A thought on real love

It's nice to have someone, some body to see all your insecurities, take them in their hands and kiss them, softly.  To support them with their love and compassion.  Those little quirks that make you, you; often are trouble for most, challenging, annoying.  For the right kind of person, for the person, those things are special - sometimes mildly annoying - but they make you, you.  So that person loves you for all the rough edges, the squiggly lines, all imperfections and insecurities - the whole being that is you.

When you can do the same for that person.....that, my friend, is real, unconditional love.

So you wanna be a writer, eh?  You think you have what it takes?  The diligence to pursue a dream career that may never come to fruition, the drive to continue after endless rejections, the criticism and negative feedback, haunting blocks to the brain that cloud your desires, just to get those last few words out.  What are those words?  They're there, at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be written, spoken in a whisper, through your fingers as you type.  But it's hard to get them out sometimes, see, it's tough to find those words, it's tough to know what to say.  You're your own worst critic, they tell you.  So many of them, family and friends.  Reach for the stars, go for what you want, take your dreams and make them a reality.  You have too many dreams, maybe?  Too many ideas pop in and out all day.  It's like a fucking auction of thoughts, but it's being orated by a goldfish; nonsense, ramblings.  But they do make sense, to you...

So, begin.  Write your blog, like you're doing right now.  Create your story, fill the pages with tales of golden futures.  A place where all the good stuff happens.  The other universe sitting beside you, within you.  It's yours.  So take it.

Playing with stream of consciousness writing, or memories

This is very old, something from several years ago.

My earliest memory: Building a snowman with my sister and brother, my mother standing at the sliding glass door.  I also think I saw Uncle Keith there, but maybe not.  I don’t remember climbing stairs as a babe, but I can imagine what it must have been like.  Seated on my legs, I stair up at the flight of steps, were they covered with carpet, grayish blue maybe?  I put my tiny right hand on the first step, you can see my diaper under my long top, or maybe it’s a dress.  I can’t see myself climbing them beyond that first reach. 

I remember Mary Poppins and Lamb chops and playing with my magnets.  I used to build places and the little dots, the red and blue, were boys and girls.  I remember the boys would always chase the girls, and I always chose one of each to be the main characters.  I’m not sure how I kept them straight but it seems I almost always did.  I think sometimes I would mess them up when mom came by.  Like it was wrong of me to play such a game.  I got embarrassed.  I remember, I think, mine and Carl’s last bath together.  Maybe it was the chicken pox or something.  We had all our toys, well mostly his.  GI Jo and such.  I used to love playing GI Jo and trolls with him.  I always wanted to be like him.  Well, as far as I could.  I always looked up to him.  He was so smart and cool.  Emily had to play my mother, how could I look up to her.  I don’t remember when Dad left I just know he left.  My first memory of a phone conversation with him: I was maybe seven, or maybe it was just after he left.  I didn’t want to use the phone I just wanted to play.  I had just gotten my boots, the boyish kind, Timberlands or something.  I remember how excited I was.  I was trying to tie them maybe when he called and I had to talk to him.  Mom made me even though I said I didn’t feel like it.  It didn’t faze me then.  That my daddy had left.  I just thought how much this conversation had interfered with my playtime.  I remember the car ride with grandma and grandpa.  I fell asleep in grandmas’ lap in the back seat.  It sounds silly but that’s my fondest memory of her.  She was so caring then, she said, “If you’re sleepy just lay down here and go to sleep.” So I did, it was nice.  After that she became the crazy grandma.  My mother told me that she asked a doctor if I had been sexually abused.  I stuck my blanket up my nose; I just thought it felt nice.  Kids stick things up their nose.  I’m not sure it means anything except a strange fixation.  Freud would probably say its normal.  The only thing Freud was good for, he helped us understand child behaviors.  I remember having a crush on Lauren D.’s big brother.  I think he was the second oldest.  He was so cute, I guess.  I was only 8 or 9 so what did I know.  I remember when Lauren wanted to see me naked, or at least be in the room when I changed my clothes.  I thought she was a weirdo then, now I know she was just curious because I was older then her.  She was just curious.  Or maybe she was just kidding around.  I remember the dirt mounds.  We played on them and pretended to be on some kind of adventure.  We were always pretending.  I forget sometimes how imaginative I was.  My sister made me a Barbie extravaganza in our room once.  She took all my Barbie’s and hers and made little sections.  There was a house on our dresser and maybe a beach or something.  I don’t remember all of it, just that it covered our desk and dresser and the floor.  She always takes care of me.  I suppose I somewhat returned the favor with this trip, not sure I ever fully could though.  At some point you know you’re not like other families or that you’re not like other kids.  I thought about things a lot.  Just everyday things.  I seemed like such a quiet kid, people used to tell me.  On the inside it was never quiet.  My mind was always rolling from one subject to another or one idea to the next.  I used to dwell on things a lot.  I guess I still do. 

This is something I wrote back in June 2014.  It feels right, so I'm sharing.

Someone to save me, for a change.  Someone to love and accept me as me, wholeheartedly.  Someone that does not necessarily like all of my quirks, but accepts them as is; and that, when I do something stupid, they don’t roll their eyes and ridicule me.  Or if they do roll their eyes, they do it with a smile and give me a kiss - and I feel that love.  Someone that I can be myself around - my multitude of selves.  Someone that can mellow out my crazy, or meet it equally.  That is gentle and compassionate, and strong when in need.  When I need a shoulder they are open and comforting.  We can laugh together, and be quiet.  We can look into each other’s eyes for long periods of time - with or without laughter.  We can be creative together in whatever form.  I just want an honest love, a real love.

