid that my kids won’t know how much I’ve done for them and how much I live for them.

Afraid of this insane world.

Afraid that regardless of what I want to do to make this crazy world a better place it won’t matter.

Scared to be alone with my thoughts.

Afraid I can’t take the pressure of what I want to accomplish.

Afraid for my kids in this inane world.

Afraid that I brought five human beings into such an uncertain existence. 

Afraid for the future of everyone.

Afraid that I’m not doing enough.

Afraid that I’ll never find inner peace.

Afraid that I’m not good enough to meet my own expectations. 

Afraid that my X-husband will screw me over with the kids.

Afraid that the kids will not know what is in my heart.

Afraid that no one will know what is in my heart, this I think is my greatest fear.

 

 

LIVING #2

Begging for Mercy.

So I was at the temple the other day, and as I walked across the street I heard a familiar song, it was “come come ye saints” not a surprising tune to hear at the squarest point of all America.  However the source of the sound was indeed not a typical white shirted choirboy who might normally be found humming the pioneer hymn of the century.  The song was being played by a homeless man; he was using a harmonica, but was getting the most out of the small instrument.  He was very good at playing his musical piece and it set a tone that might have been set some 200 years ago, when the original pioneers came through playing their favorite song as they heard their leader pronounce “this is the place.”  Apparently Brigham Young’s prophecy was very correct because that area is still “their place.”  I wondered what it must be like for that man as he sat, hoping to distract a few of the lords anointed long enough to get a quarter or two an hour.  I bet brigham young’s field workers made more money an hour than that man on temple square.  As I walked the steps to the new conference center I was struck by the oddity of the situation.  I was walking upon holy ground, the ground of the lord, and yet some 100 yards away one of the lords children sat alone, and cold playing a happy song, in an unhappy existence.  As I continued to climb the steps of the conference center my mind took on a financial tone.  How much money did it cost to build this building?  Thousands of dollars?  Tens of thousands?  Hundreds of thousands?  A million?  Ten million dollars perhaps?  I couldn’t be sure after all I get a little overwhelmed when I try to comprehend that much money.  As I neared the top of the conference center and looked down upon the beggar in the lords street I realized how small he looked from where I was standing.  He looked smaller in more ways than one, as I looked down upon him from my perch on top of the lords holy building.  I could barely hear his song as his voice faded out among the busy cars, who were in a hurry to get to some church meeting, as they had work to do for the lord.  He looked so small down there amidst the Mormon landscape that had been built with millions and millions of tithing money.  I looked down at the pavement below and thought about my own smallness in the grand scheme of things.  I wasn’t that much different than the beggar in the street after all we were both trying to find our way in a world filled with big buildings that were the focal point of so many people around us.  As I looked across the way I could see the angel moroni standing tall with his trumpet facing the sky He was the tallest point of the temple and I wondered what that point was that he was standing for?  Then I remembered that I was standing upon the answer and I wondered again how much it all cost.  A million?  Ten million?  A hundred million?  Such figures only blew my mind what kind of things could be built with so much money?  I wondered what the lords child in the street could do with a hundred million dollars?  I wondered what he could do with ten million or one million or maybe a hundred thousand dollars?  What about ten thousand dollars, or one thousand?  I wondered what his eyes would look like if one of the lords servants handed him a one hundred-dollar bill?  I wondered what people could do with all that money?  It would seem kind of silly to just hand it to someone then again I was standing on an empire of stone.  I doubted that the building appreciated the money much, after all it couldn’t talk or walk, it didn’t need a place to stay or a warm mean.  It was just a building, that was built it had no feelings about the money being spent upon it one way or another, still it didn’t stop the people from spending hordes of money upon it’s existence of stone.  As I descended the steps of the lords million dollar building I thought about the message that it must money to all of us.  Money time effort and worship being invested upon a building of stone.  What return could come from spending our energy upon a stone building?  Perhaps it is to appease God after all to let him know that we all worship him but what benefit is that?  Stone steps they were so hard and cold, what kind of god was this building built for anyway?  As I stepped down off the last hard cold unforgiving step of the lords building I heard a voice.  A man standing near the entrance of the stone cold building asked me if I would like to come inside?  I wondered if he had bothered to ask the beggar across the street to come inside?  I wondered if they kept the building warm at night?  I wondered how many people could have slept inside that stone cold building if perhaps it was an emergency such as…being homeless?  I shook my head and declined to go inside the stone cold building.  He nodded his disapproval of my lack of interest, and I went along my way.  As I crossed the street I again felt the twinges or regret that prevented me from even looking the beggar in the eyes.  I noticed that as other people passed by him they too averted their gaze, many of them even sped up their pace.  Some of them were dressed in temple white; they were probably headed to do baptisms for the dead.  For the dead.  Here the streets were filled with the suffering of the living and hordes of the lords people were going to do baptisms for the dead.  I wondered what the definition of insanity was before I boarded the bus and left the most square area in all of America.  As I went to bed that night I snuggled into my sheets, I felt warm and ashamed.  I wondered how many quarters the beggar had earned that day in the lords street, surrounded by billion dollar buildings?  I doubted that he was as warm as I was, perhaps he would freeze to death that night.  If he did freeze to death that night in the street then at least there would be someone who would dress up in white and go into the billion dollar building and perform another baptism for another dead person.  As I drifted off to sleep I wondered what the beggar would think about someone being baptized for him after he was dead?

