I Have a Better Question

Do you ever feel like a marionette?

The daily to-do’s and responsibilities as your strings?

Only they’re made of steel. Filling up your eyesight and jerking you from here to there. Yet leaving you oddly hollow, skin tight, eyes forcing themselves to stay open through what begins to feel like a meaningless shuffle for a cardboard crowd.

That’s how I feel today.

Tired.

Pointless.

Where’s the joy for life? The promise of something better?

Some days I feel like no matter how hard I try to climb my way out of this revolving door – I’m still here.

Still fighting.

For more.

Something better.

 

What to do?

I mean, we have so many options.

We could always give up, give in. Let depression bury us in a myriad of distractions, mind-numbing things we do because it’s what we always do and we’re just so tired and change is hard.

We could let anger turn into bitter resentments. Become a nasty human who only spreads misery, always has a reason to martyr themselves or explain why they’re not responsible or how it’s someone else’s fault.

We could go the illegal route. Hurt or exploit others for money.

We could slap on a fake smile and pretend everything is just dandy while inside we slip further and further into oblivion. Lying to ourselves.

Or we could keep fighting.

Hoping.

Trying.

Looking for the positivity.

Doing what we can.

Enjoying the little things.

The little successes.

Keep finding a reason.

 

You see, I think we search too much for the meaning of life.

We’re here. I think that’s all the proof or validation that we need.

I think the point is to live our own life as best we can, treating ourselves with dignity and love, and then trying to help others.

I think our purposes can change as we do. But if we’re not really living life, then we’re not living up to our potential.

 

Enjoying life is easier said than done.

I’m still depressed, sitting on the couch, wondering why I bother to write, since I haven’t finished a novel I like yet and haven’t been published yet and simply lack for direction in my life.

But it’s a low day for me. I recognize that. Yesterday was a great day. And the day before that. I’m going to exercise in less than an hour from now and I know that always elevates my mood. I still feel like I’m running on a hamster wheel, though.

The reason I’m telling you this is, I think we can feel so stuck, so miserable, and fight for so long – that it feels like nothing will ever change. That we’ll never fight our way to the top of our own struggles.

But we will.

We already have.

What was so hard to you three years ago that felt like it would never end? Something you’ve conquered?

We’re stronger than we think.

We’re allowed to feel tired and depressed and sick of always having to fight for what seems to come easily to others.

We just can’t let that keep us from living and enjoying our own lives in whatever healthy ways we can.

 

Everything is easier said than done.

There are days where we question the point of our existence. But I have a better question.

What’s the point of giving up?

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Because the Second One is Complicated

Here is the third painting I have done.

I did it while hanging out with mom and watching the movie “August Rush”.

Let me tell you, artists are pretty insanely intelligent. There’s a magic to painting something. It frees up the soul, erases the weight straining it down.

Try something out of your typical creative field. Trust me. It fills you up with inspiration.

And don’t worry about being “good”. Just have fun. I’m no Monet but I’m certainly going to keep painting because of the way it makes me feel.

If You Ask the Universe – Careful What You Wish For

It’s funny.

The choices we make.

I swear, the moment I ask my Higher Power for help on something new, how to deal with it, how to gain it…

I immediately get a testing experience that will painfully help me out.

Like they say, careful if you ask the universe for patience – you’ll come upon a new experience in life where you’ll have to develop loads of patience.

I guess that’s why they tell us to be careful what we wish for.

When’s the last time this happened to you?

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Mourning a Loss

Do you remember the first words that fell off your lips?
Or the first thing that caused joy to well up?
I don’t.
Funny, the things we remember.
So important, our first steps.
Yet we never get to see them.
Remember the rush of our chubby baby legs working how we wanted.
Or our first words.
I wonder what mine were?
Maybe it’s better not to know.

So silly, the way we see ourselves.
Lost in memories and thought loops
Experiences we label and poke at (from an unsafe distance).
Staring into mirrors that distort
And ask the wrong questions.
Peering into eyes that hide behind plastic masks,
Use paint to hoodwink reality.

What do you remember?
I get these flashes.
I don’t want them.
My chest breaks in half
Everything is frozen in blazing nausea
And the world goes dark
They color my sleep in muddy hues
Robbing intimate moments of safety.
I got so sick
Sick of paying for others’ sins.
Confused body, still paying with sickly health.

The only things I remember, hurt.
I wish it wasn’t that way.
Wish I could hold happy childhood memories in my thoughts
Like little flakes of gold, suspended
Always there to infuse me with heart swelling snapshots.
The foundation all the healthy people have
The people who don’t fall apart every day.

But protection came at a cost.
My mom bought me gold flakes at a field trip once
I think they’re in storage.

I wish I could remember
The day I was born.
Fresh.
New.
Untouched.

I wonder what it felt like.

