WORDS, MY ETERNAL STRUGGLE WITH LANGUAGE:​ Revisited 2

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People don’t believe me when I say I’m not good at English.  It was never the class I enjoyed going to, and I always felt like I never understood what the rules were for the great communication game.  See for me, words pour out of my mouth like a container full of liquid, with limited grace and an inability to separate one drop from the next. I speak in circles and talk continuously when I really should be listening but I can’t help it at times, its how I deal with at times persistent anxious feeling that arises from the sound of silence.
It wasn’t always like this, there was a time when I was younger when I didn’t speak, didn’t let my voice be heard or call out others. In my quiet, I felt that there was no reason to speak, people spoke for me, and that was good enough. That period of time continued until I was called to talk, to let my voice be heard, but all that came out were things I had learned because that’s all I felt people wanted.
So I talked and talked and all I would say were what I thought people wanted to get their way.  I didn’t feel like words were my own, they were just a ship to carry me closer to home. They were a way to keep me out of trouble or to deflect shame, if I kept speaking I wouldn’t feel the pain. All words were was a means to an end, but each time spoke the fewer ears people would lend.  I would answer questions, give my opinion, try to talk as much as I could but ultimate it didn’t fix anything under the hood. So they stopped calling on me, the teachers that be, because they felt it would be free, to stop speaking to me. So the silence grew deep, and my words became meek, I felt as though my voice itself was weak.
I couldn’t get out of this trouble, I wonder, it this trouble is the trouble to cause my heart to fall asunder. So I spoke and spoke, just as I speak and speak, to hopefully feel like my heart was not weak. I needed help with my words because regardless of what was said, there was never a feeling of feelings of being whole in my head.
So my words began pouring like a pitcher of water, learning how to speak so they would not be fodder.  So I learned the words that people would feel and repeated and repeated them just like a wheel. Every time I repeated, the words would change, until the words became words that would break from this cage.
The problem with the words that would say I said is that feels like a contract,  a contract with the dead.  I could speak and speak, and people would at times listen, but if there were not speaking, I wouldn’t feel the glisten. My heart would ache and ache in pain because without the glissen,  no frisson which means my vision would fission and leave a division. My mind was split, and these words would travel back until it felt like the words in my head were like an attack.
So I work on my words, day in and day out, to stop this addictive vindictive word spout.  I want to try and embrace the silence, let words be heard instead of defiance.  So I might speak now, and people might listen but to be honest, I would find something missing.  So here is where I digress, from the words, rhythm, and rhyme, because to be honest, I need to talk about real this time.

I realized at some point through all this writing, how beautiful words can be. When I craft a sentence, it feels like watching a tree.  It grows and changes as time passes. The winds move it and the season changes it, but they are there to remind me that giving it a little effort gives it all it needs to grow.  So I leave with this, another lesson another year’s folly, I want to become and change some more, because I have some more words to pour.  Thank you for listening to another year’s adventure, and here are some links of my past posts about words.

Year One : Year Two

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The Other Path.

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I have trouble, looking at the paths laid out before me, knowing what will quench me quickly may not be the path to take me to where I want to go.  It makes me wonder if I should just let go and give into the feelings and emotions of the hour. To make decisions based upon the here and now.  Decisions based on being drawn back into the past or to be pulled into a familiar future. Both of which lead me to nowhere but difficulties and strife.  I want to rise above and take this third road, a higher road, and yet it feels as though I can’t find it.  I know only so much as to perceive though challenges, but when will this potential suffering really end itself. Is it a matter of staying true to the path or walking as long as I can until I find someplace to seek refuge.  Life is long, and the amounts of things we experience are varied, so for most experiences, it’s only a matter of time until it happens, but should we deny the ill-advised opportunities in the hope that the universe will deliver some sort of saving grace upon our doorstep.