LIVING #4

DESCRIBE THE MOST MEMORABLE TIME OF YOUR LIFE.  I would say it would have to be right after high school when I spent a year in Brazil as a tourist, I felt the world open up to me.  It was terrific when I got to the point that I could speak Portuguese fluently and really get into the groove of the culture.  I was making great friends.  I got a chance to see the world.  A TIME WHEN YOU FELT THE MOST ALIVE.  I remember one time when I traveled alone to a retreat with our tourist group and I made the decision to stay a few extra days.  I met a girl who invited me to stay at her house for a couple of days.  We traveled to the beach and the guys climbed the trees and gathered coconuts.  It was so simple.  WHEN YOU SENSED THAT YOU WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A PLOT.  Mostly that year I went from a very shy young woman to a woman who seemed able to do just about anything.  I traded most of my clothes to my friends for very cool Brazilian clothing that was very colorful.  I went to a couple of different high schools that year.  I went to a private school in the beginning and a public school the next half of the year.  I really loved having the summer be in December, January and February.  AS THOUGH THE FORCES OF THE UNIVERSE WERE CASCADING TOGETHER IN ORDER TO PART THE WAVES OF POSSIBILITY JUST FOR YOU. My birthday is in February and we spent it on the beach in our skimpy bathing suits ordering cocktails from the vendors at the beach.  The legal age is 18, but they don’t really care how old you are. SO THAT YOU COULD DO EVERYTHING THAT YOU WERE MEANT TO DO.  My host family had a cottage on the beach.  The local teenagers would get together at night and go to different parties.  I even made some of my own friends there.  MEANT TO DO.  The host family also owned a farm in the country.  I got a chance to ride horses and rustle the cattle back home.  The host Mr. Otug used a bullhorn.  It was the first one I had ever seen.  WHEN THE POWERS OF THE HEAVENS GATHERED TOGETHER FOR YOUR PRESENCE AND YOUR PRESENCE ALONE.  When I returned home to Utah my family didn’t really recognize me.  I had different clothing and I was speaking more with my hands. FOR YOUR PRESENCE AND YOUR PRESENCE ALONE.  I even gave everyone shots of pinga (which is sugar cane alcohol.) My grandmother even took part and had a great time.  I must say that I really opened up that year and it got me ready to go away to college the following year.   

-Written by aurora an amazon-

LIVING #5

Words carry the powers of eternal life.

I was recently in a conversation, where a woman told me that I should learn how to find the right words to communicate to her what I was saying, without offending her with a certain type of mood.  My reply back to her was that, it would help if she learned to recognize that not everyone has the same intent just because they might use a certain emotional intensity.  Just because one person is angry and accusatory, that doesn’t mean that everyone, who has anger, uses it to destroy or attack.  My point was that it is important as humans to gain insight into the person with whom we are engaged, to be able to know the messages that they are trying to convey.  After all just as I told this woman whom I was conversing with, even a soft-spoken lovie-dovie voice can be used to manipulate, coheres, lie, and even belittle with demoralization.  Similarly a person who voices anger at the repression, oppression, or complete unequal treatment of a friend, would be doing so out of a personal involvement, or an emotional commitment to the investment of the friends well being and proper treatment.  Their anger would be proof of the level of their concern, and stance in the situation.  Again not all anger is negative red flag quality.  I believe that sort of mind frame is what allows people to be fooled, because it is illusionary to think imagery is based only on behavior, and not what’s beneath the skin.  The problems with this should be obvious, any one with a slick smile, and a false charm, can work their way into the lives of those who soon learn they have been doped, and misled.  We will never get beyond the surface of pretense, if we do not all start learning how to see into another human being.  For below all words, moods, emotion, and communication, lies the root of human intent.  Or rather it is in the roots where the heart lays, or lies, or lasers into the heart of another, to connect far deeper than the social protocols, and personal identifications.  It is on this level that such things as treachery, and betrayal arise.  It is also on this level that loyalty, and understanding take us places within the universe of another being. 

