mandyjw

Yeah, I can't mediate, cause I have to make supper. Will burn the patriarchy's supper at least. What if being a conscious creator is boring as fuck? What if boring is the dramatization of a neutral state? What if it's making a negative unwanted state out of what is not a state? Would I rather feel bad than neutral because I think neutral is bad? What knows a state cannot itself be a state. I sure can write a lot for someone who has writer's block. Alright, what's the worst thing I can possibly think of? Why did your mind go to that? That's just how I roll. Blocks don't roll at all. Alright what's the best thing I can possibly think of? HA, it's too good for YOU! Too good for words. I cannot RUIN it with words. Oh. Shit.

You could just meditate. BURN THE PATRIARCHY! Oh fine, whatever.

Oh, no. She thinks SHE has to put on the show. But she isn't quite pretty enough to captivate. She isn't quite poised enough, or smart enough. No spiritual enough, not wise enough. And she sure as fuck isn't happy stepping off stage either. No one cares. This is so ridiculous. Shameful even. Even that story fails to break my miserable cold, unemotional, heart. I'm bored. Searched "steamiest scene in The Notebook." Nope. The Nopebook. Oh Jesus. Sweet holy Jesus. How far downhill can I make this one journal entry go? Challenge accepted.

I don't want to watch this movie knowing it's just a show. I don't want to see the strings holding the puppets up. I don't want to go back to covering my eyes and hiding from the screen either. What's a girl to do? THERES NOTHING FOR HER TO DO! THAT'S THE FUCKING PROBLEM! Gone to buy popcorn. brb

I've been fantasizing all my life, about what was missing. I've been fantasizing all my life. fantasy (n.) early 14c., "illusory appearance," from Old French fantaisie, phantasie "vision, imagination" (14c.), from Latin phantasia, from Greek phantasia "power of imagination; appearance, image, perception," from phantazesthai "picture to oneself," from phantos "visible," from phainesthai "appear," in late Greek "to imagine, have visions," related to phaos, phōs "light," phainein "to show, to bring to light" (from PIE root *bha- (1) "to shine"). Sense of "whimsical notion, illusion" is pre-1400, followed by that of "fantastic imagination," which is first attested 1530s. Sense of "day-dream based on desires" is from 1926. In early use in English also fantasie, phantasy, etc. As the name of a fiction genre, by 1948. I'm having fantom pain. Oh... Oh that was inappropriate. I'm not going to point out why that's inappropriate. I'm incapable of feeling bored. "The phantom of the opera is there.... inside your mind. " I am the mask you wear. Oh Source. You're so devastatingly funny. And boring AF.

Pretty women, d-angerous men, fast cars, lightning storms. I'm bored. Bored. This is horrific. Me, bored? I cannot get bored. I'm past bored. It's mid summer vacation, the loneliest time. I'm not in school anymore. Tell that to my dream self who can't remember the fucking locker combination. Wait a second, I don't DO bored, because I do lonely instead. THAT might be a problem. OOOhhh. Eh whatever, it's not that interesting.

Used to feel the same about where I live, particularly hated the town I ended up moving to. I remember after having a few releases and dropping judging thoughts I went to a big event where everyone was crowded together and sort of tapping into the energy of the gathering. Crazy love.

The forbidden illicit love is the man you promised to love and cherish till death do you part. The villain is completely safe and harmless. Boring, even. villain (n.) c. 1300 (late 12c. as a surname), "base or low-born rustic," from Anglo-French and Old French vilain "peasant, farmer, commoner, churl, yokel" (12c.), from Medieval Latin villanus "farmhand," from Latin villa "country house, farm" (from PIE root *weik- (1) "clan"). Meaning "character in a novel, play, etc. whose evil motives or actions help drive the plot" is from 1822. https://www.etymonline.com/word/villain The babes that lived caused far more grief than the babes you lost. That's what I feel, some sort of grief, some sort of disillusionment with drama. I'm creating drama over the lack of truth of drama. WHAT ALREADY PERFECTION CAN I RUIN TODAY?

Felt that way a few times in life. Just keep creating. If someone makes something good enough to take over for themselves, you made it so you can always do way better than that. You don't create for any end result, creation is an end and reward unto itself. Also by creating, we're always paving the way for others. Took me a long time to realize this and not look back and resent all the people I saw enjoying the nice smooth road "I" made. In doing so I create resistance for myself, which is exactly why I was making the paved road in the first place, so I could enjoy the road with LESS of that. Someone ahead of me is already doing the same for me. You are right now, in some unknown way for someone else, the artist that is benefiting from your vision right now.