I’ve been told to take control of the opportunities afforded to us, but also to be wise about the one’s opportunities we take. Grab life by the horns but make sure not to get gored by the bull.  It’s these nuances that get to me,  they are the difficulty in my path because trying to sort what is and isn’t right is and time energy consuming. I think that’s the part that bothers me the most, is all the energy to keep my mind and body at bay.

Maybe I should just take these additional choices out of the equation, to make it so only the possibilities that arise that reach a specific high criterium will get past the gate. That way I can concentrate on the opportunities that will push me forward in the areas I want to go.

That doesn’t leave room for growth though, it stalls my nature and keeps the equilibrium.  I don’t want that either.  I don’t know exactly what to do other than forging a new path all on its own. A path that doesn’t adhere to the standard constructs that I am used to. To find my own way of doing things that subscribe to my personal code of ethics. I am not sure where the other path takes me or even if its right, but is its an idea of what to do as I wait for the road I was meant to take.  Maybe I should take this moment to grow in a way that I have never thought of before. Let’s find the other path and watch where it leads because the two I have taken are known to not take me where I want to go.

Memory Flash

It feels like it flows from my fingertips
The expression of memory and intimacy
Flashes of feeling and memory
A vividness that captures my attention
They are escaping me
Like as memory
Each time remembered becomes softer
More Distorted

If feels like the flash is the memories life
The feeling trying to resurface and live
Gasping for air, one last stand before being left behind
It’s too late now
I can’t go back to relive the memories
Can’t go back to make any more
So sit motionless waiting for them to pass
Hoping to capture those last moments

There they go.
Bittersweet.
Sorrowful.
Happy.

A Simple Plane Ride of Self Discovery

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I met a man on a plane recently.
A man on the way to his hometown of Nashville.  We sat next to each other, and even though I needed to get work done and put in earplugs, he wanted to start up a conversation. He was in his late twenties, with long hair pulled into a bun, and a scraggly beard to match.

He was nervous, about going home. Worried because he would be returning home after three and a half years being away from it.  He lived in Sydney at the moment, but he began recounting his tales of world travel.  This is what got me intrigued.  He had decided after completing his bachelors and was starting his masters that he wanted a different life for himself, and his girlfriend agreed, so they took off to teach English on the other side of the world.  Moving around from place to place, using the teaching gig as a mechanism to explore parts unknown.  To be honest, it sounded fun.  They lived a simple life, were able to afford what they wanted, but lived within their means, and they picked up skills along the way.  Thirty countries he mentioned, thirty countries he had traveled through hitting countless cities and villages along the way.  He had been able to experience all sorts of different cultures, and he told me how he had learned from each one of them.
I sat there sharing my own experiences but mostly listening to what he had to say.  We talked about the fact I am doing my masters and why he felt that his original dream to get his Ph.D. fell by the wayside for this new dream. It was an exciting talk, and once the flight was over, we went our separate ways.

The talk stuck with me, I thought about it the long ride to the place I would be staying for the wedding the next day.  I think the reason be, is that his life was my back up plan for if the whole academia thing didn’t work out.  What my life could be like if I had thought academia wasn’t for me or if academia thought I wasn’t for them.  I was the idea that I would go about the world, learning and growing from all the lessons it had to offer. Meeting new people and having new experiences and deciding where to be one month at a time. His life had a sort of appeal to it, an excitement, an adventurous spirit that I feel within myself too.  For a moment, I really wondered if I could still grasp it.

After our talk and the plane began to unload we went our separate ways, It was then I realized I never even knew his name, we hadn’t exchanged on the plane. Maybe that’s okay, be what he represents now is a different life, a different path for me.  This is not to say that this path might not converge with the path I am on but I found the path I will be following.  I still want to travel more and see the world, and my choice to go into academia isn’t going to change that. It was nice to see that either path I could have taken, I might have been happy, which is good enough for me.

So to the perfect stranger, I met on the plane, I hope you live a full and rewarding life, maybe I’ll see you again one day and find out how it turned out.