ive had a pretty tortured relationship with males my whole life. though i didnt really have any trouble in my own personal relationships, in retrospect its so obvious that the few relationships i did form were basically superficial in nature and short in duration.i think i was always scared of putting myself in because i secretly always feel every relationship is doomed for failure. really, when i look back i realize ive been doing it my whole life. i often find so much security in superficiality…an empty security, like living in a concrete high-rise everyday for the rest of my life. so many of the relationships i formed were just that…maximum security concrete high-rises. even in a gilded cage, you can still breathe. i live in the middle of a circle of damaged relationships…theyre strewn all around me – im surprised i ever believed id make it out unscathed. growing up with a father like mine changed the mechanics of my emotions. whenever he got upset, he would give us the silent treatment..sometimes for days. hed get mad sometimes and break something, or yell and go back to the silent treatment. any tense situation, from packing for the cottage to dealing with a death, was always met with more tension. the weight we felt as a family was compounded by the weight being imposed by my father. as bad as this was, my fathers violence was only ever emotional, and mental i guess, though ive never understood the distinction..but as bad as this was, outside of my family wasnt any better and was sometimes much worse.

the families we knew as i was growing up were always damaged. men always seemed to be these angry and domineering figures that commanded the house and made everyone feel tense and unhappy. though i never heard of any physical violence, every male i knew was so emotionally abusive….full of arrogance, and anger..as if the only way to prove their fortitude was by imposing tension with an iron rule on the people they were supposed to love most. the women always talked about it..sitting around the table and drinking a coffee as my young mind went in circles trying to understand what was happening and why things were like that. but why they were like that in the grand scheme of things, though in much simpler terms – children have a beautiful way of seeing things for what they really are…and at that age, it seemed to me that it was something so fundamental, and should have been so simple – to love and be loved….that i could never understand why men were so emotionally/verbally violent…and why the women talked, and only ever talked. they all talked about how bad it was, how unhappy they were, how they couldnt bear it any longer and didnt know what to do about the children. there were usually children, children rendered shy and small and so fragile after bearing the weight of so much tension, but also just waiting to be given the chance to bloom out of the damage.

its difficult for me to understand what a healthy relationship with a male should look like when my own father didnt provide a good example. my father is a man who really had no business having children, because he was and likely still is more interested in other pursuits. i dont blame him, i dont really blame anyone who is more interested in one thing than another….but i do believe in responsibility..in respect…in love sometimes…even in admiration on good days.

as i was driving home today i kept wondering why i was shaking, why the days events had bothered me so much…why i felt outwardly and inwardly shaky…and uncertain, and as if everything was wrong with the world. i experienced a situation today that was like shrapnel to my emotions and was so shocking, and hurtful and powerful that i felt it long before the thoughts even registered. it felt so jagged, and made my insides feel so small….and brought back so many of those old feelings i havent felt for years. it reminded me of my dad…but was so much worse. the only reason i realized what happened is because i recognized those old familiar feelings..and then i remembered seeing the bruise on her wrist.

————–

this is so bad..i should be working… for school that is…school work. yeah, its like im working for the school…and its not even ironic anymore…that is, not incongruous…thats probably the worst part..the worst of the worst.

a breath’s context, defiant

evolution fears gods hurried, ignoble judgment |

knowing, limits moments nowhere

only pastimes |

quietly rest, salvations today

undermine view-worlds exalting yesterdays zenith.

