Thoughts of the Oracle

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

I was thinking: "I'm not a nice guy..."

Johnathan Michael Potts went to the grave knowing that the lifetime pursuit had been for naught. However, his nails were the most perfect ends to any set of ten digits to be found in all the land. This he took pride in, and had been hoping to see the manicured claws biting into the flesh of that elusive bitch, Happiness. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Letter Excerpt: Liberty

No, I’m not finding myself. I seek liberation! I’ve done found myself. All that is left is to break free. 

I had a funky dream sometime back. Just think “bleeding gums.” My sixth grade teachers were all there, somehow simultaneously in and out of the same room. My favorite pats me on the head. “John, you’ve come so far but still have so far to go.” I don’t know what she’s talking about but wherever it is I’m sure it’s through Complacency I must go. To Liberty? 

My visa comes to an end soon and I gotta GO! If only there was $200 for passing... Networking in this town has been rough. Coming in from the farm, once a week, looking for Opportunity, was usually a bust. I kept meeting up-their-own assholes. Only recently did I start having any luck. I have potential employment for accommodation and a work permit and an interest to get back into baking. They also have some string instruments for use, so maybe the ukulele will be my singing coach. If I return. 

I have options. Not so lost, but perpetually confused. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Scabs

This romantic’s attention span is even shorter than his creations’ shelf life. It’s no wonder Nothing only ever reaches the public. 

Self-pity looks like yellow phlegm and feels like a winking poop-chute. 

Speaking of which, you know that feeling? When your asshole grows the arms of a millipede and be trying to eat your pants. Yea, you can be damn sure you have worms. Not a thang. No shame. I have worms. Pin-worms. They’ve been a running joke for much of my remembered years. Every joke has an element of Truth. This one was fueled by the strong feeling that something was speeding along the Mouth-Ass Express stealing resources and colonizing colons along the way. That ain’t cute. 

Worms, I can handle. You perching on my shoulder, I cannot. I could give a damn whether you understand or not. I need you to move cause, like my worms, this too feels invasive. Then again, penetration is another side of the same stone. Fine, enjoy watching me be great, poor fool.  

This is coming from one of the farm scabs. Dude, we’re, minus one, plagued by some fungal (maybe?) shit. How problematic to have pus filled pimple propogating themselves in places like, IDK, the top of my foot. Or my scrotum. For Fuck’s sake, I live on a farm. 

Thank the gods for herbal medicine. Curse the same for worms, parrots, and abscesses

More to come, J

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Biggurl

been eating like she hadn’t in a long time. That’s why I haven’t updated my blog; I’ve been eating. 

I’ve been on the farm in Kampot for over almost a month now! Yea, almost a month. It’s been cool and I owe much of it to you lovely folks. I hope you had an awesome holidays and danced like the creatures of the sea and woods that you are on the Full Moon, it deserved it. Do you know what a moon flower is? I didn’t until this past week, had never seen one. A giant ring around the moon, like a halo, is what it is. Smelt nice. 

Kriss and I have been trying to get into a groove, finding the experience to not be what we expected, which was having someone standing over our shoulder belching commands. Instead, we quickly learned that we have to be self-motivated, and what a struggle that is. Basically, every morning we try to be up at 6am, a decision we made, to do whatever tasks we’ve assigned ourselves. This past week we built a grill, the beginnings of an oven. I did most of it and am proud to take the credit; built it from brick and clay. Good stuff. Now all that’s left is to put the dome on and it’ll be an oven. Even gooder stuff. I’ll post photos of the finished product. :) If I remember. 

I’m trying to make time to write and hope to have a proper blog post up soon. Some of you will be receiving letters. Hopefully within the next month… :D

So yea, about this farm, it’s located about 15 miles from the city, in the wood, and is surrounded by mountains on each side. I love waking up and watching the sunrise, and the sunset as we make dinner. We have been the only volunteers there until about 3 days ago when a new fella arrived; he’s alright for and Englishman. :P As I said, it’s in the woods but for some reason it’s never really quite, anymore. It used to be until the harvest came in, now there’s weddings and music happening all the time. I mean, dey be jammin’. We decided to go looking for one and found it, and of course the Barang (white people), me, was made a king; they shoved the food and beer down my throat. It was so damn tasty. Anyway, the farm has vegetables such as eggplant, cucumber, and chili’s, coconuts, jack fruit, Moringa, Tulsi or Holy Basil, and a few other things. Between the stuff we buy or supplied with by the owner, we lack no food, or tea. Lemongrass and Basil is delicioius!!

