The past 18 months (and counting...) have played a number on so many of us. On individuals losing their lives or their loved ones to Covid, on businesses having to close their doors, on children, families, communities... all around the globe we are seeing the effects of this pandemic and its downfalls. And most days I am adapted and adjusted, and finding the positive, and the light within all the noise.
But other days? Other days I find myself in a constant loop and I just wanted that loop to end, to disappear, to 'poof, be gone!' LOOP (noun) *Shape produced by a curve that bends around and crosses itself." *A structure, series, or process, the end of which is connected to the beginning. Oh.... how I long for this loop to end as quickly as it appeared. For Covid-19 and all of its variants to be eradicate from this planet! Please, please, please? Pretty please??
0 Comments
Have you always -- longed to belong?
Or was there a time, Long before, When you were part of everything, You were of it all, There was nothing to belong to, Because nothing was apart And everything made sense then, Even the faint beating of the heart. Today, confusion runs miles deep, Whether you are a walrus, or a sheep, Or the million lives between. Some of us lie wide awake, While others go to sleep. And the ones like you and me -- We still just long to belong To everything and nothing However long it takes -- however long. *** When the world is against you or just plain awful -
Or when your heart is broken because the guy or the girl or whoever broke it - Or when you are stressed out because things are out of whack - Remember this: When you are SPINNING - the thing to do is to STOP. You learned this long ago. When you were a child and played at spinning around yourself. You'd get dizzy, and giggle, maybe truly enjoyed it... until it got too much. WAY too much. Maybe there were also tears involved, and fears, and tantrums. So what did you do? You STOPPED. You knew it then, and you know how to do it now. And the world doesn't have to literally spin for you to feel like it is. So next time when your nervous system is spinning, before you reach for the blame game or the jar of ice cream.... Stop doing whatever you're doing, feel your feet on the ground, look at something in front of you, and... BREATHE. It's all invented anyways. *** It's late, and I procrastinated all day and now I'm at that half-asleep delicious delirious stage. So let me HUMOR you with a few absurd marketing suggestions for real or fictitious brands...: 'Lazy girl skin care routine: Grab your windex and wipe the mirror. Breezy, beautiful, lazygirl.' 'When you want to build your tolerance back after Amazon one-day-shipping has made you spoiled and forever paying Jeff Bezos. FEDEX - makes shipping horrible again.' (P.S. Where's my package???) 'HELLO TUSHY. Because let's face it - we all want clean and happy bums and Japanese toilets are just wayyyyy too expensive.' You are whole. Remember that. When your tears dry, And your body weakens, And your wrinkles deepen - Still, you are whole, my friend. Whole is all you ever need to be. *Image curtesy of 'Singularity #56', on the blockchain
I sit for my homemade dinner:
Roasted chickpeas, and sautéed spinach and mushrooms. A healthy meal. Because an optimist eats healthy. An optimist, a lucky, privileged human eats for their future. I sit with my healthy dinner and watch history repeating itself on TV: I see a woman - my age, maybe even younger - and she is crying because she has no future. She fears she has no future in Afghanistan under Taliban's control. And she is likely right. There are so many other women like her... Women who are like me, but also very much NOT like me. Women who were born in a different place, to a different set of parents, to a different set of rules, of society, of expectations. Women who were born into oppression. Women who fear will die into that same oppression. I take a bite after a bite and nearly choke from eating too much, and from crying inside from the tears of the woman on TV. Why her, and not me? Why do I get to have my dinner, and look at her suffering far away? Why do I eat like I have a future, and meanwhile, she cries in hopelessness, because she doesn't have one? It is said that life is about the card you are dealt. We don't choose the card, but rather we choose what we do with it. We can toss it aside - decide not to be a gamer, or a card collector, or maybe we'd build a fort with it, or pass it to another more card-hungry human. We can choose to take our biggest pain, and turn it into a triumph. And vise versa. But when I see myself sitting with my healthy meal, in my nice pajama, and my large TV, and on the other side - a woman just like me is counting her days... I think sometimes the card dealer made it unfair. Very unfair, and I wish I could toss the cards upside down and shake this world anew. In the city of angels, there's always 'something in the air.'
