1.11.25

 

@Katya444ever


there is no quit. there is fatigue and for this there is a solution. rest. then we wake again to our intentions what we value and let the spirit take us. there is no #quit.

my chemical free life minus coffee

two weeks back i saw a window and took it. gave up coffee. a storm system spread across my sky. i got sick but nothing compared to dope sick 7 years ago. just a mighty headache is all. now i start my mornings with triple leaf green tea and a smile. against all odds. i live and love my chemical free life. i can hold my head high again. i can look you in the eyes again. i worked so hard to get here. dear God, i am down on my knees...asking how can i be of maximum use? thank you for opening my eyes.

turn on

makes me happy to turn a friend on to writing a blog. anyone whose been disenfranchised or marginalized, who cannot contribute to their community through mainstream channels, may benefit by one. the last person i turned on told me a week later what it has done for him. for several hours after i post, he said, i feel good. like ive accomplished something important. i have six followers too.

what was given us

the colorless moments of stressed inhibition. must i be always backed into a corner before i come fighting? a sea of bad news and brake lights ahead. even tears and smiles were a stretch.

then, from that place of half flag summer fatigue, arose a current from the far east. we would not know until we opened two walls. the windows.

life came into the trees. i awoke feeling different. all the colors returned. time was no longer just a waiting for work. there was meaning and it was personal. it was yours. it was mine.

made

my thoughts turn with the wind as i reach around the planet, unseen, kept close to land and water by gravity and pressure, unseen. my spirit i infuse. and i am openly in secret, yours, i am openly, in secret, together we face the world with all her feelings, we are touched

give. of purpose

Gave you my heart after all the heartbroken, unspoken, the best chance I ever risked it all on

I gave you my heart and
you loved me out of blue
and all the colors run not
so disturbing
now

when I was alone the
monochrome was familiar
not unkind

I got used to the singleness
now I am used to
you

first of september

a feeling came down
and held me and made me useful
and filled my world with
purpose

solar eclipse 08.17

death by MVA

There must have been 4 tons of car coming at you with a green light letting us through. Me in my Volkswagen, an old man in a Chevy, and a lady sliding off the highway in a Subaru. The time was 2pm, the city drenched by waves of heat. I saw you riding your bicycle slowly into the intersection ahead, and wondered would you stop? You kept pedaling with an icy stare into us, 3 lanes of traffic against your perpendicular. I'm not sure if you wanted to die, but you sure knew what you were doing. The physics, the mathematics of the equation, did not at all look promising yet you kept a steady pace, a mane of black hair falling behind your tan face. You looked maybe Latin or Native American, and ready to die by MVA. Why? Did you lose someone close to you? Were you socioeconomically starved? We all pressed into our brake pads, and the old man in the middle lane lay on his horn.

We were long gone when I wondered; were you laughing in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush? Or were you disappointed? Or had you gone on to Broadway, indifferent to us all, searching for cool water, a smoke, friends, and some shade.

give free or die

I wish i could stop myself, arrest my forward motion, always in a rush the way i am, to be there for someone who is calling on me, in a hallway, on the street, out in the front yard or on the sidewalk heading to or from work or errands. Often they call and they always have. Years ago i stopped stopping for them, to give them my time and attention, no, i taught myself not to give my presence and maybe only a smile or not, giving nothing else but a smattering of words, before making my way to the next destination in a rush. i was usually in a rush. i still am. but it was more than that, i was also fearful and guarded of people from a young age, you see, i was the exact same age as the first kid whose face was plastered on the side of every whole milk carton back in the 1980's. those kinda happenings were iconic then and remembered dearly today, too, for they changed the operation of many a nuclear family, and likely the percentage of latchkey kids fell down for a moment, as mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles began to watch a touch more closely their kids. all i remember is i was called home many early evenings when i preferred to be out wandering the streets with my young friends. i thought surely when i reached double digits i could be trusted to come home in my own time, but nope it rarely happened. sure there was a lot of freedom, after all, this was america and this was new hampshire and this was live free or die country. so i did my fair share of wandering, skateboarding around playing cards, chewing bubble gum, and making out with other kids. still, guardedness got drilled into my dna and today it takes a concerted effort to open my heart to anyone at any time, for i always feel like many particles of magnet being sucked north. there must be a mantra in my head to help me along back into my original open and giving ways. give free or die! that's the one! i found it! now to put it in motion and change my life, i cannot wait! to start stopping for them again! fresh! to stop when i think i am in a rush and ask myself, why, katya, are you in such a rush? where really do you think you oughta be at this moment? can it not be here? with this one who is calling upon you in a simple greeting and willing to stop and give themselves freely to you? are you not honored? and can you not stop also and honor them with your presence? give of yourself freely today? what is the cost of all these moments in the halls, on the sidewalks of the world, in the streets, in the parks? the cost, my friend, is the life itself. for what is living if not sharing and loving and caring? these small exchanges, when widened and opened and made space for, they are the life! are they not? please, give free or die, i pray that i may answer the call of my people in the world, and today may i be with you. for you are all i really have, and i am yours.