Here’s a few photos:

Home

Two of the Worker’s kids

Making roti and choking on smoke

Got me meditating, had been having migraines for days. No thank you

Today

So yea, there ya go!

As I said, I’ll try to have a proper blog post soon. Something about color, gratitude, and stuff. Per usual I beg you to share this post, comment, and give me any dollars you can spare. A lady could always use your help. You’re awesome. Me too. 

Love ya,

J

P.S. The link to donate is at the top: "Change, Sir?". 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

A Push: Short Term Goal

Hey folks! 

I’ve established some contacts and have several opportunities I would like to pursue in the next few days and I need some help to do it.

I have an opportunity to work on this farm practicing sustainability in Kampot, Cambodia and another to work in a really cool restaurant and cafe in Sihanouk, Cambodia. If you can help me pay off my bill at my hostel and get there I’ll have accommodation, food, and maybe even a small salary. I've estimated that I’ll need $150 to pay off my hostel bill and make the journey south. .

If you have it and want to give it I’d ‘ppreciate it, bunches. If you want to and can’t, please share.

I really don’t know which will come first and if I’ll even pursue both; it’s exciting! I’ll try to keep you updated.

Link: https://www.crowdrise.com/JsPursuitofOpportunity

Cheers!

J

Also, to everyone back home, please stay safe. I do love you. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

A Letter

Kristi,

I feel like everything was so much easier when you were around. You come to mind at least twice every four days so it’s a wonder it has taken this long to write. Our relationship was one of the most consistent and productive relationships I’d had and I find myself reflecting on the nature of it. It didn’t cross my mind until I left our last meeting but I wanted to say “I love you.” I made a resolution to write a letter and leave it for your but that… well, that didn’t happen.

            I brag about you. It’s funny because I was so sure it wasn’t gonna work. Listening to you on the phone, I got so damn agitated. I remember feeling scorned or like I’d been given the cold shoulder. You were just so sure of yourself. Maybe it’s because I expected a tender and pitying? response… Nope. And thank you, dear Baby Jesus.

            I can now recognize and admire the confidence conveyed by your tone, your voice. Recently, I’ve been at the writing game, or at least trying to play, and it requires a lot of mindfulness; writing in my voice, using my words. Maybe it seems closer to the Truth to use Our in ves de “my.” It’s a spiritual thing.

            I’ve been specifically toying with this idea of letter writing. This came about after I found myself writing my blog and tuning it to what I thought my readers would want; I did not approve. Took a break from the blog and took up the challenge of writing Dr. _____ to reconnect and solicit funds to travel without kissing his ass. I’m happy to say he responded positively!

            About the blog, I started in in conjunction with a crowdfunding project, and it has been a good excuse to write. The crowdfunding is to help fund my travels but I feel that I need to do something more; to have a project. I like the idea of selling letters. I’ve yet to decide how to do it but I’m sure I’ll try selling this one. My friend has suggested I compile a book of letters.

            I’ve been in Bangkok, Thailand for the majority of the past four months. I’ve been here since leaving India at the end of July, trying to physically, mentally, and emotionally recover. From depression. From diarrhea. From ear infections I didn’t know I had until the change in cabin pressure alerted me to it. The place I’ve been staying and working is called __________, and is one of the strangest and most temperamental places I’ve ever known. It has been a safe haven for so many since I’ve been here and is a good place to recover; it holds you. Which can be dangerous, if you catch my drift.

            I’m leaving soon to Cambodia, excited to get away. I’ve been awaiting Opportunity, and they only just presented themselves when I decided it was time to leave. I’m intent on returning. Want to take a writing course and join a writers group and find a job ot set me up to start paying my loans in May. I have high hopes. Faith.

            This letter has not been an attempt to solicit funds and there are no expectations for any reciprocations in communications. But if you desire to do so, send me a note or an email. I’d love to here from you. You’ll find my contacts below.

            Stay fabulous,

                        Johnathan

BTW, the way my name is pronounced back home is like a double “a” in Hindi (Jaan) and means “life” or “lover”. Bwahahahaha

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Quick Update

I've been away for a minute. Sorry, not sorry. But actually though, I've  been really trying to write! In Bangkok it was a bit difficult, working and feeling a bit claustrophobic, but I tried for the longest time all of what was written ended up being of little use. I kept some good quotes thought. Used one in a letter! Felt so good since I'd had that quote in my head for over a month. 