~Must be SMOG from the thousands of cars making their way every day, or smoke from the countless of wild fires happening constantly in California...~ But there's also something else in the air...: The smell of success, of a win, of a goal achieved! The notion that 'something can happen' to one's dreams of fame and fortune in the golden city of angels. That something is on the tip of the tongue, edge of the nose, always just around the corner. 'Manifesting' in Los Angeles, is as common of a practice as paying phone bills every month. Crafting vision boards and writing to-do lists are considered central to achieving goals and aspirations. 'Who you know' is not just a saying in this neck of the woods. Sure, we can say lots of other cities hold in them major opportunities, but the angelic city also holds this deceiving filter to the quest of such opportunities: 'dreams can happen overnight. And they can happen to anyone, even to YOU.' To that I say: Yeah, right... um, this city will eat you up spit you out. It will grind you to the hardest. It will be relentless, cruel and demanding. This city of angels is a brutal devil in sheep's clothing. And no - no success happens 'overnight.' So, happy manifesting angelinos! Go pave your way and dig for that gold! Your 'overnight' success awaits. :-) I went to the store
To buy patience But there was none left. My short fuse was lit, Like a volcano eruption, An avalanche, A riot, It BURNED. I yelled and cried and stumped my feet: 'I'd like to speak with the manager! Where is the manager!?' A lady came by, with a serene smile and an effortless flair. She had all the patience in the world. She calmly said: 'My dear, patience isn't to be bought but rather - it must be earned.' I wanted to shove her face into a toaster oven. And prickle her feet with torches. And tickle her belly with slime. But I am a member of society - so I sighed, Frowned, Rolled my eyes, And left the store. I must have some patience after all. 'Do not cry over spilled milk.'
The saying goes. But what about broken art work? Broken ONE OF A KIND art? Am I allowed to cry over that? Well, whatever the answer is - I did. I cried a whole lot, actually. At first I cried for the loss. Then, I cried for the meaning the piece held for me and the meaning of it now as it was shattered to pieces, and then I cried out of relief to the notion that with its shattering - I let the idea of 'One Of A Kind' shatter along. Is anything really 'one of a kind?' Stay with me: We use this term to consider art, or handmade work, or PEOPLE to be sort of special, on a pedestal, in a level of their own. We tell children 'You are special!' But while I was very happy to be considered 'one of a kind' as a child in this immersive experience called 'life' - the more years I live on... the more I see I am not one of a kind, but rather I am a kind of one. Every human is a marvel. We are all unique - at least the culture of individualism teaches us so - so then.... doesn't 'unique' mean absolutely nothing?? We tell children they are special... but sometimes we forget to clarify the important distinction - that they are special TO US. They are one of a kind TO US. That piece was one of a kind to me. And now that it's broken - it is still one of a kind. A broken one of a kind, but one of a kind nonetheless... Once in a blue moon, I stumble into an artist that I resonate with so much - like an artistic kindred spirit who speaks my language effortlessly while I lose my tongue and forget completely how to speak. Speechless, out of breath, at awe. That's how I feel about Tom Rosenthal's music and especially - his storytelling and writing. I can name a few of my current favorites playing non-stop on my Spotify, but this ballad and its beautiful video captures the melancholic tone of Rosenthal, his deeply poetic storytelling mastery and childlike visual language. To say I am moved by his work - is an understatement. I am grateful this artist is out there doing his thing - in a world so infested with shallow social media and so-called 'artists' angling for attention instead of real connection... Tom Rosenthal is the exceptional exception. This is 'The Boy'. Enjoy... |
AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
All
Archives
April 2024
Header Art: Daniel Landerman |