The Ornithology of Joy Spring @aviansharpeleven - Tumblr Blog

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Overnight

There is a gap in time

Right between the seconds

You can't name it, but you can feel it

That understanding that the next second is already here

Yet it has not come home.

I am that space between time.

You can't name it, though many have tried.

I've been called so many things.

Wonderful, joyful, exuberant names.

Terrible, gut-wrenching, reality-breaking names.

Maybe it isn't what I'm called.

Maybe it is who feels me.

Is it that you know that I'm almost gone?

Or is it that you just love the gap I fill?

I don't think so.

The next second is also me.

I touch it. It's real.

It doesn't end me, but flitters for a moment before I reemerge.

Like a break, but the break is reality.

Quantifiable, named, understood and agreed upon.

To me the structure of time is a backdrop

I stand in stark contrast to this construct,

yet am bound by and am a part of each second.

Who would pay attention to the absence of what is real?

When reality is right there?

When what always comes has proven to you after every second,

that every second you've ever lived,

is coming back for you?

Who could be so foolish to look past what we've all agreed upon?

Who could be so foolish to believe there is something more?

You did. You saw the void between what life decided was true.

The void isn't nothing, it's me.

I'm here, and even better, you're here with me.

You fool.

Tic. Tok.

Tic Tok.

Tictok.

We aren't waiting for the reality of time.

We make it. Together.

Scorched Earth

Fire.

Death.

Blackened earth.

These are the tools I have.

Tools?

Or instruments?

Will it be a sculpture or an Opus without name?

Just remember me for whatever is created.

I don't need recognition.

I don't need praise.

I don't need to feel validation.

I don't need your love.

I need understanding.

I need support.

I need connection.

I need.

It's interesting...

I've been listening to new music.

Some connects, and some doesn't.

I shouldn't like any of it, and honestly it is beneath me.

Still feels good.

Broken Promises

I broke my promise.

You broke my heart.

That's ok. I deserved it.

I just don't know how to handle the feeling.

Loss is a grievance.

A bit of grief that we get to hold instead of hope.

Instead of love.

Instead of companionship.

Companionship isn't even the right word.

Stream of consciousness works that way sometimes.

I try to come up with the right words, and they don't come.

But the truth in what comes out is worth listening to.

Who are we?

I don't mean you and me.

I definitely don't mean us.

It's me and the world that I'm concerned with.

It's unsure and scary.

How do I find that again?

Who do I find that can fill the void?

The ones I have found aren't it,

And I have to ruin their worlds like you did mine.

They say destruction creates the same.

How true for us.

Let the scorched earth be our love child,

and the fires that are set be my final love letter to you.

I won’t text you. I’ve made that promise to myself.

But.

You still live in that space in my brain.

That jigsaw piece that actually fit.

That understanding.

That compatibility.

I wish I could get past it.

If only I could forget, and see current relationships as the best I could achieve.

I know it isn’t.

That’s not your fault.

You made boundaries we agreed upon.

You gave it a try and I wasn’t good enough then.

I just wish you didn’t know that person.

I wish you’d see me now.

You might be impressed.

Hey.

I don't know how to start this.

I don't know where it goes.

I don't know why I'm so attached to this idea.

You had an idea of what we could be.

You also have a life that you want complete control over.

You know that in my previous state, you couldn't be with me.

What sucks about all of this

is that I get to sit in my recovery and you...

You sit in your judgement of who I used to be.

I miss you.

Click

You know what the most frustrating thing about mental illness?

It's the loneliness. You don't know what to say or how to say anything about the condition without either coming off as needy or so broken that she shouldn't open up to you.

Click.

I spend hours trying to solve myself, days, even weeks, and then in respite I look towards compassion. That doesn't come. I hate that I can't reach out to people, person, life that I care about.

Click.

It's not any better than infectious disease. I could have whatever the fuck is in my brain and be as dangerous as malaria. People back away. That's ok. I would, too.

Click.

If I try to relate it to something, the first is A Beautiful Mind, but that's not really true. While the falseness and hallucinations seemed real, it wasn't the demons I've seen.