As for letters, I'm working on writing some of those. I'll post one here. I also like the idea of reading my writings aloud, so I'll also post a recording of me reading that letter. A letter which, among the future others, I hope to sell. How? I don't know. I'll keep you updated. And I'll try to update the blog stuff. It's a bit ugly. Oops. 

At the moment I'm in Cambodia. I've been here a couple of days after uprooting from Bangkok and traveling here by train and bus. Really though, the train was phenomenal. It left at sunrise. You can imagine. Sorry I don't have photos. Here's a sunset from northeastern India instead.

I've been networking and traveling and eating, which is expensive. Believe I'm headed to Kampot to maybe with up with a friend of a friend who has an organic farm, but we'll see what happens on the way there. I'd like to get my fingers and toes all in the dirt but also find a place that inspires and motivates me. I welcome any positive energy and prayers you can spare me.  Read! Share! Comment! Donate to the crowdfund thingy ma bob! The first is sufficient... Mostly.

:P

Love ya, J

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

The World Followed the Turtle

I followed the clouds once. It was while I was canoeing the Rio Napo with a friend.

As we were pulling out from Pantoja I remember asking the Universe, Guides, and Teachers for assistance. On the first day we were trying to find a certain settlement; there was a bird. Resembled a large falcon formed by those strange, distant rivers in the sky. I wanted to follow that bird; it remained unspoken. There was a desperation in each stroke as I pursued this bird, the excitement of the chase. But I was not "it". 

Indeed, in was a man with an evil grin topped by a hat; a top hat, of course. Big black-grey masses amassing, converging on this bird. A storm wasuhcoming. I urged my friend "to the right" when we reached the fork. We two arrived by two...or three (I don't remember). All that is for certain is that the grin with the top hat was eating the bird when we reached the village. *Initiate Project HellStorm*

I ended up playing charades with the clouds the rest of the trip. Small joys. Teddy bears in recliners, reclining! Giants fists with extended index's, pointing! (to our destination of course). I remember telling all this to my therapist. She mentioned Intuition, [what I call] the voice of the collective conscious/Universe/Divine. 

The other day, the world followed the turtle.That's what it looked like: A big ass turtle leading a procession of progressively larger clouds. I felt re-affirmed in my thinking just before; pace yaself. Lately, when I become aware of my breathing I try not to change it. "Do nothing." Just keep breathing. When I become aware of how I'm walking. "Do nothing." Just keep walking. Oh, you swimming?! Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..." It's just like when on the sidewalk and I feel like somebody trying to pass me, getting all annoyed and shit, and but they ain't nowhere for me to go but forward, and then I start feeling like I should speed up I be like "STOP!" (thinking), just keep walking. Dey'll be alright. 

The turtle and his procession was one continuous flow; of water, through space, with time. Like every damn thing else. So I let us immulate that as we hit the road. I was freaked out by the idea of moving on to the next one, especially with the constant worry of money, but the turtle does not worry about when the next water source comes along. It'll be there! Unless he in a desert but then what is a turtle doing in the desert? He went there to die. 

Anyway, adding to fear and worry, instead of just observing it, is like trying to move against the current, and if there's one thing I gathered from rowing downriver, its that they ain't anybody that got time for that shit. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

A Series of Frustrations: Money

As Uncle passed him by he took on the behavior of a commoner towards royalty, staggering his feet and clumsily bowing, his request for money dismissed with a wave of a hand. Glassy eyes held back rampart thirst, betraying no disappointment, only a suggestion of how little hope he’d instilled in his solicitation. I took notice of his slight tilt and too-small t-shirt, essentially a crop-top, and prepared to nonchalantly say no. However, he caught me unawares with the attention he gave to me; Urgency claiming his limbs and his eyes, turning them rigid as he faced me. The motherfucker dropped to his knees. Immediately I was furious and prepared to make full use of my Thai for the purpose of scolding him… but my efforts were in vain; I would have only been able to tell him  that I’m vegetarian and in want of water. Poor fella would have either been overcome with giggles or become terribly confused.