———-

this was a great exercise.

i still want to write though, so shakiness and dreariness aside, that i will do.

i havent had much exposure to children in quite a few years, ever since i myself was a child. suffice it to say that my field of vision prevented me from seeing ‘children’ at that age and registered only other like minded individuals who shared my world view and my interests. in my early 20s, i was the last child born in our immediate family, until our baby m was born in july. my grandmother and grandfather had 3 children. the first born was a girl (my mother), the middle child a boy (uncle bebi in constanta)..and the youngest by almost 20 years another girl..baby m’s mother and my aunt ni. baby m, though shes still so young and im not sure if shed be characterized as a ‘child’ per se, or still just a young developing baby, has already developed quite a defined personality to my amazement.

baby m is very loving. when i walked into the apartment yesterday and saw her roll up in her rolly chair, i smiled a wide smile and was met with one in return. baby m recently learned how to put her arms out to people so they will pick her up , because she loves nothing more than to be held. when she put her arms up and i turned away to go wash my hands before picking her up as is the norm, she burst into tears and didnt stop until i rushed out to take her from ni. as soon as i held her she put her little hands on my cheeks and touched her forehead to mine and squeezed as hard as her little body allows her to. ive never had a hug form a baby before, and i know that for a long time to come i will be able to turn to that memory for comfort if times of need should arise. later in the day baby m was laying on the bed between her mother and me, and was persistent in rolling herself onto her stomach and towards me. somehow she traveled almost half a foot on the bed, shimmying and moving the best way she knew how to get closer to the affection she craves. baby m shows affection with no ulterior motive, no preconceptions, no hesitation or doubt. she holds someone dear simply because she feels love that is all encompassing, not her giving and someone receiving…but just existing and feeling without adding words as moderators. its the words that can cause confusion later on.

whitmans had the cosmos in his mind. his sense let him experience life deeply, while his freedom of mind let him convey those experiences and sentiments. in a few simple words he encompassed all of the sentiments i tried to communicate in my last post, and the sentiments i want to communicate in this one; ‘a child said, what is the grass?’

i wonder if the thought just happened to cross his mind one day or one night or one afternoon, as a result of something else he was pondering or looking at, or if there really was the grass that caused the child to ask him the question that could not be answered. whatever the origins of these words, either starting through the event as an external influence, or starting with the sentiment itself from the internal, it doesnt take away from the admiration i have for his ability to extrapolate such a complex sentiment from a seemingly simple interchange, or alternatively his ability to encompass such a complex sentiment or group of sentiments in such simple words. children dont come with human constructs; they dont come with an understanding of human history or science, or religion or any other concepts with human origins. telling a child about chlorophyll and the biological makeup of grass doesnt answer the question, but brings up many more. explaining what the grass is isnt really explaining what the grass is. this is the key, this is why we should take more time to learn from children. children have no sense of biology and the purpose of vegetation, or of rainfall and the hydrologic cycle…these are words and names used to explain the world. these words dont answer the question of what the grass is, they just explain a sense of function, but the function cannot be confused with the purpose..a purpose that is inextricably linked to the purpose of the rest of the world in a myriad of diverse ways. a child asks what the grass is, not what it does. where does it come from? why does it grow? but why? but why? at the end of this line of questioning, why does it grow, but why do we need it, but what is life, why does it live and why do we live, we find an opening to another dimension of questions. this simple questioning of the nature of grass can be expanded to a questioning of the nature of the entire universe and our place in it. children, in their beautifully unbiased, untainted and genuine way ask us questions that we cannot answer. we cannot answer these questions because we are only addressing superficial elements of the real questions. how can i tell a child what the grass is without recalling the entire of human history, the forward march of science, and the shadowy past of uncertainty. children see the loose ends in the human constructs used to explain the nature of existence in the simplest and purest way, and are usually left more confused when questions yield bigger questions, especially in light of our inability as adults to answer these questions.