Thought doesn't repress feeling. Thought only represses thought. Is this true? Feeling is the way... "to" clarity, and to realization and this clear thought is repressed when thought is entertained without attention to feeling. Negative emotion is caused because we can NOT repress feeling. Feeling is never repressed. We may ignore it though, and the ignoring causes ignorance. The ignoring is a willingness to suffer, a choosing of suffering, but when you look head on into the feeling, all you get, all you are, is... Clarity and paradise. I wish people knew how inane this all this. Completely fucking inane. inane (adj.) 1660s, "empty, void," from Latin inanis or else a back-formation from inanity (q.v.). Sense of "silly, empty-headed" is from 1819. Related: Inanely. Bailey's Dictionary (1731) has inaniloquent "given to empty talk." You can't know inane though, can you? The knowing of inane, creates the idea that one knows, "inane."

This subject is very near and dear to my heart, but is also really difficult to give anyone direct advice on. My advice (not that you asked for it) is to check out Abraham Hicks. You can even search her and "OCD" in YouTube and come up with a lot of mind-blowing mind-opening perspectives. Also on the same vein, watch your overall resistance to and perspective of OCD, rather than needing to get rid of it, become curious about it. The compulsion part is often caused by having no curiosity or willingness to sit with and examine what is happening, but to rid oneself of the thought and discomfort as quickly as possible. Cure-iosity is the cure. Meditation, contemplation, etc when done with curiosity and not compulsion are very helpful, if you're bringing compulsion in and practicing more compulsion (THIS I must do to heal me) without the objective to just curiously watch those thoughts, I'd say don't bother.

I or object is thought. Harry Potter is a thought. I am a thought. I am aware of both thoughts. I pretend Harry Potter is real only when I'm consumed in a book, I before learning about enlightenment believed the thought myself was real outside of being consumed in my stories, (not realizing that "I" couldn't actually believe this outside of being consumed in the story and thinking "I". A belief itself is yet another thought but it seems to act as an assumption from which stem thoughts that assume the belief is correct. You are only ever what is aware and prior to thought. Thought says things are seperate, unique, defined but before it can say that what is there?

Completing the yin yang. @Nahm Dallas Holm. Didn't see that coming.

Hahahaha, I realize there's no self but still maintain there's others. I realize that it's impossible to make this make sense to anybody else. Annoyed with the projections others make on me, when I'm projecting on them. This is stunning to me. "Can I tell you the three words I can remember with six syllables?" My son randomly comes up to ask me, and I'm annoyed cause I'm reading but listen. incomprehensible, invisibility, invincibility 6 6 6

I feel sooooo much better.

My daughter can't find Mr. Snuggles the bear, and she's screaming her f-ing head off. Apparently he is a bear with a star on his foot. 20 minutes later than I said I would be. Freshman year, we had a writer's contest. My husband won, I got some sort of honorable mention. He wrote an alternate version of his life. He got meningitis when he was a year old and was supposed to be dead, and then if not dead, supposed to be disabled. According to his parents, it was an incredible thing. He lived and was sent home and they had no idea what sort of issues and malfunctions he'd have. He had some lasting effects, just an elbow that wouldn't extend fully, ever, even with surgery, and a shortened finger that sent me into a fit of (somewhat guilty) giggles whenever he tried to make a gun with his right hand. In the story he wrote about that possibility that he had been disabled, I guess because the dead possibility wasn't interesting enough to write about. I started writing notes to him around this time, and it awoke and inspired something in me. I didn't realize that in my trying to convince and pour out passion in a note to change him that I was changing myself. He's dead. How did I not see this before, he is Mr. Write and he's dead. How DO you write about that? Boy, this death, sex and birth carousel is making me queasy. Boy. I never really loved my Grandmother until she was gone. Everything before was just practice. A strange sense of entitlement. It was a gift, and a shame. "Die before you die." The way this pertains to others, the process of love is a process of grief and letting go without action. In order to truly love him, I have to realize that he is no object of my affection. The impulse to leave him, the awful thought that I'd be free if he were gone, all a twisted sense of love, I couldn't see clearly. Oh you're so fucking dramatic Mandy. It's all write.

I'll never find you, Mr. Write.

Funny that birth is a literal stretch, and we call what opens up the door to life a contraction. contraction late Middle English: via Old French from Latin contractio(n- ), from contrahere ‘draw together’ (see contract). Drawn in. Closer. Closer. Shut the door again, I'll feel cut off and I'll accuse you of being the closer. contraction (n.) early 15c., contraccioun, "action of making a contract" (especially of marriage), a sense now obsolete; also "action of reducing, abridging, or shortening," from Old French contraction (13c.) or directly from Latin contractionem (nominative contractio) "a drawing together, an abridging, shortening, a shortening in pronunciation," noun of action from past-participle stem of contrahere "to draw several objects together; draw in, shorten, lessen, abridge," metaphorically "make a bargain, make an agreement," from assimilated form of com "with, together" (see con-) + trahere "to draw" (see tract (n.1)). Related: Contractional. Meaning "action of becoming shorter or smaller through the drawing together of the parts" is from 1580s. Meaning "action of acquiring (a disease) is from 1680s. Grammatical sense of "a shortening of a word or syllable in pronunciation or writing" is from 1706; meaning "a contracted word or words" is from 1755. Contractions of the uterus in labor of childbirth attested from 1962.