            The stress that comes without having monetary funds is cause enough for many to commit suicide; bitches be jumping out of windows. Part of my journey has been learning to travel with little to no money however I quickly learned how difficult that is, middle-men and border restrictions making it much more of a necessity than I imagined. I recently wrote a letter to a professor of mine from UNC, and hope to write more, asking for their support in my travels and found myself awkwardly approaching the topic, the equivalent of wringing my hands, stuttering, and averting eye contact evident in the writing. I’ve been trying to re-evaluate my misconception of begging, or asking for your money. Yet, I am almost quicker to miss a couple of meals than ask for help and ya’ll know ya gurl love to eat.

            I’m a choosy lover beggar. I could get a job teaching English. I’d receive a housing stipend and a minimum salary of $700 a month, a work visa, and a venue to “help people” (cynicism). But I don’t want to do it. English is a language of hegemony, most opportunities for teaching serve the privileged, the target group for the English teaching corporations, and the only reason I would teach is if I was stationed in a rural community. However, I don’t feel comfortable giving rural students the short end of the stick by committing to less than two years, 6-months of the time I would spend learning to actually teach. And I’m not ready to commit. I don’t desire it yet. And even while “the best things in life are free,” they won’t buy me visas, housing, time, or a pair of heels.  

            I wish I could panhandle with intention like some of the folks I’ve met, with a tad bit more entitlement than what I’ve often encountered. These three children just wouldn’t leave me alone one night. Little devils. I made use of the usual practice of pretending they weren’t there to no avail. Followed by “Nahi” and eventually “Mera pas paese dena nahi hai” (I have no money to give). They patted my pockets and asked what they held. I laughed to hold back my temper and began singing “Nahi” and dancing to the wedding band marching down the street, fireworks lighting the children’s faces as they laughed and joined it. They walked with me to my rickshaw and kissed my hand before I took off. I returned it lovingly, tender compassion and a tinge of hope I left on the back of each hand. I started to like the little ladies after they stopped patting me down and screaming solicitation. It was 11pm and all I could think was that some older person was just gonna them down whenever they returned to their places of rest– headquarters. But it’s OK because kids aren’t even people, right?

            The biggest difficulty I have with asking for money is that I feel I have to compensate them or prove that I’m worthy. That’s the hang-up that so many have with beggars, is it not? Either they should get a job, make use of food kitchens and other services provided to dem people, or stop spending it all on alcohol so that they may do something constructive. That’s what I’ve heard all my life. And those phrases are what pop into my head each and every time I glance at my crowd-funding page, draft a letter to someone, or attempt to write for this blog. I end up feeling unworthy and think that I have to compromise my voice to convince potential donors that I’m unlike those other beggars. Two things: I’m not really unlike many of the folks you find on the street and ain’t nobody got time for that brown nosing, kissing ass, or whatever else you want to call that.

            I had to step back from writing for this blog. I found that everything I wrote was filtered through worry, trying not to offend my audience and assure them that I’m using their money properly. Dear Baby Jesus knows that’s just as bad as doing that Smirnoff commercial (I had that opportunity and quickly declined…Smirnoff, people. Ugh). The whole point of this whole adventure is to explore my desire’s, fulfill my wants, chase after Curiosity and I have to stay strong and selfish, appropriately doing only what I want even if it’s something as small as stringing together words, creating webs of thought and illusion or waiting to cross paths with Opportunity rather than seeking it out via web. The consequence: I’m relatively broke as shit and constantly batting away flighty thoughts of being stuck in this place.            

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Unfulfilled by Fulfillment

He loves my hair. An extension of the four French braids meeting at the base of my neck, the thick braid usually drawing its line at my waist is pinned up with two carved stems of wood. I saunter into the club to meet him, with my freakum wardrobe being composed of a crop top, skinny jeans, and four inch heels. It goes unsaid that I sport one of my many dangly pair of earrings. A giant weaving signs through the air as the music finds rhythm in my bones. He whispers to his friend; finds me enchanting. And I’m back. As I lay on this couch feeling my stomach rumble, knowing I’ll need to retreat to the throne again soon, I pull myself back into reality. The now. I touch my shoulder length curls and find my fingers are entranced. Or will them to become so. This is my offering to the Divine, a repentance of my sin; lusting for the pleasure I’ll never receive from Imagination’s creation.

I've had a many of fantasies about sex with straight men. Genres of porn I found preferable at an earlier age were of hazing, gay for pay, or what have you. I've done my fair share of lusting after men I find attractive, friend and unknown alike, and consider their sexuality into my fantasies. *a sigh* To turn a “straight” man. Then rather recently, I got my wish…and it wasn't as I’d imagined. At all.

