mandyjw

Waste? If you created resources, and the very notion of limitation and resource, if you are the source of resources, why would you know such a thing as waste? If you are the creator of boredom and entertainment, why would you be subject to boredom?

When we find ourselves suffering in reaction to a word used about us, whether by us or someone else, it's helps to take a step back and look at what we are identifying with or agreeing with them about. Usually there are connotations that are getting to us. The word "cute" is a positive word but loaded with negative connotations. One trick that almost always slices through connotations trick is to look up the etymology of a word. Try it if you have any sort of suffering around it. Take this for example. cute (adj.) 1731, "clever, sharp, smart," shortening of acute; informal sense of "pretty" is by 1834, American English colloquial and student slang. Related: Cutely; cuteness. https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=cute From the posts I've read from you, the original meaning of clever, sharp and smart are right on. There are a lot of people throwing around words, not knowing what they really mean. And by they, I mean both the people and the words. Maybe just be THAT, (the original meaning) and stop acting dumb out of your own intelligence? Why do you do that? What do you seek from that? I used to do it, too when I was younger. I saw my intelligent friends playing this game they seemed to think was very serious and I didn't want to compete and identify that way, so I decided to act dumb. It was a way of opting out, of already becoming what I feared they'd think I was so I'd have the control that way. If I demoted myself to rock bottom, no one else could. Is that what you're doing? You're really smart. Can you own that? What's so scary about owning that?

In my opinion it's best to approach this in a creative way rather than trying to fix a problem and become immune in preparation for some feared future. Fear does not prevent fear. In my early 20's I bought a house in a neighborhood where there were a ton of old abandoned buildings and fantastic history with few people left around to appreciate it. You can feel the energy left behind. Google pictures of abandoned homes and places and watch nature overtake it with it's own art. It's fascinating and gorgeous. There's no beauty in a well kept modern mansion that can even touch the beauty of an old home that nature is taking back, in my opinion. Visit cemeteries, preferably the old parts of cemeteries. They're so peaceful and gorgeous. There are some really beautiful transcendent things written on old gravestones. Volunteer and visit a nursing home. Appreciate older people. There are again, some really beautiful but perhaps subtle things we totally miss unless we look for them them. When things are fading into formlessness there's a kind of beauty you can't even explain or measure.

That's awesome. define (v.) late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining. https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=define Limit infinity. Go on. Go ahead. Do it. Bring it to an end. A CONCLUSIVE END. Right now. Come on. We're waiting.

Hard to follow up on that. Lately I feel confuddled and I know there isn't really a reason I feel confuddled but there seems to be a reason. And that's confuddling. I feel like I've spent my life avoiding feelings, avoiding depression. And you sit in meditation and wonder of wonder, there's feeling and there aren't anything like that. The avoidance was the creation of it. But when I'm thinking, or not thinking rather, but thinking, it seems like that's happening. The motivation of not wanting to feel like shit doesn't cut it anymore. I mean, in the SUMMER I can BELIEVE I'm really infinite bliss or some shit like that. Every year watching the conditions you think made you happy get stripped away can be disconcerting. I don't want to admit that I'm kinda panicky about it, like I feel like I need to take my last gasp of air. That air is mine! It's limited, and it's going away. Run, run, run from the depression. Alright, whatever, come here. What do you want? I am what you cannot see. I want to be seen. I'm afraid I won't be able to handle it in the future. And what of now? I must prepare, stock the shelves, harvest, prepare. I must get it over with now, so I won't have to suffer in the future. You can't bottle up summer. You can't bottle up happiness. You cannot suffer now to prevent suffering later. You are not made happy by a circumstance. You are. But I'm trying to do that. How are you supposed to look around and feel the chill in the air, and not DO anything? Trans- formation. Thank you nutrition facts telling me there is no trans fat in my sparkling water. Eyes went right to you. Trans- formations is trans (through) formation. Ok, so that's been a huge belief of mine. If I enough suffer now, I won't have to suffer later. suffer (v.) mid-13c., "allow to occur or continue, permit, tolerate," Magic. Magic everywhere.

Oh fuck my life. It's like I'm DOOMED to be perpetually cheerful or something. Like someone who on a whim paints a wall bright yellow or something. Self identification much? Fucking yellow! It's yellow because it hates yellow. This is going downhill. You cannot paint over the yellow until you love it. Seems a waste. Remember the bottle of kefir, the waste that was just for you? You bring that up now? Last night after all the unnecessary drama I had a fit of rage. Rage. I feel disgusting today, like my head wants to explode. No motivation. No get up and go. And all this happened after a spectacularly amazing meditation session. What gives? I have a customer I haven't emailed. I haven't responded to people. Ok, I responded. Was that so hard? Yes, until I actually did it. Resistance is funny. What are we trying to accomplish with it? Ah yes. Just remember to keep the shake weight away from your face.

