energy and space.

My head is feeling a lot like the state of my room at the moment.

Scattered on my floor are clothes that I really need to put away. A new heater I spent 10 minutes at Wal-Mart researching, because well, the weather has taken a cooler turn in the South. I’m always a little giddy at that. I also grew comfy with the sound of my little heater in Portland. (That is, when the breaker wouldn’t switch in the middle of a frigid cold night.)

I see quarters and nickels and dimes everywhere, because I pay with cash a lot and have been used to Oregon’s zero-tax thing. The good part of it is, it’s a very messy way to have a savings plan. I have little treasures all over my apartment.

This week, I’ve been dealing with back pain on and off. Mostly muscle related, from all the twists and turns and bends of being a cook, no doubt. So, I’ve been needing to take it easy. I’ve stayed off my feet to the best of my ability and my surroundings showcase the laziness of my strained frame.

That’s okay.

To be honest, I have to fight with every sentence to not complain about being single. I tell myself not to write about it, because it makes me feel as though I’m looking for pity. I hope you don’t see it that way. I really don’t have too many complaints, to be honest. I think about what a gift it is to have a partner, and to also be single. I think about how both sides give us plenty of room to grow into good, strong people. Though it’s always through some pretty mucky stuff. Sometimes sad and frustrating, washed over with plenty of goofy-lovey-sweet stuff.

You notice peoples physical touch a bit more when you’re single. I went to an amazing show last night, and noticed all the lover things happening. The neck kisses, the couple that’s been making out at the bar for an hour straight who should probably just go home and get things settled. The sweet dance via bass and snare and high-hat — of getting closer to someone you don’t really know. Maybe the lightest presence of another close to you feels like it’s all going to be okay.

And while I’m being honest, I’ve been waking up quite often, missing her. I’ve felt embarrassed and sad about a lot of things. The Black Keys say that a broken heart is blind, but more so, it is the most fragile thing on our planet. I wonder how often we take responsibility for each others broken hearts…not that we should carry the weight of it, but that we should live knowing our actions are always echoing through the bones of those we know.

I saw a picture this week that said, “Take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space.” by Jill Bolte-Taylor

I’ve probably posted it to every social media outlet I can stand, for the sake of how it resonates deeply, and how I need to be better of it myself. I think being aware of your energy is hard hard hard. Some people know it and are comfortable with it. Other people suck it up like a vortex, and you can almost hear the collective ‘sigh’ when they leave. I think about the people who tell me I’m a calm presence to them, and what that must mean when I am in a room with others.

I suppose if they saw the inside of my head, my appearance would be much more tired looking, with my hand rubbing the sore muscles of my back, dazed and maybe a little hectic. Probably confused that I would be thinking about the sandwich special of the week, or how many leeks I needed to order for the butternut squash soup.

More often than not, I suppose all of our heads are cluttered from the things we just have to do now.

And much like the story I wrote about in my last piece, you have to start one at a time, most likely.

When I get out of bed, hungover from a dream or reality, I pick a good song to start my morning to. I stretch, more so, considering the state of things, and find comfort in the warmth of my gas stove.

I drop in a spoonful of butter and let it get the lightest bit brown, before dumping in my eggs.

I squeeze the last, most flavorful drops of my bag of PG Tips with my bare fingers, because the heat doesn’t much bother me anymore.

I let that incorporate into whatever it is I can’t control,

and I let that, for the moment, be enough.

 

 

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the mystery of other worlds

Sometimes, when I look out into a room,
or when I sit at a table,
I imagine tiny universes
sorta, spinning around.

I see them give and take,
smile and nod and reach,
as though they are trying to understand another world
vastly different from their own.

I understand this.
At times, I am the one who helps facilitate.
I am the one who keeps their glasses full
and their plates warm with food.

It is not the burden of Atlas that I carry,
but the weightlessness that comes
with noticing the invisible things
and the gravity of a new discovery.

I’ve always enjoyed space.
I love the mystery of other worlds,
which is why I love the mystery in you. As you.
This unknown galaxy swirling like the Milky Way

Don’t let this time go to waste.
You only have a few moments to be this connected
and to discover!
and to explore!

I remember watching the sun shine on your skin
How it glowed, and also its shadows,
the way it allowed me to stand in wonder
as I do always, when I stumble upon a world not my own,

a little universe
with its own fiery suns
as swirling stars.
there you are,

sitting and falling,
moving with intention,
all with a slight lean,
as different worlds do,

drifting into their own forever.

to infinity, and beyond

I am deeply, unapologetically, and fiercely,

geeky.

I know, I know. This is not to take away the glory from those who are fierce about their nerd/geek philosophy and image. I realize I am crossing into territory that is littered with fan-fiction and severe anxiety of the general public.

I wear heavy glasses.
(and not that bad vision is nerdy.)

In fact, if you are around me for more than a few minutes, I will have pushed them back up on my nose at least three times. I suppose I should get that fixed. My frames are thick. I have terrible vision, but the slighter cool part of me likes that I can have a choice with my ever-increasingly thick lenses.

I suppose I am nerdy about food, in the way some are about Skyrim or D&D or Star Trek.

We are all heavily into something, I suppose.

I sat for about three straight hours watching a panel of physicists and engineers and scientists talk about space, energy and time. I love it. So, so much. It is all a great mystery that I am drawn to — the outer limits — or as our favorite explorer once said, “To Infinity, And Beyond!” I suppose there is something exciting about an unforeseen frontier. Of life on another planet or moon. How that would change everything.

But I settle back into my body and digress a bit. With geekdom comes fantasy. Escapism of the natural world. One of which is rich and deep with beauty and pain. It is also endless.

In the same way I learn about clarifying stock to make consommé, I am drawn to the mystery of space. I reckon’ this adds to my suspicion that we are all more alike than we are different. I’d like to think we are all aware of this great mystery. Some of us tend to embrace it more than others.

The fact that black holes maybe don’t exist after all, or at least our theory on the idea can still shift. Error is okay in science. The world was once flat.

We also used to be the center of the universe.

(Some of us still think this way.)

Things change, thank God.

We are left humbled, all the time. Feeling small should not be looked down upon. We are so, so, microscopic.

Yet our eyes…can see such gigantic things.

I suppose I am thinking about this a lot today, especially as the wind outside is shifting the clouds and our weather systems move out, and give rain to a farmer who was praying. Or to the unfortunate side effect of flooding, destroying peoples lives and the habitats of other living creatures.

We are so small.

But we see big things.

So as I sit and wonder how the stars let us gaze upon them, and as I stare into a pot of clear consommé, I am confounded.

Delightfully so, at that.

I am reminded of our limitless imagination. Our endless spirit. And the Great Unknown.

yes, my friends, if I do say so myself,

we could learn a lot from Buzz Lightyear.