Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Power. Pride. Joy. Passion. Candid musings, sometimes irreverent, deeply soulful, ever honest, and uniquely mine...
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Lookout
Virtually any link with humanity brings the sweetness of another point of view. Ageless. A continual climb in delight and anticipation. A pause. Then silence. A moment to allow intensity and passion, precipice and trial, irony and infamy, opportunity to mull conjecture, discard unnecessary opinion, and then release what would not serve growth, self, others. It's to inhale perspective, absorb compassion, step into empathy, and then exhale grace.
Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Living Joy - This Carman Girl
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Breathless
I am a dandelion of a thousand wishes, scattered by the exhilarating winds of belief and hope: planting seeds, creating yields, living high off the uninhibited oxygen of change.
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Storms
I am forever sighing over the disparity between green and gold, lush and parched, bitterness and love, to find that really, such are truly about the everyday, keen, defined, passionate and opinionated elements of personal conviction. It's a stalwart belief system that is juxtaposed against a world so steeped in subversive natural behaviors that it makes me refuse all the more to yield to the dark matter of abysmal influence or broken humanity.
Having said that, though, candid transparency would find myself caught up within an exhale of breath, lost within reflection as to the fickle transience of mortal posturing - personal stasis, marketed rights, collective cries, social positioning or otherwise - and how all of it is simply a ceaseless (and senseless) noise that ultimately masks the authenticity of being. It's self-actualization disdained and well-being denied in favor of short term highs and flimsy excuses.
It's because of this that my thoughts come full circle to the articulation and presence of active integrity and its perfect set-point of cause and effect, truth and consequence. Truth and justice ring, and ring often -- at least in my world (wry smiles). It's as if the contents of a beaker hit a boiling point and finally escape the glass: perfect heat, prime components, and a completion so profound that it must wait upon the punctuation of timing and fruition, granting honor to the process, and steadfastly seeking truth and knowledge over notoriety and pain.
A certain pause.
A confluence of expectation and intent that meets redirection and contemplation to evaluate the results: personal allowance, value, conditions, ideals, outlook, recognition.
Change.
And it's here that my heartbeat increases. Flips. And butterflies flutter throughout my chest and up into my throat until finally it stills and resumes its natural rhythm.
So many times, I feel a warning tremor before a cause roars up within me. Sometimes, I rage against the machine; sometimes, I rage for a machine I would create. And yet, just beyond the edges of emotional hysteria and an unleashed tempest of feeling, tendrils of sensibility whisper along my synapses, bringing me back down and into the fallacy of even my own mortal idiocy. I am then pulled into the vortex of personal soapbox contradictions to find myself in marked introspection and scrupulous dissection, immediately intent upon seeking correction from any uncomfortable interaction, difficulty, or contention.
My husband knows this of me - intimately so, and loves me all the more. For this, I am grateful, humbled, and thankful. I am sensitivity personified - day in, and day out. Literally, I'm unable to shut out light or sound, song or emotion, charged electricity, or physical awareness. Inevitably, we'll be driving along a road to some-odd important destination, and I'll be so transfixed by the scenery that it steals my soul and sends me into mind-bending conjugations of all sorts of things. It's nature so alluring that it enslaves me into a beguiled state of earnest pleasure and oh-so-much introspection. And just when I think I can formulate a thought process that could both exclaim my joy and audibly offer credence to my ruminations, my tentative verbal expression gets cut short as the phrasing in my head meets my lips all at once.
Laughs.
Oh, how I love these drives. Oh, how I love even the mundane jaunts to the grocery store. Perhaps I am carried back to childhood and the first mesmerizing experience of seeing the world whir by from the bucket seat of a 1973 Ford LTD station wagon. Oh, how I love the trees and cars, clouds and earth, deer and flowers, craggy rocks and the speed of sound. These invigorate my spirit and fire up my soul. I am transported to another paradigm, one that breaks the monotony of an ordinary continuum and gifts me with exhilarating reminders of the sweetness of creation.
I am refreshed, energized, and given over to the simple, but wonderful. And just when I'm about to unload my soul in a torrential downpour over some kind of something that has sparked my notice, somehow, my husband already connects and knows. And he smiles with a warmth of love and amusement that mixes with his intimate knowledge of me. He'll glance over at me, and with a slight tease to his voice, remark, "Let me, guess - 'the juxtaposition of.... '" And I'll stop short, caught within exasperation, laughter, and the need to express all the garbled thoughts in my head begging for release.