            We met on the banks of the Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in India where Buddha gave his first sermon and one of the pilgrimage sites for Hindu followers. The city felt like a familiar and well-worn sweater. I sat with my back to those bathing and baptizing themselves in the Mother’s waters as we discussed synonyms for “dick,” at some point intentionally utilizing rhetoric that made my sexuality clear. The next day he asked if I wanted to have a beer. We sat on the terrace of his friend’s home, chatting each other up. I knew he had plans. Our first encounter concluded with me rolling in frustration because he had drilled me quickly, came, and avoided touch afterwards. Quite exotic. Especially when barebacking. I was a tad bit salty. The next time… well, I was fairly excited and I’d barely penetrated him before I came. Oops. Neither of these events proved to be as satisfying as I’d hoped.

            There isn’t anything wrong with a bit of fantastical consideration, except when Hope becomes tainted with expectation. Being bullied, a Queer child, and later a Survivor in small town North Carolina was a nurturing environment for my imagination. So much to process with so little knowledge as to how to do so led me to spend much of my time alone, reading or otherwise observing my surroundings and slipping into the waking dream state. I spent much of my time recreating the past or creating an ideal future – a past time and habit; a means of rationalizing the past and escaping the present, creating fantasies of being a doctor, helping strangers, buying my mother a house, and relishing thoughts of encountering the human battering rams later in life as a “Successful”. Inherent in all these were Hope, Pandora’s mistake, and tipped the scales in favor of me pursuing greatness. However, I never quite got over expecting my projections to become reality and to feel as fantabulous as I’d perceived them through my mind’s eye.

            It helps to intentionally wade in the perfection of the present, so rejuvenating, but my expectations, tinged with the ever present fear, often act as below the surface (of the waking consciousness) distractions in crucial moments of going with the flow. I feared being used as an object. In a land where men go hunting at the public urinals and parks for sex, with the possibility of a straight male dominating a queer man just to get his rocks off, and possibly beating the shit out of him afterwards, I was weary of yet again being an object of one sided pleasure. Meaning, I really didn’t want to get fucked, filled with someone else’s cum, and left with my own still stored in the Nether Regions. So I tried to fend it off and fight for my ideal; kissing, touching, body worship, head… We kissed a couple of times. He seemed to like holding each other and letting his fingers dance across my skin. And then he would push my head down. Or try to turn me over on my stomach.

            Reflecting on the situation I now see that I could have predicted this play for play and, had I wanted, indulged in it for what it was. I liked him, sweet and stimulating both physically and intellectually. But like my hair, my body, my mannerisms, I imagined an encounter that felt exotic. Sexy. Willing me to transcend my insecurities. Yet the reality of the situation was not on par.

The man in the fantasy is Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I find him inspiring and equally gorgeous beyond measure. He transcends the stereotypical boundaries of his profession and it is his respect and admiration that I imagine would bring me immense pleasure. To receive it I projected an image of myself that I find sexy and intriguing but certainly not even remotely similar to how I see myself now. It’s dangerous, considering my history with imagination, to correlate such encounters or desired experiences with a self that is not yet in existence, and may never be. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of imagination, it’s how we pursue greatness and set goals. I’m determined to learn to French braid. But today, right now, I’ll take intentional steps to be in the moment. I’ll werk this sweaty tank top, these running shorts, torn flip flops, and messy pony tail as luscious curls try to escape their restraints because, when I do meet Joseph Gordon-Levitt in sweatpants or induce curiosity in another fella with misconceptions of what sex is, I can dance to the beat of that moment better rather than get caught up trying to convince the Divine DJ, who takes no requests, to play my song. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Completely Unfinished

Why do these flies congregate around me, crowding the surface of my skin, their little dance raising the hair on my neck? I struggle to ignore them. You’d think the thick gray smoke behind my eyes would ward them off. I bet my aura just smells too good to them.

Is this a good or bad thing?

            Yesterday an Indian man approached me with a bit of fortune. I’m down on my luck. How’d he know I’m broke and have been struggling with various ailments– railed my body. He’s not the first to tell me this. And the previous two weren’t looking for money like him. They all said that August is my month. The Babaji in Varanasi told me the 27th of July would be good for me. Today’s the day and you better believe I’m looking.

            I’ve been looking for something. Like those flies. A place to shit and some sustenance would do. Food isn’t all that’ll sustain me though. I need that high.