the resolute kindness

Readers
Friends
Family
Comrades

I wish you all a bright season, and thank you for camaraderie and for showing interest in my work. For the first time in many years, since 2005 to be exact, I will be spending this holiday with family. I am excited. It was a long and painful separation, yet in that empty space my family once filled,  I developed a lot --what Jung would call individuation -- and, up against the painful silence of a careless world, I drew close to the warmth of the fire in my heart, and somewhere there located the elements of my survival. You may have noticed my tools. Writing. Running. Counseling. Reading. Mindfulness and meditation. Guitar. Your life can be what you make of it. Isn't that freedom? I feel fortunate for my small freedoms in our world of power struggles and abuses. Yet the resolute kindness had to be gifted to myself, and still does. There was a time when I was a child then an adolescent and a teenager, and the many kindnesses were insinuated toward me. I believe the most kind among them, lovers and family and lifetime friends, were the ones who knew me best. And I felt insulted. For I knew they knew I was some walking contradiction, that somehow I was an act, and could betray myself in an instant! The ones who knew me, knew I was not kind to myself at all. I treated them poorly and almost as poorly as I experienced myself. I was a classless example on a long and endless tour. I was Keith Richards meets Brian Jones for a swim. I was a party of one, divisible by all. I had to be alone, in order to patiently await the resolute kindness within me. Otherwise, I risked the endless incinerations, and being reduced to a fraction of myself.

2016 K 

This is my confession to you. I know my writings tend to give only a glimpse of who I am and what I have been through. It is only through the greater whole of this website, and through the books that I write (yes, I am a novelist), you may know me more intimately. And you may also see my play and foreplay with the resolute kindness, within and without. I am the filter, and I attempt to surface and demystify the demons, to spin them around like a top and turn them. Turn them into friends and allies, within and without. I consider it some kinda alchemical process going on. I don't create it, I just reflect it. When I am lucky, coal turns to silver and wine, into water. But I want to be honest with the process, and if all that turns up out the topsoil is a demon, well, there you have it, I will share a demon with the world and let the world handle it... I love it more when I can grow the kindness and press it out to you like a flower! This is (and was) my dream in twenty sixteen. And I will exercise a lien on twenty seventeen, and release more of this lovely, tangy stuff to you when i can, so we can share the resolute kindness.

vote

ONE of them gets to feel loved by the entire country. one of them will feel loved by me and you. we can only hope that they didn't use all their life up to now, positioning themselves to be loved like this. i wanna choose the one who wakes up every morning and already feels loved. the one i cannot take that feeling away from, no matter

why
or when
or where
or how i cast my vote...

even if the only one they know who truly loves them
thick or thin
is themselves

under the influence of and blindsided by life

what is left to do but live when all the other meaning i ever thought life carried no longer holds me, no way, all is left is the life itself and whomever orchestrated this party clearly let me figure it out for myself, hey, there's nothing can be figured by it, there is little use for an outline for a story that changes every instant, imperceptibly most of the time, punctuated by obvious dramatic incidents, unraveling in a rhythm decided by greater forces than self and self-will - whether you call it god or not, there it is showing you up all the time - and i could begin to really love it if only i could accept it, but tend to fight it all the while, not sayin' im against change, no way, but i guess i get attached like any young fool i wanna hold on to the meaning i created and not let go, the meaning i share with you, as we unravel the way we do, pretty sometimes, funny, tragic sometimes, for i cherish it and maybe that's what a book is to me, writing a book, capturing a sliver of cherished meaning, so we can have it, you and me, so we can know in twenty sixteen this was how it was for a hot second, glorious, tumbled off of a platform and raising dust, confused and intoxicated as life is, under many an influence, troubled and reflective, comin apart at the seams, belligerent, graceful sometimes, then colliding again with the water, the air, the earth, blindsided by the spirit, chanted away on a fallen sun, going dark again, colorful at dawn, vital, full of hope and bloodied shows we're made of something, and - no matter the violent wannabes tryin to ruin what we got - the sure thing won't ever change is our rising up with an ever touched fortitude to show them we can love them, too, despite themselves spun into lost causes, for we have been lost, too, and only found ourselves like old friends to embrace and move courageously into the lucid dream in precarious identities under our skin, deepening the experience only by giving and giving into. And out of my mind i go, crazy and unregimented - sometimes in ink - zigzagging under the influence of strange and unseen elements, having a grand and grainy absorption, laughin and cryin, talkin and sleepin, knowing no other way but here, but now, discardin the limited perception, struggling to make somethin of it, and so what's made is what is, and what is is pretty damn spectacular, i mean, what is left to do but live, when all the meaning you ever made no longer holds you, no way, is that freedom or what? Whether we want it or not it's not about what we want, is it, it's only lived and the living never wears out, just as sure as perception has its limits, we see death when nothing ever dies, life keeps living and nothing will stop it! Not even the end of this earth, so goddamn! Whose to worry? All is left is the imperceptible ever changing, punctuated by obvious dramatic moments, spaced by space, unitive when embraced, divided when not, judged all along, fading into sunsets, risen into colors, drawn out over time, blessed by the blessings, covered in earth, supported on the back of the wind, falling like the water, breaking in a wave, bleached by the sun, suffering in darkness, and tremendously reunited, partying til dawn, siesta all day, coffee in the evening, writing at night, diving into books, driven into meaning,  making use of what we've been given... loving every second if you are lucky and figure out how to give in: so give in, my friend, give in.   - KatYa, 2016 (celebrating blog post #1,000)

