Centers

There's a place inside myself where I go when I want to be safe. It used to be a lake, perfectly frozen with no time passing. The deer on the opposite shore always posed exactly the same, no ripples on the water, the trees blown by a wind that could no longer be felt. Then it'd start to rain, the first drop falling slowly to the lake near where I sat and creating a series of concentric rings. The deer would stare for a minute, then run away, and I'd be sitting on a wet hillside overlooking a lake during the storm. Eventually, the rain would stop, birds would come out, and the wind would die down. Very soothing, but also very sad.

That died more than six months ago. I can still go back, but the image is becoming more grayscale, not that it had much color to begin with. Slate gray lake, graybrown bare trees, brown deer, very light green grass, gray dead leaves.

The new place is much more alive. Less soothing, but more beautiful. I don't want to describe it in much detail while it's still my quiet place. It's a redwood forest. That much I feel okay saying. It's a wonderful place to have.

I have no idea why I wrote all this down, but it seems to be important so I'll leave it alone.

The Dance

Yes, life's a dance and we're all part of it.

But it's not about being ornamental. It's not about the pretty shapes we make, or the twirls or the dresses. It's not about how well you dance, who you dance with.

The only thing that matters to the dance is the dance, and that it goes on. And it goes on automatically. So don't think about the dance. Really.

Okay, so if you really want, you can choose a partner once in a while.

But still. Just keep doing whatever. Life will go on. The dance will continue to be breathtakingly marvelous. It really doesn't matter.

Oh, and since I'm in a strange mood today, remember to wear sunscreen.



On a more serious note, my main issue with the dance is how what we call dancing is so pathetic-seeming in comparison. But I already wrote a poem about that rant, so I'm going to stop now. If you really want to, you can read A History Best Forgotten. But it's nonsensical and depressing, and I have no idea what the title means.

Thoughts on thoughts3

Finally feeling mostly better, and got around to making this blog look slightly less hideous. Must remind self to learn how to make it nicer, though. Can't be bothered right now.

Thought focus for the remainder of this entry will be deterioration of symbolism and superstition in current phase.

I've been noticing that things that used to have a great deal of symbolic importance to me don't anymore. The sun shines on the flowers, I look out the window, think, "that's pretty," and go back to whatever I'm doing. Halloween was just fun and getting candy and being out with friends while it was dark, no sense of All Hallows' at all. Friday the 13th was much the same as any other Friday, albeit a very pleasant one.

Last year, there were times when seeing the sun shine on the flowers was enough to pull me out of really dark depressions. Halloween felt sickly and dangerous the whole time, and Friday 13 August 2004 and Friday 13 May, 2005 will forever be embedded in my mind.

So obviously, something has changed. My old symbolisms are no longer relevant, except for the ones that have always been relevant (and a little voice in my mind says "We have always been at war with Eurasia"). That was really confusing punctuation. I think I got it wrong. Moving on.

I guess I'm just developing new symbolisms and they're less superstition-based than the old ones. Not at all a bad thing, though the sun shining on the flowers was a really cool symbolism to have. Paper cranes are a pretty awesome replacement, so I guess I don't mind too much.

I should get some lunch. Eating regular meals is goood.

Rebirth

My life goes through phases. I've been mapping the cycles of joy and sorrow for years, now. That's just the most basic of cycles. There are others I map; hormones, biorythms, mental forms. There are bigger ones, which last too long to map. There are cycles so long they contain entire lives. I've just started a new one.

For the basic cycles, this means almost nothing. The joy-sorrow is restarted from calm joy. The biorythms are still in their winter patterns. For the mental forms, it means more. Last phase, Lynx was in ascent. I was very sexual, annoyingly so. Lynx went into hiding at that death, several months ago, leaving a period of confused stasis. Now, something calling eirself Angelis Lunaris is rising. Almost non-sexual, but really really physical. Too delicate for this world, really, which cannot end well.

The fall of any angel-type is horrible. Hopefully, there will be one or two people to see em through it. Ey keeps pushing people away, says ey's keeping away from harmful bonds. This looks like it'll be a strange life.

To be devoted to healing ourself and writing. I promise.

As for all the ey's used to refer to Angelis Lunaris (ey really needs a nickname), ey's a completely non-sexual being and has no gender.

Random Thought

People collected enough to ask 'who am I?' already know the answer. Maybe just subconsiously, but still... Not knowing is complete disconnection from reality, from everything.

And the music must keep playing. While it plays, I don't have to think/worry.

Thoughts on thoughts2

Too much going on in my head right now to bother with a topic. Just need to writ stuff down.

I'm getting really avoidant. I just can't let myself get into arguements anymore, ever. If I'm angry at someone, I avoid them, lie to them and say it's fine, or act sarcastic enough that they stop talking to me. I never let myself be direct, do anything I can think of to avoid conflict. It's not working. I just am terrified of changing it.

If this were in the journal I use for personal mental notes, I'd write down that I should change it.

I know that's the case because that's how things work for me. If I find a problem with how my mind is working, I write down 'I should change this' and send the thought into my mind. My subconsious deals with whatever-it-is and I move on. The fixes often aren't very good, though. It's strange to hear people complaining about how they wish they could change the way they thought about certain things. Thought is completely controlable. Anything mental is. I don't know how I'd stand it if that weren't true.

I don't want to be writing anymore now. I have other things I want to write about, but I don't want to actually type them. Inside of my head is too noisy.

Thoughts on thoughts1

This is an exploration of the way I think. I hope to do them fairly regularly. No goal, no structure. Start with a notice* and work from there.

Today, starting with 'when I dream, buildings go down instead of up.' I hadn't noticed that until I was describing this dream about a giant department store/library to someone. In the dreams, it seems perfectly natural. You enter the store on the ground level, or sometimes above ground level if the streets are above ground level (which has been known to happen in my dreams) and go down to the second floor. Usually by way of an old wooden staircase. Since the rooms are underground, there are no windows, but there's plenty of light from lamps and such. It's slightly warm light, but not as yellow as the music room is currently. Nevermind, that's only the library, which makes sense.

Anyway, I automatically think that way. One reason could be that I like being underground. That's true, but doesn't really explain much. It feels so weird to be interpreting my dreams this way, like something my mother would do. Mostly, though her explanations make a lot of sense. Another theory, one I've been working with lately, is that I like to think in the opposite direction from most people. If civilization is going forwards, if most peoples' thoughts move forwards, mine move backwards. I wrote a poem about it for extra credit on a math test, but that poem sucks.

This has deteriorated into the sort of thing I don't post even more quickly than expected. Maybe I'll post it anyway. It certainly shows lots about my thought process. Written as close to stream-of-consiousness as I get. You can't show all the colors and textures of emotion in writing anyway.

*the colored words in this journal are used to indicate a word used with a meaning differing at least slightly from it's standard usage. A notice is an observation.