I have come to believe through my own experiences in trying to reach people on this level, that the emotions, moods, and disorders that arise do so out of their own spontaneity, and should not be sequestered into a corner, or smoothed over into a more comfortable mood.  I think by trying to communicate only in a “kind” or “gentle” tone what we are really asking for is to be pacified by being fed only what we are comfortable with.  In short we are asking to be doped yet again.  Only by allowing our emotions of anger, frustration, and disillusionment to come forth with all their unpleasantness and sophistication’s, can we ever hope to get to the bottom of where such roots reside. 

If these emotions belong to every human being, then it becomes paramount to allow them to spring forth in whatever form or fashion they need, in order to be heard and expressed.  After all even the ugly stepchild has a story to tell.  I think the key here is realizing that it isn’t THAT these emotions, moods, or words exist, rather it is HOW these emotions, moods, and words are expressed.  In other words it is the intent, behind the scenes that matter, or more specifically it is the intent that creates the scene itself.  The intent in the mind of the specific person, that is what matters, that is what we should be trying to find out, for it is the reality of what is going on. 

If in someone’s mind they are knowingly sweet talking someone so that they can find a female parking lot, to park their male vehicle then the defining image or the bottom intent is nothing more than an impersonal, disassociated penile crux.  A reverse example would be that of someone yelling and screaming obscenities, only that they might defend or at least convince a friend that they are being doped by a sweet talking liar.  The bottom image, or the root intent in this case would be that of a human statue of dignity, an alter of loyalty where one kneels in respect for the other.  In these two cases the moods, emotions, and intent were completely different.  Yet society in general will fall head over heels time and time again for the pretty petty liar.  While kicking the friend’s head in with our high heels, simply because they spoke the ugly truth. 

We should all be ashamed or our idioticy!  To a large extent the abused and violated deserve what they are getting, simply because they refuse to look more closely at what they are seeing.  To a pair of rose colored glasses, there needs to come, a fist to the face, in order to break the illusions and allow us to see, with a sight void of contraceptive vision. 

So that was my initial response to the woman who openly admitted the wisdom that I was offering her.  It would have been a lot easier for me to promise sugar coats next time, but I told her that I refused to curb my own emotional intensity.  It also would have been easier for her to get mad at me, for not trying to placate her in an atmosphere of calm reflective over simplicity.  If we can only handle a Buddha under the tree with palms outstretched in objective detached observational advice.  Then we will be missing out on the intense inner involvement that only comes by allowing oneself to become completely immersed in anthers thoughts, feelings, and extremities.  We can’t have in-tamacy through out-away-from-thee. 

Even though that was my initial response I thought some more about what she said in the beginning.  In fact I thought a great deal more about what she said in the beginning:  “Find the right words, to tell me what you are really trying to say.”

The more I thought about it, the more an entirely new set of possibilities opened up in my mind.  What if she was right?  What if we were both right?  Could there be the right words, without repressing any spontaneous emotional stimuli?  And what about the idea of there being just the right words?  After all I would be the first to denounce that intent is everything.  If a blunted, ogre, thick skulled and dense as he is, were to perform a delicate operation without any anesthesia, or training, upon a wounded deer.  Then I seriously doubt the deer would care two cents about his “good honest” intent as he whacked, and cut, and oops-ie daisied his way through a thwarted and carnage covered operation. 

To the literalist intent is nothing more than a complete reduction, reducible to an ego centered stance, where the mono-centric ideal plows it’s way bull-headedly forward, thick skull and all, missing signs, and ignoring the response of others. 

There must be a mutual relation, where the insight is equal to the intent given and intended.  It is just as fool hearty to say that one’s wishes are best for the other, as it is too naively believe the another wishes well for us, without taking any consideration of their sign’s into account.  There must be another ground where the intent of one, is seen in clarity with the light of the intended.