What no one got that? For like 1000 years or something? "I will cause all my goodness to fly over your f-g head, cause you don't actually have one. HA! "

“I will cause all My goodness to pass before you,” the LORD replied, “and I will proclaim My name—the LORD—in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.” 20 But He added, “You cannot see My face, for no one can see Me and live.” -God

The kid was standing in the cafeteria line behind me when he said that. Whatever it was. Can't even remember. Thinking of his organs holding a place in line for others. Gone a bit too far with that one. Shit. I haven't ugly cried, in like forever. Cried, but not like that. It's a man's world. That's a song? Pop.

Oh good! Jesus! (That was supposed to be god, no good.) I misspelled how today as "ho", up above and had to edit it. Then I read a comment today that just was like an electrical shock (oh god, misspelled that too, and I'm not saying as what), and I realized and remembered something about this realization, that I am a Whore. And this kid was one of the first people to trigger that need to protect myself. He was innocent. His dad let him watch too much TV, and I judged and blamed him. And I was innocent, my dad taught me I had to do something keep that in place. So I thought about how Tim Ferriss' Alice Little interviews was one of the most important things I ever listened to. She works at the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. My avatar. How funny. I was going to delete this but then I remembered that my sister had to report this kid's older brother about some serious sexual misconduct with her on the bus. And I remember how disturbed I was by the whole thing. I keep thinking of Jim Newman's pointer of how it's amazing that the self holds itself together. And there's pain and tension like we try to hold it together. But we don't. We don't have to do anything. Could it be that frigging OLD? Could it be that innocent? All along? Like why do I want to demonize the fact that I demonized something, when it was all of the time just innocent? I hate that mother fucker, for sitting there so relaxed. He should be standing in line! How dare he be so fucking relaxed in his seat, and I have to hold his fucking place for him. I'm sick of holding your fucking place! I'm sick of putting in effort to protect myself from your bad fucking, negligent behavior. You should have raised your fucking boys to respect women.

mundane (adj.) mid-15c., mondeine, "of this world, worldly, terrestrial," from Old French mondain "of this world, worldly, earthly, secular;" also "pure, clean; noble, generous" (12c.) and directly from Late Latin mundanus "belonging to the world" (as distinct from the Church), in classical Latin "a citizen of the world, cosmopolite," from mundus "universe, world," which is identical to mundus "clean, elegant," but the exact connection is uncertain and the etymology is unknown. Latin mundus "world" was used as a translation of Greek kosmos (see cosmos) in its Pythagorean sense of "the physical universe" (the original sense of the Greek word was "orderly arrangement"). Like kosmos (and perhaps by influence of it), Latin mundus also was used of a woman's "ornaments, dress," which also could entangle the adjective mundus "clean, elegant." Wow.

the dam. Yup. I wanted to mention it. I was like "no, that's stupid, you're the only one who cares about it." And he talked too much anyway. I'm started to get tired of how breathtaking this all is. No you're not. No I'm not. When you write it, as if it really happened, like in mundane afternoon, it just seems like you really made it up, to be poetic. Like you're this character and the author knows what's up, but you don't, you're just... subject to it. So he took off on his motorcycle, and the plate read the same thing that my password is to the forum. It was the name of my cat I had when I was a kid, my deaf cat that my dad accidently ran over with his trailer, and felt so god awful bad about. She couldn't hear the motor start, she was sleeping behind the trailer wheel. He just took the day and took me to the beach somewhere, god he must have felt like shit. It wasn't his fault at all. It would have been insane for me to blame him. Ugh.