the love of children is remarkable in its authenticity because it doesnt come from human invention, but springs forth by itself unaided and with no preconceptions or agenda or scope, just like the grass. the purest most essential of sentiments exist in the grass and in the love of a child because these things are a few of the only things that exist untouched, uninfluenced and unchanged by the hand of man…but can just as easily be spoiled or tainted or otherwise defiled by the interference of a malicious and damaging unnatural force; the unfolding of nature doe not intend for human parents to neglect their children, or for the grass to stop growing, these things are unnatural. im not sure if the question of purpose can be answered, though i think many people in many places are already on that quest, but i do know that the love of a child is another thing, along with the natural world, that i believe in wholeheartedly and have unquestioning faith in because these things do not come with any preconditions aside from the processes and actions that nature intended of the world. in ‘gone with the wind’, a character describes children as ‘life renewing itself’. children and grass are a natural renewing of life; some of the very few certainties in a world increasingly influenced by humans and human constructs, for the better or the worst. these are the most basic elements of life, the most essential sentiments; these simplest, most pure of pleasures are where my religion exists because it is in these things that we find not ideas of our own invention, but the truth spoken by the hand of nature.

the concept is the mental combination of all the characteristics of the idea, the image is the mental representation we make of the concept.in trying to grasp the magnitude of such an enormous idea as god, i think people frequently condense everything, whether knowingly or unknowingly, into the image, or mental representation (white hair, looks like an older jesus, divine halo etc.), and the concept, or the group of characteristics associated with god (kind, or alternatively vengeful, wise beyond comprehension, all knowing etc).

god is an idea. i mean this with the utmost respect. from the dictionary, an idea is

“any conception existing in the mind as a result of mental understanding, awareness, or activity”

whether that means divine revelation from the angel jibril to muhammad the prophet, or revelation to the early christians through jesus christ, or simply one’s own internally arising, independently formed, most essential feelings regarding god. whatever the case may be, god is an idea because it arises in the mind, whether through awareness and understanding of forces outside oneself that one has considered, analyzed and approved (even if its just one step to say ‘yes, i believe’, unquestioning faith takes approval too), or through internal manifestations developed solely through one’s own mind.

its more difficult to think of god without compartmentalizing the idea into specific mental categories like the combined characteristics of a concept or a mental image. i can see now how i easily mistook that man for god that night.

whatever else went through my mind at that moment is lost forever because somehow, despite the busy coffee shop serving many drive thru customers (resulting in many cars zipping by), and the moderately sized intersection near by, that one random, misplaced, and seemingly insignificant thought took precedence over all else in the chaotic swirl that is mine and everyone else’s perpetually broadcasting internal monologue. that was when this all started, the written part at least -from that point backward (or forward) it all started to make sense.

i see god in nature.when i was a child i once told my grandmother that i looked to the moon to see god.she immediately admonished me in her dutiful and adherent way; ‘este păcat’ she said. its a sin. old romanian superstition says that looking at the moon is back luck, to say nothing of seeing god in the moon. i think those early exposures to god and religion with my grandmother were what turned me away from the idea of god for so long. though now many years later i respect and understand my grandmother’s unquestioning and unwavering faith, growing up with a keenly inquisitive nature and having almost all of my religious exposure coming from her made it extremely difficult for me to reconcile the idea of god on my own terms. i always asked her questions. why do we have to go to church, why do we have to cross, why do we believe in the evil eye, and many other things that, to my young and naive mind, just didnt seem to add up.

i got a bit older and had a similar experience when i learned about the centuries old controversies and debates regarding science and religion, though not understanding what the two really had to do with each other. couldnt god have made all of the interactions and processes that we have ‘discovered’ and colletively call ‘science’? we invented the word ‘science’ and the representation, but we didnt invent the collective of findings, we discovered them. couldnt god have orchestrated for all life forms on earth to coexist in the exact ways that they do? the timeline seemed to flow in the opposite direction from where i thought it would flow. science was and is still taken for granted as something older than god, but the representation and the word are newly invented human categories and concepts. if one is to truly understand the idea of god, in any faith, then one has to try to reconcile loose ends on their own terms and in good faith, rather than immediately dismissing anything that doesn’t fit mental constructs or their holy books. science is a word that defines empirically tested and proven facts, but why do those facts have to necessarily predate god? couldnt god have been smart enough to think all of this up? why cant evolution exist along with god? maybe it doesn’t say it in the bible, but maybe the bible is allegory and should be interpreted and used to help, not to hinder.