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Why are we so elite?  From other beings, like we serve a greater purpose.  Like we would actually outlive them all (yeah right).  How did we become so disconnected?  As if we can't feel her pain, as she weeps softly.  Sometimes loudly; thunderous clouds, tsunamis and great storms, fires that consume the old and the new.  Beautiful chaos, a cleansing.  She is vast and wise beyond our comprehension.  We are lowly and so young, so stupid.  So much to learn about her and the encompassing universe.  Her playground, her home, her space amongst the celestial gods; it a space we meekly fill, a tiny speck within an infinite, everlasting womb.  We are so lucky to experience it all.  If only that understanding reigned within all humans.  Let go of your pitiful selfish thoughts and behaviors.  Before it's too late.  Is it too late?  Have we reached the point of no return, the floodgates are destined to open?  I hope not.  That would be terribly sad.

love vs. greed, a thought

All we have is love, a pivotal emotion, to bring us true joy.  Can greed be deemed as a moment of true joy?  All a matter of perspective, I suppose.  It doesn't feel right, the righteous would think.  Greed can bring pain and hatred, seemingly terrible states of being.  The moment you feel love, is... like floating, like the smell of spring, fresh rain and a baby's skin.  All those precious pieces of time, experiences that we hold onto in our minds, stow them away in the memory banks of our mortal brains.

Greed seems to end in heartbreak, in death, often alone.  Does it not take more effort to be sharing and giving, then to hoard and be greedy?  Take more of ourselves, our spirits?  It's easy to keep everything to yourself, to be alone and pretend to not need.  It's far more challenging to let people in, to be open to love, compassion, and to give these in return, to share with others.  Yes?

Japan - Day 7 and My Top Favorite Things About Nippon

My last day in Tokyo was eventful, bittersweet at moments.  I arose early to get to the Tokyo Skytree first thing; though it was cloudy, still totally worth it.  It was fun to meander around the different levels and grab souvenirs for people (some at random).  The rain was still a light mist, so it wasn't a terrible day for exploration.

(There's my feet, standing on glass, on floor 340 - for 340 meters, which is apparently around 1115 feet.  Yeah.)

After the Skytree, I headed to Nezu for an art exhibit at the Yayoi Museum.  They featured a manga artist, Kazuo Kamimura (famous for Lady Snowblood), with pieces from the '60s and later; it was gorgeous.  But I'd like to backtrack a bit to travelling to Yayoi Museum.  Initially, I'd set out with my raincoat, and decided I'd purchase an umbrella somewhere along the way.  It wasn't until I'd left the Skytree that it really begun to rain, a very steady rain.

The whole trip to Nezu pretty much involved me being underground.  So, when I reached my destination, I just said screw it and walked the ten minutes, hood over my head, phone in hand, as I navigated to Yayoi.  It was fantastic.  I was drenched by the time I got to the museum, but those kind ladies lent me a towel and even took my coat and backpack while I walked freely through the exhibit.

Nezu has been added to some of my favorite places in Tokyo.  The town is quaint, with lots of intricate homes and buildings.  It was quiet, unlike busy Shinjuku or Nihonbashi areas.  And did I mention that the Japanese people (in general) are impeccably polite?  As I put on my coat and backpack to leave Yayoi, those two women stopped me, and held out an umbrella.  I couldn't have been more grateful.

My check out time was 1pm, so I basically headed back to the hotel and made my way to the airport.  It took close to an hour to get there by train(s), but I didn't want to miss the experience and take a taxi (which still only knocked off about 20 minutes).  So there I was, hauling my luggage up and down a few stairwells, mildly regretting my choice.  Fortunately, it didn't take too long to get to the train (A/KK line) which runs all the way to Haneda airport.  Very efficient those Japanese.  I had a few whispers from fellow passengers, and a couple stares, but not bad overall.

When I got to the airport, and reached the check-in counter, I was informed that I'd missed my flight.  Apparently, when it says 12:00 am Sunday, it means....midnight Sunday (or in more clear terms, you better get your dumb ass to the airport on Friday night or you miss your flight).  Yeah...that happened.  It only took a couple hours on the phone with Expedia, of which no resolve was found, and the helpful ladies of ANA ticket counter to help me get on the next flight to LAX free of charge.  I'd had to book a new flight, and pay, to get to Vegas from there.  I'll take it!

I've never missed a flight in my adult life.  This was certainly a learning experience.  Also, Expedia sucks.  Just saying.  Don't book a person six nights at a groovy hotel with free breakfast and not expect them to stay six (whole) nights.  Alas, after several hours of meandering and attempts of sleep in the airport terminal, I finally made my way home.

This whole experience for me meant life changes.  I know what I need to do, and I know it's time to move forward, with big girl steps...no more baby steps.  It felt like a part of my soul had been brought back to life, it made me appreciate human beings more.  It made me realize that people can be awesome.  I can't wait to explore so much more of this wonderful planet.



At that, I'd like to list my favorite things about Japan (so far..):
Vending machines, vending machine beer, food, all the food, sweets, macha, shrines, nice people, cute Japanese women, classy outfits, bidets, toilets with SO many buttons, Sonic the hedgehog, tiny people like me, tiny doorways and rooms so that Austin has to duck/crouch, sushi, sake, did I mention food in general?, art museums, sakura trees, and all sakura things really, foxes, hot springs, rituals and traditions, the lady that cleaned my hotel room, the lady that gave me an umbrella, the lady from ANA who helped me get home, the random guy who told us about the onsen, and all the other things.  And Japan.

I hope you all enjoyed this adventure with me.  And that my descriptions did some justice (though probably not, you should all go see for yourselves).  Get out there and explore your universe.  Life is far too short.  Love you all,

~HB~