Feelings. Does one necessarily have to classify them into good, bad, or dangerous? I’m talking about feelings that arrive when you tend to like a person. True, it’s a good feeling to like a person. But then such a good feeling can be lead to consequences that make you think the feeling was actually bad or dangerous.

Sigh! I don’t know. The manner in which I talk about them – feelings that is – makes them seem very complicated. I had no idea I would be making them seem so ever.

For me, every thing and emotion almost always had two sides to them: black and white. Life was easy then. Shun the black and accept the white. It was expertly done and my mind carried off this separation process in autopilot mode.

Till one day – I regret to mention it, but I must – my entire two-sides system was kicked in the stomach and sent away. In its absence, I panicked and actually began to think. I realized there exists this rather shady colour: grey. It hid the bad within the good and made it seem that bad was actually good but had just strayed away from its holy ground on account of circumstances – inevitable, inescapable circumstances.

I hated this colour outrightedly. It did not look nice, was hardly aesthetic, and never ever found its groove. It was as if it wanted to be a cousin of white and black as well. Middling about in its rather aimless mannerisms, it chose to attract merely on the basis of the fact that it was generous in its acceptance of anything and everything I did. And seriously, easy though this attraction was, it did give me a headache of sorts. It was strange: Here was a shade of colour willing to be responsible for any damn inexplicable deed and yet I would not like it.

Much much later, I realized why: I did not want a colour to be responsible for my deeds.

I wanted to be responsible…

“A character’s inner conflict is not just being in two minds about something, not just being torn between obvious incompatibles but is about being in a new situation where old attitudes and habits war with and hinder the need for change.”

- Caro Clark

Here’s a list of inner conflicts posted by Shy United that you can give your characters while you make your script.

1. One part of ourselves may feel we need to spend more time on our professional life while another part may believe we should spend more time with our family.

2. A part of ourselves may want to open up to a conscious love relationship, while another part fears being abandoned, hurt, suppressed, manipulated, or being unable to be ourselves in that relationship.

3. One part of ourselves may want to give those around us (children, spouses, friends) total freedom to pursue their happiness in their own ways, while another part fears losing control.

4. The part of ourselves that wants to please others may come into direct conflict with our desire to satisfy our own needs.

5. Part of ourselves may want others to support us, while the other feels restricted by their support or advice.

6. One part of ourselves may want spiritual growth, while another may feel the need for material security.

7. One part of ourselves may want to help loved ones or friends, but the other may feel that perhaps we are doing them harm by continuously bailing them out and not letting them solve their own problems.

8. One part of ourselves may feel a need to protect the planet by living a simple life with very little consumption of energy and products, while another part may want to enjoy all the comforts of an energy consuming, pollution producing lifestyle.

9. One part of ourselves may want to take a new job or leave a job that we have, while another part wants the opposite for different reasons.

10. One part of ourselves may believe in cooperating with others, while another finds that difficult.

11. One part of ourselves may have a desire for various objects or situations as a source of pleasure, while another part may feel, this is a sin, or that we are not spiritual if we partake of such pleasures. It may feel this type of pleasure seeking is a waste of time and energy considering our spiritual goals.

12. One part of ourselves may feel the need to have an exclusive relationship in which our happiness and security depend upon another person (usually a mate). Another part may find this an obstacle toward its need for independence, self-sufficiency, and freedom.

13. Our need for personal love may conflict with our need to develop universal love.

14. Our need to forgive may conflict with our need to hold on to negative feelings toward someone.

15. Our need to employ various disciplines may conflict with our need to feel free to do whatever we please whenever we choose.

16. Our need to follow our inner voice may conflict with our need to be like others and be accepted by them.

17. Our need to express our feelings as they are may conflict with our need not to hurt anyone.

18. Our need to express our real feelings and thoughts might clash with our need to have the others? acceptance.

19. Our need to follow a spiritual guide might conflict with our need to rebel against all types of advice or control.

20. Our need to control persons and situations in order to feel secure may conflict with our need to let things flow and allow others to act freely.

21. Our need never to show weakness may conflict with our need to share our weaknesses with others or seek their help.

22. Our desire not to ask anything from others may conflict with our need to have their help and support.

23. Our need for a stable routine for our balance and growth may conflict with our need for variety and change.

24. Our need to play our familiar emotional relationship games may conflict with our desire to get free ourselves from them.