I went into the town office to pay taxes and there was a long line. There was a man there, that I know of. He's incredibly outgoing, and I remember my sister telling of him coming in for a drug abuse program in highschool. He talked about how bad mushrooms fucked him up, that was the pinnacle of his "Don't do drugs" speech. A few years ago his son died after an ATV accident. While I was there he talked about his donated organs and receiving teddy bear with the recording of his heartbeat, which someone else has now. He was in there with no emotion and I was staring at a historical photo of the town hiding and trying to distract myself wondering when the fuck there had ever been a dam there cause the river shows no signs, thinking "Jesus Fuck, this is about all I can take." I couldn't handle it. This kid was a piece of shit. Total piece of shit. He was the first kid at like age 6 to make a sexually inappropriate comment to me. (Wow, judgement central. Like that's BAD, you should feel bad about that.) Well, that's why I couldn't handle it. So the entire time, this man is sitting there with no mask in one of the few chairs, so relaxed and I'm holding his place in line. He told me was in line just ahead of me, which I knew and I said "I got you." So I hold his imaginary place in line the whole time, and when it's his turn, I turn to him and he's jabbing on with some other guy about the same historical photo or something at the back of the room. So he goes up and is still talking about how hard it is to get things, and his lawn mower breaking. (I know, dude.) "And he says, this is insane, I don't what we'll do if we done get Trump back in, the democrats are CRAZY!" The word of crazy just triggered me. (There's something you are identifying with.) Then I think he thanked me for holding his place, which for some unknown reason, I ignored because I didn't think it was for me. And I go home, and I sit to meditate and think of the etymology of crazy, and broken crazed pottery, and flowers growing up out of the floorboards, and old beautifully dilapidated falling apart houses. And I think of thought I'd had of what a shitty fucking teacher I am, batshit crazy, the crazy leading the crazy, but I imagine it as lines going everywhere, every which way, like lightning in the sky, and how else could it EVER be? And I laugh, and I laugh and I laugh and I cry. "Interesting, only something that is moving wants guidance. So the movement IS the guide. Meaning it's utterly free." Still looking for validation. valid (adj.) 1570s, "having force in law, legally binding," from French valide (16c.), from Latin validus "strong, effective, powerful, active," from valere "be strong" (from PIE root *wal- "to be strong"). humble (adj.) late 13c., of persons, "submissive, respectful, lowly in manner, modest, not self-asserting, obedient," from Old French humble, umble, earlier umele, from Latin humilis "lowly, humble," literally "on the ground," from humus "earth," from PIE root *dhghem- "earth." From late 14c., of things, "lowly in kind, state, condition, or amount," also "of low birth or rank." Lightning is crazy and self grounding. I was pissed off at this song last night. And now... here we go. Couldn't be more perfect.

That's true, but I'm referring to the aftermath of WWII not the origin of the US. That's when the US really gained its power as we see it today. We did not intend to join the war, but ended up mostly unscathed amongst a world where many powers and once strong infrastructures were devastated. In addition to that the war revived the US economy. All these circumstances were accidental. I was not taught this perspective in school and didn't understand it until later in life, even though both sets of my grandparents intimately lived it.

Where does art start and math begin? Where does poetry end and spirituality start? Where does science end and philosophy begin? The idea that there are separate subjects and that switching from one to the other is problematic would be the pot calling the kettle black, in my opinion. That very thought diagnosing or labeling an issue, would be the very creation of problem, if there were one. In order to stop focusing on one thought and to focus on another you have to let go of the last thought. ADHD is just when people are very good at letting go and letting in. You can be so good at a one specific skill, other people who aren't good at it think it's a problem. Then since you're good at letting in, you think it's a problem too. It's not a problem. Occasionally, it is revealed to you that there aren't separate subjects. I highly suggest journaling freely, creatively or flow of consciousness journaling. If you go along with and entertain the random thoughts, it's much more easily seen while writing how the thoughts are often the answer to a completely unrelated question you were previously asking. It seemed at first to be a deviation, but was actually the direct path all along.

Think of magnets attracting and repelling, think of attraction and its relationship with desire, or fear and it's relationship with movement, ie running away, etc. Think of momentum, motion, and how energy is interwoven with all those dynamics. How emotion and physics work in similar fashion. Wanting energy is itself, "wanting energy" is redundancy, wanting IS energy. Interesting, only something that is moving wants guidance. So the movement IS the guide. Meaning it's utterly free.

America's rise to power was purely accidental. "Have to" and "Do we need" comes from a voice of volition. Who is we?

Love is so tricky. We give it, we get it, we give it, we get it. It turns out that love is so big, so unconditional it doesn't come from anywhere. It has no outside source. It doesn't matter what we direct our love to, as long as we feel it, that's all it is, all it takes. You haven't ruined your life. Every good story starts with a seemingly lost situation. Out of the Author's Love, it all makes sense. You think that you're Harry Potter, as an orphan living in a cupboard under the stairs. But when you love, you're JK Rowling.

The problem is that women and men both undervalue beauty, so it's given a false importance rather than opening to the appreciation of sheer enjoyment of beauty, no matter what it looks like or where it comes from or is. In my opinion this is just an absurd effect of what happens when a society undervalues art and art education. There is a strong human need for creative expression and because it's related to sexuality, but very different it is often confused with sexuality.

@Esilda I've found not thinking too much about presentation to be more helpful than anything. Writing down a few thoughts for longer or more complex videos is sometimes a help and sometimes a hindrance. If you're doing more technical videos or straight forward how to videos, I'd expect that to be much different. If it's more about expression, practice that, trying to figure out how it looks in advance can hinder what you're actually looking to present.

