Friday, September 24, 2010

The act of being small.

This is absolutely amazing.
In the summer time, and still on clear nights, I like to go and lay out in the middle of my street. My polaroid-picture, quiet street, where you can only very faintly hear the sound of cars passing occasionally a few streets away. You can see so many stars from there. With my back pressed against the ground and the soft air surrounding me, it's hard not to feel so absolutely connected to all of these great things - the air, the trees, the Earth beneath me. The insects, the animal kingdom as a whole. Humanity. The oceans, the mountains, the grand cities that would swallow me completely. The stars painted against the navy blue canvas above me It's all interconnected - moving and dancing around each other in perfect balance and rhythm.
With that realization comes the knowledge of how tiny, how insignificant I truly am. These stars, these planets, these beings that would completely dwarf my solar system look like in the sky. Like I could collect them all and put them on strings like Christmas lights, or gather them in a jar and hand them out to the people I love almost like fireflies. If they look that small to me, I am nonexistent to them. I am a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck. I am irrelevant. I am meaningless. But I am here.
That is absolutely freeing, I think. Our actions, good or bad, do not matter. They are a speck on the flow and stream of time, and more often than not they do not effect the Universe as a whole. We are a small mass amongst millions of other small masses. We can be angry, resentful, cry and yell and scream. We can put others below us and bring them down. We can put others above us and bring ourselves down. We can stress about the unpleasant, about the chaotic and about the sickness that is Humanity sometimes. We can fall into depression, into anger, into anxiety, into negativity as a whole - but it doesn't change anything in the world besides us and our perceptions. It only effects a small, small fraction of everything in existence - a fraction small enough to be nearly invisible. It doesn't matter. Our unhappiness does not matter. It does not effect anybody. We can feel it as we need to, grow from it and learn from it, and then we can let it go and it is completely irrelevant from that point forward.
Happiness - pure joy, pure positivity - is a different story. It starts with one fraction of a fraction of a fraction. It starts with you. Happiness, positivity, joy, awe of the world and the Universe in general, it's contagious. If you spread your happiness to somebody else, they will spread that onto somebody else and it'll continue. It still might be a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the grand scheme of things, but it's positive and it's beautiful and it's wonderful. It's bringing something large and bigger than you into existence and sharing it with the world. It's making the world, the environment, the Universe a better place in the simplest way possible. Spreading positivity. Choosing in that moment to try to be better than you are, to be better for yourself, for others and for the environment. And honestly, it's as simple as looking at your life and being thankful that you are here, you are living and you are experiencing the beauty of the world around you.
And it's beautiful.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

I Hope:

I Hope...

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


I think today is a perfect day to be thankful. We are alive. We are here. We are breathing. We are comprehending. We have the ability to feel, to think, to love, to hate. We have free will, we have the choice to be better than we were in the last moment and that is absolutely beautiful. We are consistently surrounded by the love and joy and beauty of the Universe. We are consistently given the choice of peace. It's wonderful. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Friday, September 10, 2010

There's so much energy in us.

And the Universe is so big around us (truly, honestly, completely.) It could swallow us whole if we let it. And it would be more beautiful than anything you could or I could ever experience. It would take our souls to a complete place of unreality (that place I strive to be consistently.)

It would touch our hearts and our souls, and all the right songs would play at all the right times. For all of us. Our very own personal soundtrack for our ears only. Everything would disappear as if it never existed in the first place (like the way negativity leaves through deep breaths and open minds and hearts.)

And we would all be nothing but energy. We would be equal. One. Together. Striving and moving and changing and growing. And I think it would be beautiful.

But I'd rather be human for now.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

I breathed out the butterflies from my insides, and they replaced themselves with the glitter floating around down from the clouds. In, out, in, out. If it could fall on our noses and stick to our skin, the places we collide would sparkle in the movement. Surreal. I don't think those moments could get any more beautiful.

Friday, September 3, 2010

The pieces of fall. (p. i)

Just as suddenly as it had come, Summer left and in it’s place there is cold air that makes my legs break out in goose-bumps and my toes curl inwards from the chill. The air does not quite smell as sweet as I know it will in a month’s time, and the leaves on the trees in my Kodak-photograph neighborhood and the grass lining the nearly perfectly manicured lawns is still a bright and vibrant color of green, but I can see the leaves near the top of the trees beginning to turn a pleasant shade of gold and the dirt is cold beneath my feet wherever I walk. Autumn came faster this year than it had last year, but I welcome the sharp contrast to the heat that made my make-up smear easily and my skin drip with sweat every time I walked out the door.

Thursday, September 2, 2010


My nose pressed into his chest. My hands curled into the back of his shirt, holding him securely against me, and from here we could not get any closer. It still felt too far away with layer upon layer of clothing separating our bodies, our skin from pressing desperately together. (I've never felt more real than I do like that.)

"The longer I go without seeing you," I told him into his shoulder. "The harder it gets to breathe."

"I know exactly what you mean." He said, and then everything else disappeared.