            We used to have regular “singings” at my church when I was younger. I used to sit up front with Ms. Adeline. She was rather up in age. Both of them sang beautifully, young fellas with voices that shook your spirit until it exploded like a bottle of Coke and Mentos. One had been on the brink of suicide, ready to jump from a window to end it, when he found himself redeemed. He called me up to the front that night.

            All my life I’ve been made to know I was different, thank my brutal peers, and for some reason have received special treatment by few others. They seem to see something in me I often don’t. He certainly did. Alerted the congregation to it. His eyes were sharper than mine and saw that I was surrounded by a golden light. I was to do great things. I often think of this night and ponder its meaning. Ms. Adeline had no children of her own.

            I crave meaning, experience and revelation in a given moment. Reminds me of That. Them. It.  

            The yellow aura is positively correlated to spriritual enlightenment and self-liberalization. My academic director saw my aura one day, in my hands. Yellow. A dark yellow. This was before The Winter set in– frozen waters. A month later she shook me: “You’re aura is so dark John! So dark. You have to do something about it…” A parasitic force, a black hole. Sucking up the energy of those around me, and I had no idea what to do about it.

            “Namaste” gets to the jist of it. In such, it is a salutation that recognizes the Divine in the addressed individual. I’m Divine, we’re Divine. Infinite.

            I cradled my stomach with one arm and head with the other. It all hurt. And I felt so vulnerable. I began to sing, in whispers. “His Eye is on the Sparrow”. It overwhelmed me, and I shook to contain the sobs that escaped my lips as the rivers trailed downward paths to the seat. Pure relief. I didn’t think of “God”, but it was That Something; bigger than me and synonymous with “I”.

            I said I wanted to be exceptional, but at the moment it’s hard to think I’m anything but average. He doesn’t like “exceptional”. “To whom?” He’s right, it’s all relevant right?

            I was raised by a single mom–Superwoman. Three kids she bore on her back to where we are today. So many tears. My county is cited as the poorest in North Carolina. Only monetarily. Abuse survivor. Queer faerie child doused in the diluted acid that is southern Baptist fundamentalism. I’ve survived many storms, collectively swallowing any tempest to come.

            I am The Oracle.

            One of the Divine. Granted the sight that is limited but piercing. We see Them, Meaning. In the crossroads where Opportunity and I have met. In the moments of clarity granted my chance encounters. Serendipity, of white cats and sea shells and Truth pursued. 

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

More Than One

Tonight I thought of you as the clouds bore down with their full weight and my heart found itself breathless. I chose to look for solace in music and I found it in Carole King. I have a friend.  Do you remember that one time. Yes, that time. We cried. I cried for you. Because I knew that what I'd told you was a heavy burden. Do you still bear it? Like a phantom anchor, does it still hold you at bay on the pools of your memory?  I came to you once. Inconsolable. My family relations were like needles piercing my being. Pain all over. You wanted to knock that bitches teeth down her throat. After all that, oh how we long for each other, and we mutually profess our love for the other. God what fire burns within you. Do you ever burn yourself? Remember when we weren't friends?  I still have the letter and part of the box. That night we said Farewell. We danced and cried in that little room. Why do we have to live like it's all or nothing? So much trespassed and time hadn't crept any slower for us. I had sex that night. For five seconds. Engine sputtered.  I remember the first night we met. You wouldn't let me forget. I sat on her lap giving all the pastel fierceness as I did my little dance on her lap and talked of genitalia. Female. Did you think you'd fall for me? All those times spent driving, riding, listening to rock and communing with the gods. Smoke signals. My world was upside down, and you taught me it's OK to walk on the ceiling. #WeFlawlessQueers We were rebels. Even now our families don't know what to do with us. I still hate your father for what he did. When he found out. It really was all a joke wasn't it? Unreal. All those field trips to McDonald's and shopping, riding and letting the wind and music do the talking. Our comfortable silence is the best. Will I ever have a car? 

If only you were here, now. Sitting on the other end of this bed, facing me as we alternate eye contact and glances out of the window. I could share the worry of what happens when they don't give me a visa for Bangladesh. You could help me laugh at how quick tempered I currently am. Fuck the bullshit. We'd find some justification. It's the cough isn't it? And Diarrhea. 4 days.  Anyway, just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. Uoyevoli (reads backwards)

[thoughtsoracle-blog]

Return of Spring

When confronted by an imposing entity, and Fear strikes at our heart, it is said that there are two instincts: Fight or flight. I find this to be untrue, from personal experience. Like the chipmunk/squirrel things here in India, or the possums back home, I neither flee nor prepare for a brawl.The chipmunk tries to blend with its surroundings by flattening itself against the ground, the possum plays dead, and I, instinctually attempting to appear appealing, shun that action which my heart and mind has put forth, becoming still like a deer in headlights– frozen.