Where is the sting, tell me where is the bite? Where is the victory, where is the prize? When the last enemy is done from the dust will come a song Those asleep will be awakened - not a one will be forsakened He shall wipe away our tears - He will steal away our fears There will be no sad tomorrow - there will be no pain and sorrow The very first music I heard, was only ever speaking about liberation. The last enemy is me. enemy (n.) early 13c., "one hateful toward and intent on harming (someone)," from Old French enemi (12c., Modern French ennemi), earlier inimi (9c.) "enemy, adversary, foe; demon, the Devil," from Latin inimicus "an enemy," literally "an unfriend," noun use of adjective meaning "hostile, unfriendly" (source also of Italian nemico, Catalan enamic, Spanish enemigo, Portuguese inimigo), from in- "not" (see in- (1)) + amicus "friend" related to amare "to love" inimi? in a me? Can't make this shit up.

Craft ideas: Make a set of "other people" in my head puppets. For illustrative purposes. I'm thinking socks and googly eyes. Paint the cracked board in the antique windsor chair with flowers growing up through it. Sew a heart to the sleeve of a hoodie. Imagination, Mind, are you big enough to hold all my treasures? Sure. We stretch to accommodate. But before you trust us with anything, just know there are lots of holes. Black ones, white ones, plot holes, ass holes. Great. I'm not good enough. I'm just a fuck up. No one cares. No one appreciates me. You're a self centered bitch for writing that. What will people think? Why do you keep pressing enter? The most frustrating thing is that I can't even focus long enough to properly hate myself. Nothing has any stick, any permanency. I fail at hating myself. I can't even do that. Sigh. Geez, this whole thought thing. Really got me. We really got you. Well, now I know THIS exists.

That was last night's tired ramblings. Right now I am enjoying a routine of journaling my tired ramblings at night and meditating during the afternoon. I decided that to write the first chapter, I have to live it, so my plan is to have my husband drop me off at the end of the earth and I'll just walk. I'm having a bunch of negative thoughts about myself in the past few hours, and I use other people puppets to perpetuate them. They don't really say anything though. It's just me throwing my own voice. Badly. But I guess I'm good at it, or I wouldn't have believed it for 33 years. You believe that? "You're craaaaaaaaazy." Stop pawning your religion off on me. I'm done, with other people's religion. What does the puppet master say? You are the puppet master. Crazy, 1580s, "broken, impaired, full of cracks or flaws," from craze + -y (2). There are flowers growing up through the floorboards. It's just not as fun when there's no other to demonize. You lie. It's more fun. I know, it's more fun. I think I'd like to have a chat with my demon self. It'll be like the Screwtape Letters, which I never read. But how would you know which is which? That was COLD. "Oh life is bigger It's bigger than you And you are not me The lengths that I will go to The distance in your eyes Oh no I've said too much I set it up That's me in the corner That's me in the spot-light Losing my religion Trying to keep up with you And I don't know if I can do it Oh no I've said too much I haven't said enough" I love her. I don't love her. I love her. I don't love her. I LOVE her. Fuck. I don't love her. I love her. Who are we talking about? Who are we talking about?

Alright, I'm considering quitting my business. I've considered this several times before. I miss swimming in the lake. I'm so tired, I'm only doing this at this time because I've found it to be very helpful. Ridiculous music. I need ridiculous music. Purple Rain. Jesus! Focused on what I don't want. Ok, that was easy. Alright, I want to write the first chapter. I want inspiration for writing the first chapter. I read through most all of what I've written today after taking a break, and what I've written is actually good. But it's just a start. In the first chapter it sets the scene. It's fall, she goes for a walk, she doesn't know the town. Everything is fucking dead. Quiet. Good GOD KIDS RUIN everything. Just do yourself a favor and throw everything into the trash, give it to charity. Seriously, you can have kids or possessions. Not both. I got into minimalism because I though it was smart. Really, that was my motivation. Whatever. Focused on what I don't want! What was I writing? Right. Everything is fucking dead. Quiet. She's putting a towel over the dog's head. He's a saint! A fucking saint. They said that this breed was good with kids, but boy! Impressive, I tell you. Ok, what was I writing? Everything is quiet, dead quiet. It's an actual place, you're basically driving out to the end of the earth, ONLY, instead of coming to loud open ocean, it's quiet. Peaceful. It's a very unique place. I never realized why until now I guess. Shoot I really need to dig up my notes. Why am I creating resistance to juggling everything? Everything is fucking dead. Quiet. Huh. The last time we went to the falls, it was dead. Quiet. We got there just at the right time, or the wrong time, if you'd like to see weird shit going on, high tide. And then, the water started boiling again as the tides turned. But it was kinda magic. Flowers growing up through the floorboards. I LOVE this shit. Seriously, I love this shit so much. Accidental, unassuming magic and beauty. And you think you're trying to do it on purpose. No! That's my favorite thing. When the spark or twist or reveal, just happens, you're the venue, but you didn't do it.