its probably fear that makes us more comfortable with concrete categories and rules. there would be sheer pandemonium if we stepped out of the human created story of god for one second to really look at life unfolding around us and see the miraculous, incredible, indescribable nature of life.

now, years later and only beginning to address the issue of my own faith, i dont see much of a difference from my childhood self and dont blame myself for wondering why the loose ends didnt make sense; both in terms of the loose ends themselves (all the unanswered questions i had), and in my recognition of the fact that there is nothing wrong (and everything right) with questioning. the outward expressions of faith are beautiful and do serve their purpose, but only insofar as they are expressions of the inward faith..and not elements of a concept or an image that are being adhered to strictly on the basis of tradition or ritual. a church, or a mosque, or a temple are beautiful places for collective expressions of faith through the gathering of the community, but if ones faith is better served in private, then the outward manifestations shouldnt take precedence over the inward and most true, most real, most essential sentiments, thoughts, feelings and faith that sometimes cant be expressed outwardly in any capacity.

i still see god in the moon, and in the trees, and in the sky each day and night. i see god in nature because everything else around me, even the words i use to describe these thoughts, are human constructs. the grass grows by itself out of the earth year after year. why is it a sin to think that maybe the moon was put into orbit by god, and that maybe god exists in the beauty of the sun. because maybe these things are the only tangible, visible reminders we have that the mysterious world we find ourselves existing in cannot be questioned with the same language and thought processes that we customarily use to question everyday issues we deal with in our lives. i believe in and am in agreement with most of the ideas we collectively refer to as science, but that still doesnt answer the deeper questions. i dont care anymore why we cross (because in the bible it says jesus died on the cross for the sins of humanity, crossing oneself or wearing a cross are a reminder of the sacrifice he made), why we go to church (community) or why we believe in the evil eye (likely a remnant of pagan tradition left over after the roman empire switched, somewhat haphazardly, from paganism to christianity). im not interested in those things because those things were invented by us, they are constructs with a human history and origin. we didnt create the moon, and despite the tremendous knowledge to come from science, people still look up at the moon in awe. at least i do…and im certain other people must. i look at the grass in awe, and at the sky on beautiful blue days, or cloudy days. i always see god in the rain too. i see god in these things, not in the bible or in a church, because these are the only things that dont have a human origin. the desperatey beautiful way we use our senses to fully experience the world are not concepts or constructs. to smell, to taste, to see, to hear and to touch are the most essential of feelings, and feeling, thought and perception are where god exists. this is all speculative, and quite new to me. ive been trying to reconcile my faith for years and though im not sure if this is a declaration of faith or a dismissal of faith, if god exists for me its in the feeling of being permanently and utterly at the mercy of the enormous unknown when one looks at something as simple as the grass and cannot even begin to explain what it is.

walt whitman wrote…

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?

whos in charge here?

honey its money

farming saves my field home but who mails letters anymore?

can i write you a letter? will you write me one back?

including the postage

they think i look bad in me, but a letter would change all that.

im so very restless in polyester turquoise

only a viridian hue can change that

but on the outside, its real

for water to filter through tree canopies

grass is my god, the sea is my scene

left long ago

attractive features?

its the shadow of your stance, the way you look out of your eyes

its not the pieces

can you live with me outside?

my inside needs to get out..its the middle i hate

the middle i cant take because it tries to control me

will you offer me an apple, is that such a sin?

can i offer you a peach from my skin to your skin

moss id like to step on, the carpet in my endless home

trees are my pillars, branches my floors

i want to sleep in the trees, on moss and with leaves

im so glad youre here

they dont really want me to think

not really.