Click.

The second: "He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Nietzsche

Click.

The third: The rouletista. In and Of Itself is wonderful. It helps us know what is important, and none of it are our labels. I bring those kind thoughts that he did so well displaying through pain to the front as I work through this.

Click.

The forth: House of Leaves. That book helped me understand how this actually works and what is needed to fix it. Pharmaceuticals help, but they aren't the answer.

Click.

When I think about moving forward, I think about love. Not with a singular person cause I don't love myself yet. I do love lots of people, and I try to bring that to everyone I meet who needs it.

Click.

There is no boom.

Crunch month

Leaving SLC tomorrow after working for a few days. Relief almost all next week. Research project constantly looming. Fly back the week after. Have to leave within 48 hours to work in Nashville the next day. All while trying to start a business that’s not been done before that we want up and running by July. At least the next week I fly to San Diego. Idk why I do this, but it’s the version of my life I thrive in. At least I’m not meeting people or have a personal life outside of work... Fuck that’s there, too. Not bragging. Just venting somewhere I won’t hear responses from. Thanks internet.

Oh. And boards are sooner than I think.

#crunch

To My New Friend

Hello New Friend-

We don’t know each other very well.

You moved in really fast…

The Old One might get jealous.

I like you a lot, and can tell we could do great things together.

We could be strong.

You still have to let me have her though.

You can’t take all of me. That isn’t growth.

You’re a fresh drug

Intoxicating.

Soft and soothing.

Raw and vulnerable.

But after the depths we travelled already,

I want to make sure we don’t…

Go past the point of no return.

The bruises, the scars, the marks.

The laughter, the screams, hearing my name.

I’m both infatuated and afraid of you.

Are you me? Or are you just a new friend?

Most importantly.

I’m afraid you aren’t new at all.

I think you may have been with me all along...

Just waiting for my singularity.

I’ll try to name you soon,

but for now.

Just be my New Friend.

#emotions #new experiences

Last Train Home

Today I was prevented from having closure with the place I’ve given almost 4 years of my life. This place, where I’ve sweated, grown, suffered, achieved, found deeper sorrows and greater strength than I knew I could feel, is just gone from my life.

The reasons for this are sound, and based in science and medicine. It is the logical end to an emotional journey. Fitting for my life. Emotion is usually the casualty of my decisions.

This time though, it was not on my terms. I gave myself time and pacing to handle it appropriately with my normal stoicism and grace. To have that plan swept out from under me was jarring at the least. I hate being surprised emotionally... And the past few months have made that scaringly clear.

What comes from the ashes I lay in? My Last Train Home. Not a trip, not a single experience. It’s the train that will take me to where I need to be. What I take from the song, and how I’m approaching this next chapter in life, is the idea that I get this one last chance to return to my roots. I get to ride that train to safety, stability, comfort, and hope that always brought me back home. That idea there is a place for me, and that I belong there.

Why is it the last? Because I can’t rely on that train to save me anymore. It’s bringing me home one last time. It is giving me that chance to feel what I need to feel, to allow me time to heal, then for me to finally become myself and who I must become. It’s brought me home many times, sometimes in bandages, sometimes in victory, sometimes with charlatans, sometimes as a hero, but always with the same promise. I will always be thankful for the ride, but this is the last one.

So where do we go from here? I go where the world takes me, and I push myself to the best version of myself. This will include travel, experiences, and one day intimacy for someone who loves me for 100% of myself, not just someone I “jam into my fucking jigsaw”. Thanks Sloss.

So, to my Last Train Home, I don’t look at you with sadness, or without hope. I look at you as what you are. You are everything I’ve ever needed to get me home during transitions in life, but I have to become me now.

Empty.

Feeling the hole of what was and what could have been is both harrowing and lonely.

There is a warmth in emptiness though. Where blackness should be expected, a soft blue glow lives.

You can’t feed emptiness. It lives without hunger or judgement.

Tributes or sacrifices to the blue glow are rejected. It doesn’t want the paltry baubles of repentance, self-deprecation, or surface encounters. It knows why it is there and will stay until you know, too.