WIP. plan of attack. (with loving kindness)

Strategy... (reimmersion campaign)


1 - get head out of fog  (yes. established) deeper sleep renews!
2 - attend to physical  (ongoing)
3 - re-reading David Copperfield. learning from Dickens style (ongoing)
4 - sit my ass at desk at home  (fail fail fail!)
5 - consider rearranging furniture. laptop on couch. switch rooms (last resort)
6 - attend to spirit (ongoing)
7 - prayer. journaling. sunshine. caring (move toward causes)
8 - channel switching (yes. more guitar. running. cycling. walks)
9 - minimize netflix (body at rest)
10 - maximize housekeeping (body in motion)
11 - memory (what you do that makes you feel good)
12 - attending to needs vs desires (self-discipline)
13 - work = freedom (purpose)
14 - coffee (is my drug) in moderation
15 - mindfulness. slow but certain

Goal to complete and publication
reality: June / July 2016

Nothing is possible without
attitude of loving kindness

roses

I will bring some classical music to the backyard. There are roses bold enough to cross the chain link where the grass meets the alleyway, and yes, I have seen them stop there, stumbling drunk down the alleys in the middle of the night, clothes torn, not knowin where they're going. The aimless ones are beautiful to me. They have the courage to live today without any direction, the courage to go wherever the streets and alleyways take them. The roses are bold and red. Dark like blood. They cross the chain link and into danger. They are beautiful to me. The sun pulled them out and into themselves, the sun moved them, the aimless ones... the roses.

Journal # 04.20.15

I am listening to the kids playing in the park across the way. I know adults who sound so giddy. They also have been entrusted little to no responsibility. They can line up for lunch in the parks. They can play silly games and do things that seem irrational. Nobody really listens. And no one picks the adults up at the end of the day, unless it's the law. I am listening to the kids and then the birds. I cannot see the birds unless i inspect the trees closely. Same goes with everthing else. I try my very best to mimic the different birds. The cat looks at me despairingly. I give him a plate with an oval of cream. He laps it up, then licks his whiskers and dreams of the mother he never knew. The cream holds its shape well. I step on the scale. The sound of the mechanism rocking into place. Finding me a number to hold onto today. XXX. Within fifteen pounds of the weight I have been within fifteen pounds of since I was fourteen. I am thirty pounds heavier today than I was then. Hopefully it is all in my mind.

My toenails are painted silver and nobody sees them. My fingernails are not painted. Nobody sees them. My highlights have grown out, so what could excite me anymore? I cannot look forward to sleep. The passage of time disturbs me. From moment to moment, life seems so simple you cannot let it get away from you. And then it gets away from you. I wanna think of you and the kids and the adults seem like kids but don't get picked up at the end of the day. Unless it's the law. A good day is a day I have not much interest in myself. I listen to the birds and the bells of the church ring the hour. I try my hand at mimicry. Then fight to have my voice back. I am tired of the me and my shadow. Whatever happens to me now, is not my concern. Terrible things have happened. Incredible things. And many endless dull days in between. I set my course for the stars, and when I arrive they are city lights and desires. So I struck out for friendship in the night. The times are amazing and I am loved and hated. In the end I got only one thing and that was out of there, alive.

Journal # 03.19.15

If I open my veins for you to see my checkered past, will you honour or hate me? Trust is a difficult thing, but easy by the eyes of a stranger. So long as we love ourselves, no one's opinion of us can set us back for long. Stay true to the melody of your song. My checkered past gives way to a game of chess. The Queen is a powerful one, what with her ability to move in any direction, as far as the board permits. The situation of her disciples, the pawns, determines the outcome of the game. The whole board from above looking down is a galaxy. A mathematical conundrum. A triumph of man by the mind. In life, what you need may you find. I wish you protection along your way. But know that your game is not simply the world. Children at play enact circumstances from the inside out. We are all children at play in our lives. We can come to a separate peace just by trying. Then the surface is swept clean, and we create purpose as we go. Such is human nature. Joyfulness comes off the back of the wind whirring through. Off the back of the drought. Of the storm. The calm comes after a great rage. The war. Stay there in the center of your calm, and you are home. You are the Queen. You may look after the King. Without him you are nothing. Without you, there's no life. The pawns in the pattern form a remarkable boundary. Some may pass through and others cannot. There is not always a way around. You can storm the castle through. The knight has its due. The bishops all turned black under a sky; it was blue. The world is ours until we die. This is true.