Why do I feel such loss and grief? Cutting away and letting go what doesn't serve isn't a loss. Why did I think it was? Maybe I should go shopping, that will help. No. Why are men so sensible and stable? Why do I have to be so silly and all over the place? Awareness is neither of those things or both. Let's pretend. Let's pre-tend. late Middle English: from Latin praetendere ‘stretch forth, claim’, from prae ‘before’ + tendere ‘stretch’. The adjective dates from the early 20th century. Nice, it's stretching, tendere again, like the rubber band video I made. Tension, attention. Pre-tend. Prior to. Prior to stretching. Prior to shooting myself in the fucking eye with a rubber band? Why can't I be respectable? Men seem respectable. They aren't respectable, they just don't fucking care, they are pre-tending. Let's play house. Let's play Earth. Let's play. Well, I'm not having fun anymore. It must be your fault. I wanted to entertain you so bad, I wanted to make you happy, I wanted you locked on me, addicted, hypnotized by my charm. I wanted this because that's how I'm entertained. My pleasure is pleasing you. We're stuck at a standstill, you don't make me happy because I don't make you happy. It must be me. I must be sick, I must be wrong, I must be bad, for coming to play this game, only because it turned out like this. I must be a child, there must be something grown up, something useful I could do instead of this pretending. I cannot go forward without going back. I haven't been pre-tending myself.

Tapping into the experience of pure joy and inspiration is the most selfish and also the most giving thing you could ever do. It's both at once. Oooohhh, it's magic. It's too good to be true. When you feel great, you appreciate people, and you show it. Coincidently, that's what people want most, to be appreciated. When you love something you teach it with enthusiasm, you master it, innovate it, share it. Whether you want to be completely selfless or completely selfish the answer is the same. Feel great.

Buy/find them because they inspire or call to you. Nothing legitimate about that, and also nothing MORE legitimate.

Is this some sort of deception, the goosebumps, just sort of swimming around is this cold intoxicating, revitalizing but relaxing lake of inspiration? Am I fooling myself? It takes intelligence to fool someone knowingly, and it takes even greater intelligence to be the one who is fooled. Where does this stuff come from? Intelligence eats itself up. Identification eats itself up, it kills itself. All death is suicide. All birth is... What are you doing? You can't dispel me. You can't misspell be. That was supposed to be me. I misspelled. Something feels off, something feels so deep, so real, and yet I feel bothered by it. It feels indigestible, it seems as if I must avoid it. And the only avoidance of feeling is through though, a thought of what that feeling must be. I don't want Nissargadatta to be right and Osho to be right too. These teachers are eating themselves up like a snake eating its own tail. They're both dead. So am I. Oh you're so fucking dramatic. It's all write.

Ha HA they showed up early before I could even sweep my pile of dirt and random stuff the dog chewed into the dustpan. Ugh. Ugh. Thank you source for bringing up all my biases and fears. I'm not 100% ok with my kids being in the care of someone with lots of piercings, tattoos and a name that means "ill omened". I can't tell if I really like her or just don't trust her. Well played. I'm not sure where I'm going with this but I know it's all write. I might get drawn in, like a cartoon character. I might fall under your spell, but please don't misspell me. I'm the seduced, I'm the seductress, the magician and the magic. I'm the reviled, and the reveling. I'm the revealed and the revealer. You can't face yourself. I'm the white rabbit, I'll lead you to all the places you desire to be the most, to all the places that terrify you, and you'll never take a single step. "People who have not been in Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time. If the children had ever thought so, they were cured of it now. For when they tried to look at Aslan's face they just caught a glimpse of the golden mane and the great, royal, solemn, overwhelming eyes; and then they found they couldn't look at him and went all trembly." - CS Lewis

Yuck. I have a 1000 things I really ought to do. Lots that I want to do even. Apparently enlightenment isn't gonna save the world or make the world into a paradise if enough "other people" get enlightened. Apparently I just love assholes and forgot and that's paradise. Apparently. This is disappointing and also a huge relief. God doesn't even have an asshole, because there is no God. Thank God. Geez, freedom is such a fucking inconvenience. Sounds like an extreme form of complaining but of course freedom is a limitation. If there's a desire to exist, there's a desire to exit. We don't talk about such things because, young ears. Ears so young they haven't even yet heard that they are. Desire to exist as thought is a fear/knowledge of death, desire to exist is prior to the thought. Unconditionally loved and safe from death but not from having to have company over an hour from now when the house is a total wreck? I am unconditionally entitled. I am so entitled, I don't even have a title. Untitled to love. That's a title.