25. One part of us wants to face and overcome our fears and blockages while another prefers to avoid and ignore them.

Hope and reality must coexist.
The hope is: There is always tomorrow.
The reality is: There is only today.

I recently had what can only be classified as a brain fart. I’ve been working on several stories. Sometimes this involves a simple idea, or maybe a what-if. Sometimes it involves an image. In this case I have one to do with elephants and monkeys and a primate researcher. The other has to do with a physicist and cats (no not Schrodinger).  The first came as a combo of someone I know and of reading about a third type of elephant, after African and Asian.

So, okay, I started thinking about the elements of the story, what is the conflict and what each character brings to it. I always believe a story is better if it has an internal and an external conflict. The protagonist must battle something (the elements, a person, a culture, a creature) as well as something within themselves. They may win both conflicts. They might win only one, and they might lose both, as often happens in horror stories.

As I started to write my monkey/elephant story, I kept stopping and ruminating. This isn’t uncommon for me. Some stories fly through my fingers, unwinding in one long skein of imagery and action. Others are like an old car that putts along, then coughs and stops, then starts again. These stories take way more thinking time than writing time and I have too many that sit half finished because I ran into a conflict/resolution issue.

I recently had to write an erotic story for an anthology. Stuck for an idea, I asked my Facebook friends. It’s interesting to see that most people will interpret a request for an idea differently. I elaborated and said I needed  a story idea, meaning something that has a conflict and a resolution. What I often received was atmosphere and setting. A setting is not a story; it is merely background. So, if you say, what if you had a world where people floated upside down and ate by way of umbilical cords that they attached to plants? Okay, but what happens that brings out a story, that makes this world integral to the plot?

I was still grateful to my friends. After all, they’re not writers and it’s not their jobs really to give me my plots. And mostly they didn’t. They gave me ideas though; images, events, settings. From those I was able to pull out a plot that did involve some of the imagery offered. That’s also why some of my stories sit unfinished, because I had a cool idea about a world or maybe even a situation, but no idea what to do with it.

This brings me back to the brain fart. Many stories take months to write because of working out the idea. Some people can write them out in point form. I tend to often imagine the story unfoldng, write a bit, then unfold a bit more because characters and events change when I write them down. In this case my brain hit a wall. I forgot how to write. Suddenly I didn’t know how to write a story any more. How do you order the words? How do you progress a story? What is the structure of a story? It’s like I had forgotten how to talk. So finally I asked a writing friend, confessing my bewildering amnesia. What makes up a story? She said simply, “Beginning, middle and end.”

Okay, that is the most basic aspect, plus conflict or plot. But, I said, how do you get there? And I realized as I asked these questions that it wasn’t that I didn’t have a plot. I do. It wasn’t that I didn’t have conflict and resolution. I do. In fact, I pretty much have the skeleton of the story, the bones upon which I must lay the words. I realized what had stalled me somehow was that I couldn’t figure out which scenes were needed to progress the story forward. Which scenes are integral to making the story work, showing the character’s inner conflict, showing the world in which she lives? When I finally realized that, I felt I could move forward again. I had remembered how to write.

That doesn’t mean the story is done…yet. I’m still working out the scenes, still doing checks and balances to figure out the right emphasis, and will the story convey the emotion I want. If I do it well, I’ll sell it. If not, it will wander the lanes of the markets for a while or a long time. Of course I could also have done it right but may not be a big enough name to sell the story. That happens a lot (and more in these tough times) to many writers. But if it doesn’t sell in two to three submissions to markets, I’ll start to look at it again and again and again.

I remember Connie Willis once saying she’d rewritten a story forty-seven times (or some such number). There are others that say, move on to a new story. But I can identify with Connie. There are stories I have rewritten so often that I don’t actually know how many times. But I also have new stories to write and they’re like buds waiting to open. Right now I can count at least five stories in different stages of thought (and two of those partially written). Then I want to write a steampunk story but have no idea at all yet.

And hopefully I’ll remember how to write; the basics at least and have a beginning, middle and end to each of my stories.