Last night, we spoke for a while. She spoke softly but with intent. The voice was fluttering, singing to me in the native tongue of understanding. She told me that we were enough together. That we could do great things. Her voice chilled my bones and shook my core. We could do great things and never need again. I could be with that soft blue glow and never care for another.

Is this who I am? Do I accept this as life? I know we’ll be bedfellows for a while, but there are other lights. Things I want, people I need. Blazing reds, pulsating greens, wandering yellows… I don’t think I’m done exploring or loving.

My emptiness is comfort. She lives with me and I love her.

Until I find a new light.

Feathers.

Feathers. Soft, light, strong, intricate, and invaluable to a bird. Truly a part of what makes them unique, and yet all the same. They come in many forms, in many configurations, and in too many colors to describe. In fact, the human eye cannot see all of the hues they express.

For the bird, these must be precious things. Birds certainly behave like they are – carefully looking after each one. Intimacy and flock behaviors are centered around grooming the feathers of another. In fact, health can be readily assessed by the quality of a bird’s feathers.

The really interesting thing that I’ve been musing over at the end of this year is the fleeting nature of the feather. Although they care for them, and take time to make sure every one is in its proper place, all are eventually molted. They fall off for the bird to take another stab at a better one. This is the natural progression for the bird, and there is no distress. There is growth.

Imagine plucking a bird. Removing these treasures without consent or regard for just what that means. Their intimacy shattered, left raw and naked in the night air. It must freeze, and feel like nothing will ever be ok again. No way to bond with their kin or lovers. No way to cope. How lonely those first few weeks must be. Follicles may be damaged, where no feathers could regrow. Bare patches form like scars that the bird will carry for the rest of their life.

Over time the rest will start to return. A new feather is irritating, stiff, and full of blood. If one breaks, there will be a crimson burst acting to remind the bird of all they have experienced. This goes on and on until finally full feathers return.

This bird will never be the same. It will always carry those scars, but it would be able to interact with its flock again. Preen. Find comfort in what used to bring joy.

Then they will molt again.

aviansharpeleven

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Since I am playing off the Birds AND Jazz Theme, I suppose I should upload some music stuff, as well. Here is my chart for orchestra on Pat Matheny’s “Last Train Home”. Enjoy!

aviansharpeleven

Repost for easy access!

ExoticsCon 2015

I’m not a big blogger, but every once in a while I have an experience by myself that I like to have the opportunity to reflect on. My Thailand experience being the ultimate example.

I’m currently sitting in the McGhee Tyson Airport in Knoxville, TN, awaiting my plane to Dallas/Fort Worth to take another plane to San Antonio, the locale of the 2015 ExoticsCon- a conglomeration of AAV (Association of Avian Veterinarians), ARAV (Association of Reptile and Amphibian Veterinarians), and AEMV (Association of Exotic Mammal Veterinarians).

Why am I going, you ask? How did I get off of the invigorating rotation of Field Services to get to go? Well, since this is my blog, I guess I’ll tell you without trying to “toot my own horn”. I submitted a manuscript to the AAV for their student manuscript competition back in late May-ish. I don’t know how I did it, but I won! As the winner, I get the opportunity to present my research at the conference. I was super excited about this when I first won, but as it draws nearer, the anticipation is building. My presentation is solid, my knowledge of the material is solid, and the research, while preliminary, is solid… But I always get the pre-show jitters, even back when I was playing in Nashville all the time. It doesn’t matter how much you prepare, something can always go wrong.

I’m confident, just ready to get it done.

Anyway! I’m waiting on my plane out of Knoxville to board, and they’re late (of course). Apparently the airplane needs some random plastic piece replaced on the inside of the cabin before we can board, which shouldn’t be an issue, except we’re about thirty minutes late to get on the plane for something that should’ve taken “no longer than five minutes”. At least I don’t have a connecting fli…. Oh wait, I do.

#ExoticsCon #McGhee Tyson Airport #Avian vet student #travel blog