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?
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?
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.
Check it out, dudes!
My first painting, ever!
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!
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
Iztaccihuatl
Sources
http://www.mexonline.com/history-popo.htm
https://www.inside-mexico.com/the-legend-of-popocatepetl-iztaccihuatl/
There is no excuse for not trying at all.
It is the only failure.
Try.
You don’t need to try the most amazing, big, spectacular thing.
Try simple.
Simply don’t give up.
You want to know why.
You make fun.
Make jokes.
Demean.
I think it’s because we know the “dream” isn’t real.
We’ve been told there’s no hope.
Don’t follow your dreams. Get a good, solid job that will pay the bills.
Don’t even bother trying to do anything you enjoy. It won’t happen. Following your dreams, working toward making them a reality, that will end you up alone, living in the gutter, and dead as a no one, with no one at your funeral.
We’re told that in order to survive (have money for college, have a place to live, have the support we need to have a chance at surviving at this life) we need our parents’ financial support. And more and more I’m seeing that parents use this to berate, manipulate, and abuse their children. But their children can’t do anything but what their parents’ desire or else. Or else no money for college. No place to live. No way to live.
We’re told by society that there is no way we can find a life we want. There is no way that we can attain the body we want, the job we want, the relationship we want. We’re told there is no healthy relationship, no enjoyable job that also pays the bills, no way to enjoy food and not be fatter than a Wall-E person (kid’s movie, google the humans at the end if you don’t know what I mean).
I know that I can only know what I’ve experienced. I only have the information from the lives within my world and the life I’ve lived. But how can I know so many people of all ages, genders, beliefs, social classes, etc., and we’ve all had the same experiences?
I’m not bashing on any one people or generation. I’m saying, look around. We’re not falling apart at the seams. We’re tearing each other apart and if anyone says anything, oh, they’re being dramatic. Cue eye roll.
We’re not people-ing right, people.
We’re taking brand new babies, grabbing a megaphone, and screaming into their faces that there is no point to life – get a job you can use to survive, and don’t expect to not be stressing over having enough money to survive.
We’re brainwashing each other that life sucks and that’s just how it is.
“Those” people – you know, the ones who went for their “unrealistic” dreams and took the risks of following their dreams and are now living quite happily – they only happen every once in a while, and we’re not good enough to ever attain that. So don’t bother trying. You will fail.
We ask why there are so many people living in their mothers’ basements, playing video games and refusing to get a job and deal with life.
We ask why there are so many grown adults living with family.
We ask why there are so many men and women who spend every dollar on distractions.
Because we’ve been told we can never have a fulfilling, healthy, joyful life filled with meaningful relationships and times of peace. Instead, we’re told…
Everyone has the right to our every moment (we had better answer our phone immediately).
Everyone is better than us.
Work is the only point of life (so don’t bother trying to have a life – just work, and never expect to get paid enough to do much more than struggle not to drown).
Love hurts, settle for whoever will put up with you.
You can’t change. Don’t bother trying. It doesn’t matter that you want to grow and become – you’re who you are and can never gain skills or successes.
Life sucks. Don’t fight it.
Can we stop asking why so many people are sleep walking through life and committing suicide.
Can we stop making fun of people for having mental health issues, employment issues, for living with family, for trying to escape the life they’ve been told will never amount to anything and will always 100% only hurt.
Can we START treating each other with respect, dignity, and compassion?
Can we START lifting others up, filling them with the strength to create the lives they want to live?
Can we START influencing people to tap into the potential they have lying dormant within themselves?
Can we START valuing people and dreams and belief?
Can we START making life worth living?