This man "gets" me, and I feel his heart slide into mine. Oh, how he knows me and my spontaneous silly self! No apologies. No excuses. I am a child who was born and raised upon Errol Flynn, swash-buckling pirate movies in black and white, and every Cary Grant movie known to man. I am a girl who has become woman, but somehow wishes to set up residence at a Warner Bros back-lot set, circa 1947. I am intensely feminine - almost to excess, and yet I'm intent upon honing my skills, positively feed upon intelligence, and voraciously soak up information with an insatiable appetite for more.
I'm in love with everything that is scarred, but vulnerable; intelligent, yet seeking; perceptive, and yet open; and defiant as much as rebellion might be. I am. In totality. And to get me, is to take on much.
I wish the world could see through the lenses of simplicity. I wish that the haze of competition and clogged ambition would come out of the blur of contention and smog to see its own wide-angle web-cam of marked irrelevance. In my wildest dreams I would bask in the bliss of miles and miles of acreage that would buffer such confusion and leave me to the glory of wide blue skies, blossoming foliage, acres of terrain and untainted oxygen. What more could a woman want than a Steinway Grand (okay, indulge me!) gracing a modest library, a barnyard filled with several chickens, goats, and other life-serving lovelies, a garden that could produce season, upon season, and horses to ride with the wind at my back.
I wish the world could see through the lenses of simplicity. I wish that the haze of competition and clogged ambition would come out of the blur of contention and smog to see its own wide-angle web-cam of marked irrelevance. In my wildest dreams I would bask in the bliss of miles and miles of acreage that would buffer such confusion and leave me to the glory of wide blue skies, blossoming foliage, acres of terrain and untainted oxygen. What more could a woman want than a Steinway Grand (okay, indulge me!) gracing a modest library, a barnyard filled with several chickens, goats, and other life-serving lovelies, a garden that could produce season, upon season, and horses to ride with the wind at my back.
Mmmmm...
Life untethered and oh, so alive.
And, yes. I would still wear an apron. With ruffles. And, yes, there would still be curls. And yes, I would still wear lipstick. And yes, my blood would continue to pulse with the same intensity as it does now as to the pursuit of life, truth, outlook, and substance. And, yes! My stubborn self would seek over-achieving even until my mortal demise. And, oh...
I am carried away. Again.
I suppose in all of these musings that I wish the world could see passed the proverbial snapchat filters of every kind: behaviors and conditions that would choose to circumvent powerful contentment and the sanctity of self to vie for the precariousness of artificial validation and tenuous positioning. I wish that such insidious constraints could be seen for what they are as to their direct participation in the desecration of selves, relationships, families, ideals, communities. Home.
I wish the world would cease to worship the idolatry of comparison; to recognize it as the disingenuous invitation it surely is - an illness and malignancy of envy that confounds growth in a blindness that would seal its fate into a damning abyss of discontent and subsequent depression. I wish the world could see this. And see it clearly.
And for all of this, I suppose I will always be my own storm. I will always champion joy and love, happiness and faith, and the absolute tenets of self-worth. What I know to be true is that we either live in this world, exhausting ourselves in and out of fear and hardship through an outlook that struggles for validation; or we live our lives having already assumed the sanctity of personal creation, fully giving over to the individually endowed strengths, weakness, and talents we are graced with, to concentrate our precious time alive in the pursuit of building others.
There is money gained and lost from the former while there are dividends and a multiplicity of wealth in a variety of ways gathered from the latter. When we seek ourselves, we are lost; when we lose ourselves, we come alive and step into a powerful realm of being.
Creation is.
And it sings its song through every tempest.
Rise with it.
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Bedtime Stories
Releasing ego is to relinquish the need for one-ups-man-ship in any relationship. It is the absolute key to truth, peace, prosperity, love, and even legacy. And, though for a variety of reasons - whether from personal history, hardship, emotions, circumstances - none of us are immune to sometimes unbecoming bouts of ego and/or momentary displays of desperate inadequacy.
Peace is peace; it is gentle and entreating - patiently standing by, waiting for notice. It offers an open-ended invitation to abide within the halls of unconditional love, where vulnerability and meekness can rise above insecurity and weakness.
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