Watching life; fly right by
She stands still within her frame
Not complaining not asking why
Should she live a fake life; just a lie
To hide her worries, to hide her pain
In front of her mask she’s lost her name
Her eyes, her smile, her face
Is a portrait of photographic grace
Her stance, her laugh, her waist
Is wrapped in black sad lace
Behind her sad beautiful disguise
Lies a life that she does despise
Instead she ignores, it should be wise
Except everything became pent up lies
Trapped within a rusty silver frame
Made bold etched with her name
It hangs sadly on his majestic wall
In front of it he smiles, standing tall
He is scorn, he is disdain
Feelings torn, she is in pain
Fixed at one moment, all is still
Caught in his gaze, she has no will
His life, his will his eyes
Depend on her hurtful lies
Beheld until the day she dies
She lives in her grey room
Awaiting her fatal doom
They pass; they walk by her all the time
They love, they miss, her it’s not a crime
Get her out she is trapped inside,
Her door bolted shut, they forgot
Daydreaming, wondering and thinking
Of a new name, life without blinking
Standing still, posing for his thrill
He is derision he is contempt
Moments seeping, few left, her life is drained,
He loves her pain, air and lace
She has lost all her grace, a tired face
Hollow carcass, exquisite shell
Empty inside, she does dwell
Just a morbid picturesque
Her real name is Amy

It was 3:30pm and my legs were killing me.  I was famished, hadn’t eaten a bite all day and had been on my feet without respite, starting at exercise boot camp and then at work afterwards for 6.5 hours.

“I have to go,” I told him.  ”My feet are like the truth:  they hurt.”

“The truth shall set you free,” he answered.

Oy, I staggered out of work and made my way to the train.  Of course it was the 1, which is like, the slowest train since the advent of forward motion.  I step in.  It’s full.  WHY, oh why, was it full at 3:30 in the afternoon?  I cursed the other part-timers.  I cursed children.  I cursed the dregs of society.  I cursed society at large, just to get that out of the way, too.  Then I focused on balancing.

When I got home, I about fell into a burger.  I’d poured wine, too, but forgot about it until I looked up from the remains.  Gulped that down and put my aching feet up.  Didn’t write a jot.  I feel so angry about it…

I don’t begrudge the time working.  But then on the side I’ve got to look for permanent full-time work that can really keep me afloat, and I have to write, which I hate putting on the side like this, and then I so crucially need to take care of my life–my friends, my family.  I hate shortchanging them; it shortchanges me too.  How to balance it all????

I’m thinking my wake-up time’s gotta shift from 5:02 to maybe 4:37.  Only I have a strong aversion to any time that starts with a 4 in the hour slot.  But I’ll have to get over it.  Then, after work, I simply must find a way to write, immediately, without any stops to gasp at sore feet or empty tummies or whatnot.  That way I can also relegate Sundays to hanging out with friends, and maybe one other weekday evening…  Is that a plan?

I’ll try it starting today.  Tomorrow is a lie.  Always has been.

Definitely feeling very overwhelmed with time right now.  That’s the truth.  Will it set me free?

Time, on NYC's Broadway

Established writers tell newbies that all talk of “muses” must cease and desist, for by relying on “our muse” we handicap ourselves.  We risk forgetting the muse is really our own subconscious, our very own selves.  Likewise we must take care not to form rituals, for these may cripple our agility as writers.

And so I am here to tell you today that my muse:

*  does not need coffee
*  certainly does not need more coffee
*  does not need air conditioning
*  does not need music
*  does not need solitude
*  most certainly is not sparked powerfully in the lovely, rumbling, rollicking subways of New York City

HOWEVER, full disclaimer alert:

My muse subconscious does greedily appreciate attempts to bribe her.  She is truly unprincipled that way, much in contrast with her conscious self.  *cough*

Subway Strike (of inspiration)

This afternoon, after leaving work, feet aching from hours standing and being “on” since 11:30, I got on the A train only to find no seats were available.  I was drained, and felt like there wasn’t a word ready to be wrung out of me in my tiny writing window this afternoon/evening.  Of course, I still planned on writing, regardless.