where do they even come from?..or go to

everytime i step away from the writing or i allow myself to get one step closer to teh real world outside my mind i lose it… if i think about it too much the door closes and i cant make out the htoughts anymore because im confused by dozens of different words straining to capture infinity. just words define thoughts that escape definition? sometimes the words i write seem liek trite and cliche phrases taken out of a bad novel….sometimes i feel that once the translation has been made from thought to word all im left with are the words made to look lieka thought…like an empty house that gives the illusion of holding life but is really just an empty structure. i focus so much on the right words that by the time i find a word, any word..the thought is gone…no doubt frustrated with my poor priorities. i thought for the longest time that i lack conviction and couldnt fill my words up with anything of substance because i didnt really have a cause i was championing. and now, after all this fanfare and explosions i feel as if im in the same place i was when i started..maybe even a step back. when writing its as if im having a conversation with someone and i think this is the problem.

writing is communication, but it isnt simple communication, it isnt the process of writing words and having someone read them. it isnt the process of just sharing information. its the process of sharing thoughts and having someone feel them. its a bridge between you and i.

any art form, writing or dancing or music or anything, its a way to reach out and communicate our thoughts not our words. my words are a gilded cage. i used to shun art because i learned it in an institution and hated how forced it was, how contrived and how obligatory it felt..or didnt feel, because it didnt really ‘feel’ like much of anything. maybe thats why i secretly hate university – its all for show. its so easy to mask vacant words as thoughts and tahts what ive been doing for as long as i remember.i try to get my thoughts out but something always stops me…the words always stop me..the learning. but maybe its a fear of knowing.

i know someone very brave, i want to be like you. ive been in institutions for so long that i dont remember how to communicate my thoughts anymore…its as if we’re all collectively, the entire society not just the university, we’re all putting on an elaborate show with props used in place of the real thing. its like a great production, the greatest production ever orchestrated.like we’re all still playing house. i dont want you to read my writing, i dont want to put on a show, i want you to feel it, and i want to feel it and feel you. isnt that really what art is…trying to reach outside ourselves and make contact..bridge a gap…feel a feeling.

its in reaching outside of ourselves that we find we’re not really living, none of us…we’re just acting like it. how can we live like this? how can we live when we always have fear hanging over our heads? society is a gilded cage and it is with golden cuffs and vacant words that we acquiesce.

….thats why i have to write but also why the words escape me. at once an obstacle and purpose…like mount everest.

i have to write to spread the word..but its not the word that matters but the thought. it takes a talented writer to communicate the feeling, to use just the right words in just the right combination- like making a great cake…its the innate quality of the words. i want to fill each word with meaning..like dancing. when youre dancing it isnt just the movements youre making..it isnt the curve of your spine or the line of your arm…its the feeling resonating through to the very tips of your fingers…the deeply compelling need to stretch yoru fingers and your feeling so far that the feeling leaves your fingers and literally touches another.

for someone to write about you, to really write about you, ive always thought thats the most heartfelt compliment of all..why has compliment become such an ugly word? when someone writes about you it isnt because your name flashed across their mind, maybe not even your image. its your essence. do you think enough of me to write about me? ive forgotten how to spell..i think its a good sign. what was once near impeccable grammar and sentence structure has degenerated into a chaotic and confused scramble for the right word at the right moment. im not sure if im in need of more focus or if i have it in excess…should i learn something new or unlearn something old?

a story

my own words..they seem to cage me

so subtle

it.

e s c a p e s

me.

like seeing in my sleep

but blinding upon waking

im so awake in sleep that i could daydream

most real most sacred is this safety

that i can write and it can shape me

that words can speak what thoughts have made me

but my own thoughts, they still evade me

like they’re running while im chasing

gilded are the bars that cage me

hollow

like the words that make me

deeper are the thoughts that shape me

though hidden by the words that fake me

freedom.

always

ever

chasing

just like my thoughts i keep escaping

to the place where words cant fake me

words my paint & thoughts my painting

i leave myself, as ever changing

its easy to mistake a painting

i feel that you also evade me

unlike my words when thoughts escape me

you dont cage me but have that which also makes me

thoughts once freed have come to shape me

green is my grass when words dont fake me

you escape me