In that case would it not be possible for a person to have entered the world with a pre-ordained set of “the right words?”  Could it be possible to discover the “right words” and utter them at the right time, and in the right way, so as to elicit the right response? 

Indeed I have spent the better part of my life trying and searching for the right words, to open people up to another realm of possibility’s and existence.  If people come with their own set of “right words” then it would become a matter of knowing, rather than a matter of saying.  No two situations would ever be alike; no two moments would ever have the same effect.  Every person would hear, and respond differently, and only one person could ever be reached through the resonance of their very own singular set of, “the right words.”  Their words would be right for them and for them alone.  Only they could be ever effected by the words that were meant and intended for them.  The right words for one, would not be the right words for another.  And the right words for one would be the only words that would be just right and only right for them.  It would then be a matter of knowing, or rather discovering which words were the keys, to which set of specific ears.  There would not be textbook, or any method or pattern, nor any proper mood, nor any proper emotion.  Instead there would the right words, and the words that only they could hear. 

But if there were pre-ordained words then perhaps the words would choose the emotion, the mood, the setting, and the patterns or methods.  Where they could be evoked and uttered, like angels descending from the clouds, then these right words would only come forth at the right time.  This would seem to make sense; after all I have met so many people who seemed entirely incapable of hearing anything at all.  So if there ever were the right words, they would be lost on the person who was constantly in the wrong place and the wrong time.  They would be oppositional to their own pre-prescribed words.  And how dangerous a world that would be, a world where we could no longer hear, the very words that were meant for us to change our lives?  It would be the sort of world where angels no longer existed.  Indeed if words carry the powers of conviction like angels, then our being closed of to words, would be the same as our being closed of to angels in heaven.  After all, even in biblical stories the first response of an angel was to speak.  A vision does not begin until the first words are uttered from the angelic lips.  And each angel did come forth for a specific reason, they came as messengers to guide and instruct.  And how did these angels instruct but by the words that they uttered!  Did not angels of long ago make themselves know by the words in which they spoke, to a specific person, who must have been in the right place at the right time, in order to hear the right words that only they could hear?  How terrifying for us then, if we ever cease to be effected by words. 

Perhaps then this is where universal fantasy’s of judgement day come in.  For are we not in our fantasy’s brought before a bar, to be judged for our words and our deeds? (Intent?)  And how is this judgement given in our lucid fantasies?  Is it not given through the utterance of words?  We are condemned by words, for our words, and with our words.  Is it not the fantasy image of a god who will give utterance to the dreaded words: “You are going to hell!”  How powerful are words?  It is not a fist or a knife that will usher us into the gates of heaven or hell; rather it is the power of words that will send us up or down, forever and ever. 

Could it be that we are given our decree through words, because of the words we speak?  Is it possible that only our words will live on, after we are dead?  Who does not remember kind or harsh words that were spoken 20 or 30 years ago?  And who does not recall the euphoria words can cause, as well at the dread that words can bring?  Clearly the words of a judgement day are enough to carry the powers of eternity simply by being spoken.  Does this then not suggest a deeper meaning?  If were are exhaulted or damned based upon words, then does not that seem to imply that our lives are based upon our words which we speak and hear?  If we come with a set of per-ordained words, that can only touch our hearts, or words that only we can speak to touch another’s heart.  Then it would only make sense those same words will be the ones spoken back to us on our day of reckoning.  Whether or not we listened to our own words, whether or not we spoke with our own words.  It could well be said from a philosophical standpoint, that we do indeed become our words.  The words that we were born with, the words that we were meant to say, those could very well be the words waiting for us when we die.  For if we do not listen to another’s words, then how can we ever hope, to know or remember our own?  If we as a society become numbed to the words we say and hear, then we are much like an ogre clumsily and stupidly performing surgery upon an injured deer.  (A deer that we ourselves injured?)  We will be as snow white, dense, dumb, and naïve to the poisonous apple, cluelessly taking a bite, simply because someone told us to.  If we do not allow words to effect us, we can know neither ourselves, nor can we know another.  For it is not the words themselves, rather it is the autonomous powers that they carry within them.  Truly if we do not understand words, or the way that words effect us, then we will be as sleeping zombies, snoring ignorantly away, while the angels cry out above us, as they utter words of inspiration, stimulation, and exhalation that we are incapable of hearing.