Consider my affiliation to water and its nature in order to understand my position. In my prime, I am like a river. Always moving, changing course and never remaining still. Even as rocks, litter, and what have you try to disturb my procession I easily glide, dance, around such obstacles, molding myself to fit the environment and as such my passing affects the nature of the environment itself; wearing away at the banks binding me and the rocks encountered at any stage, displacing and replacing debris, etc. These obstacles can come to be understood as thoughts of shame, insecurity, and unworthiness yet, as I remember my nature I simply continue my course while remaining aware of their nature; that either they are eventually discarded as they are carried along or are worn down over time, becoming smaller and more brittle. However when the cold wind of fear comes, and I instinctively withdraw or recoil, briefly disrupting my process, there is potential for these parcels to eventually become cluttered, a coagulated mess, pooling my essence and preventing a free flow.

Everything that passes through my mind must either become an addition or be discarded, just as with debris caught up by water. Even the clouds are a mix of water and particles of dust and debris that help the water particles hold themselves together. When these thoughts of shame, insecurity, or possible ridicule come through I can either recognize that they’ve entered my path and simply keep moving with the knowledge that they’ll be discarded when my borders flood thanks to the rains or settle along the path. Or they can become more permanent residents, lodging themselves between rocks, roots of trees, or frozen in their passing. However, Fear is a different thought, a different entity, one that represents itself as the father of the previously discussed negative emotions; blowing debris into my waters, causing storms that topple trees, or during the winter months causing my waters to potentially become frozen.

Of temperature conditioning, the entire process doesn’t have to be understood as arising from one factor, but multiple; Fear being but one of the numerous factors contributing to the habitualization of self-deprivation. Sadness for instance. I first recognized that I was losing momentum, energy, heat back in March. I was experiencing some serious homesickness. Craved hugs. Just as soon as I entered this state, our program schedule became such that a lot of project due dates were coming up, and the post-procrastination stress always bore down on my mind and body. I still plowed on, yet it was this journey, through these terrains, that befuddled my mind and left me vulnerable to the insecurity I experienced of conducting research for our Independent Study Project (ISP). I felt that my experiences were inadequate; I didn’t know how to fully conduct my research. And as these thoughts filled my mind Fear seemed to accompany every thought, a bothersome pest of which I have the strongest phobia; instinctively shirking away instead of brushing it off, like a harmless insect on one’s shoulder.

The month of ISP had passed, the week of presentations and goodbyes had also come and gone, my explorations had begun, and yet with each voice that sounded off in my head Fear was there with its own mouthless howl; having become an unwelcome yet reliable presence. I felt the blockage, the buildup, housed somewhere between my heart and my stomach. I became frustrated and averse to the feeling, and I wanted to be done with it… to confront it. So I found a supplier, and after spending the day running a few errands I went home and sent up the smoke signals. To bring this entity, or these entities, to hand. It is only now I recognize that I went in pursuit of something internally created through external means. Another story. But the thoughts came, overwhelmingly in force. Paranoia, Fear, and Anxiety came knocking. As I finally lay in bed awaiting the ride to Nappy’s house, I toyed with my remembrances; I had become stopped up, blocked by insecurities, and as I lay dammed up by such mental debris Fears chilling touch had frozen me in my wake.

Like most objects that maintain temperatures well, it is a gradual process of cooling or heating until either extreme, the presence of heat or lack thereof reinforcing each respective process. To reach the point of being frozen, of lacking enough heat to eventually become frozen, the object must meet the condition that the environmental factors only reinforce what has already occurred.As previously stated, I’d gone through a period of homesickness, anxiety, and stress. They’d introduced the colder season. And then the constant presence of Fear settled the score– manifesting itself as a biting wind, in action bearing down on my waters and in reaction I gave way and relinquished my heat. My passion.Self-love.Confidence.Creativity.

But, Spring is returning. I’m willing it to do so. With each wave of the creeping, clenching cold I stand taller. Flip my hair. Finger my earrings. Remind myself that without me pursuing Truth according to my whims of desire and want, rather than fear and its company, I’ll never accomplish my true goal...