But if I tell…
If I tell, you might look at me
Like I’m made of porcelain, so easily broken
Or smothered in slime I can never remove
(Even though I didn’t put it there)
It infuriates me.
Perhaps if I hurt you, you won’t see me as weak
But I’m not a bully, so I’ll wait for you to hurt me first.
Silly memories, telling me you will.

I wish I could remember what I felt the day I was born.
Would I be the same person?
Would there be something at the center of me, holding me up?
Convincing me that I am solid and here and…
I wish I could remember.
What emotions flooded my body, the day I was born?
Can you take me back to the beginning, before everything became broken?

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RePaint Your Lips

Why do we hedge ourselves in? Trapping ourselves in teeny little boxes until we cannot even lift our heads to grow toward the sun, see the sky, or feel our own soul?

Why do we believe the lies swarming in our faces, plugging our ears until we cannot hear our own voices?

The way to know life is to love many things. – Vincent Van Gogh

We are more than one thing, one emotion, one desire, one purpose, one joy.

We don’t need to wonder why we are hollow. Why we are suffocating.

Pick up your own paintbrush, pen, instrument, keyboard, whatever – and repaint, rewrite your own vision.

Stand up. Throw your box in the recycling bin. Live.

Signed with My Thumb Print

Check it out, dudes!

My first painting, ever!

 

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It was SO MUCH fun!! But I had no clue what I was doing. My sister, who is going to college to become an art therapist, led me through the process, showing me what to do as she painted her own.

Get out of your comfort zone and do something fun! If you’re one kind of creator, try another way of creating.

Go have fun!

Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl – Love and Loyalty

The city I live in has more Mexican restaurants than graves. There’s this fantastic one that I am in love with. Just thinking about it makes me want to swoon on over and order something. If only I had money, transportation, or a gut that likes human food.

*slams head into wall*

*sobs*

*why can’t my gut love Mexican food like I do*

*wails*

 

Anywho.

In every single restaurant, I noticed the same painting. Which got me curious. The myth lover in me knew there had to be a good story behind it.

I looked it up.

There’s a good story behind it.

 

The painting is of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl.

They are the names of two volcanoes visible in Mexico City, which are more than 17,000 feet high. They’re the second and third highest mountains in Mexico.

Iztaccihuatl means “White Woman” because the mountains are always snow capped. The mountain, which has four peaks, looks like the silhouette of a lady lying on her back. Hence the name. Though, people typically refer to it as “Sleeping Woman”.

Popocatepetl means “Smoking Mountain” and is still an active volcano.

The two are connected by a mountain pass named Paso de Cortes.

But that’s not what’s interesting.

 

At first, my only thoughts were that Popo and Izta have quite the tragic love story. I thought it was less love story and more tragedy. But a few days later, after having mulled it over, I realized I really like this story. And I do think it’s a tragedy. But I think it is certainly a love story.

Oh, and I’m going to shorten their names to Izta and Popo because so far I have failed at typing their names correctly. I gave up and copy and pasted their names. No laughing.

 


Izta was the princess; daughter of the ruler. Her lover, Popo, wasn’t allowed to marry her until he went into battle and defeated his enemy.

So off went Popo to fight and Izta awaited his triumphant return.

Popo was victorious, killing their enemies. (Yay!)

But someone told Izta that Popo had not only failed but had died. (not yay)

Some versions of the story say this devious someone was a rival of Popo’s. Others state it as a jealous man who wanted Izta for himself. Regardless, the effect was the same.

Izta fell sick and died from a broken heart. And then Popo popped in to find the love of his life dead because of a lie.

He carries her body to the mountains and builds a pyre for the both of them. He kneels in front of her and dies.

In some versions, Popo remained there to watch over her in her sleep for so long that the snow covered them both and they became volcanoes. In others, the gods were so moved by the love the two shared and the tragedy of their deaths, that they turned Popo and Izta into mountains so they would be together forever.

Regardless, Popo now kneels, facing Izta who lies sleeping, for as long as this earth stands.


 

What I like about this story is – love wins. It may be a bit out of the box. But this story is different than most. They’re together. Forever.

Popo didn’t come home and go on a crazy rampage, killing and maiming out of rage. He focused on his lady. I found that quite interesting. Especially since Popo was a warrior.

I love that he was done. As if his life was over now that she was gone. I wish we had more love like that these days. Love that shows and isn’t all about flashy and hollow gestures.

(I don’t recommend anyone jumps off a bridge or offs themselves when their lover dies. I’m simply commenting on this as a story.)

I really enjoy that this popular legend surrounds love surviving all – even death. It’s all over Mexican restaurants. I love that there’s a celebration of a love story all over the city I live in, in the details.

 

Also, why do all old legends and myths surround everyone that’s in love, dying??? Can we answer that question please?

 

Anywho. Here are some photos of the two volcanoes.

 

Popocatepetl

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Iztaccihuatl

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Sources

http://www.mexonline.com/history-popo.htm

https://www.inside-mexico.com/the-legend-of-popocatepetl-iztaccihuatl/