I leaned against the pole and turned on my iPod.  The train began to move, shaking to and fro, and the pole between my shoulder blades banged painfully against me.  I adjusted my position, relaxing into the bar, hooking one foot around it for stability, and then closed my eyes and got into my song.  I’ve lived here long enough.  I know how to hold my bag so I know it’s safe.  I can sense when my stop’s far from close, and when I ought reawaken.  I let myself move with the train’s jostle and stretched into it, enjoying my music.

And I thought, why the hell am I setting my book in Somewhereistan, USA (not the real location name), when New York is what I know and love?  When New York is the city I feel like a character in my life?  Where I know what it’s like at 2am and 2 pm and at 5am and 5pm, and exactly what’s true and not true about the mythos that the city never sleeps?

But that’s not all.  Remember how I’ve been complaining about how I can’t grasp my heroes properly yet?  How I’m all over my antagonists, how I love them and feel them viscerally, but my accursed heroes are just. not. there?

No longer.  S is here.  I found him in the subway.  Rumble, brumble, tumble, said the train, and I suddenly got it.  I understood S. I’d given him the wrong family.  The wrong financial situation.  The wrong reasons to be who he is.  No wonder I couldn’t grab him later in the book.

Now it all works.  Inner tension, character relationships, the stakes.   Yay!

Who needs a muse, when I’ve got the NYC subway system?  :)

*she hurriedly fed her muse adoring eyes and promises of iced coffee, not that it mattered in the least*

Random Courtyard, Old Tbilisi

There’s something I love about Old Town, Tbilisi…

I won’t lie.  I love Professor Snape more than I love Harry Potter.

Not because I reckon he’s a better person and not just because his dialogue drips with perfect acidity and deliciously rendered sarcasm.  No.  I love him for his flaws and for his struggle with his soul.  Maybe he stopped his struggle at a certain point, never willing to look at Harry as an individual with his own heart-bound luggage.  Maybe he turned into the bully that as a child he was subjected to.  Maybe he himself crippled his emotional development by latching onto and trapping himself into the past as much as Sirius did, albeit for different reasons.  But that tragedy makes him, if not a hero–for Jo Rowling won’t hear that word used for him–then at least a damn compelling person whom it would hurt to know and care about, were he real.

All this is nothing against Harry.

Then there’s Frodo, say, or Samwise Gamgee, versus Sauron.  But who is Sauron?  No-one but an idea with almost invincible power and dark servants scouring the earth, hunting down the One Ring–the one ring the heroes must destroy before their entire world is vanquished.  Great book, Lord of the Rings.  But the bad guy never had a shot with me.  Can’t love a being endowed with no humanity.  Can’t hate him, even.  Can feel viscerally opposed to him–thinking of Gollum even in Sauron’s clutches chills the bones.  But…Sauron doesn’t move me.  It’s Samwise’s loyalty that gets me every time.  He’s my hero.  And I weep over Frodo’s journey, commitment and sacrifices.

Back to Lord Voldemort, Harry’s nemesis.  Is he great?  As a villain, I mean, not as the master of all dark wizards.  Sure, he keeps the plot going.  He forces Harry to grow up and reveal who he is as a person, who he’s willing to be.  He forces others’ hands too–Draco Malfoy’s, for instance.

Swinging back to Lord of the Rings… Boromir is a flawed soul, aching for greatness–true greatness and not just petty grandeur–but he’s torn by his desire for self-glory and heroism.  I prefer him to Sauron, as a character with depth to move me.  And I prefer Snape to Lord Voldemort, and even to Harry.

My favourite hero in Harry Potter is … Remus Lupin.  Another torn character.

Am I called to torn characters in general, because their inner conflicts and outer conflicts just add so much tension and hope and tears to the story that they become unforgettable?  Maybe.

So what does this all mean?

I find myself pondering this because I’ve noticed that contrary to my expectations, I find writing my antagonists approximately 99% easier than writing my protagonists.  Because they are defined, in a sense, by their own flaws which is where they settle, but which is simultaneously the point within them that causes them the most pain, anguish, shame and anger.  I feel their pain.  I know their self-deceptions.  Their conceits.  Their fears.  And so I can write them and feel for them.

Despite the fact that both of my “leads” were created and “in action” weeks before my antagonists appeared, it’s my antagonists who have taken to life with strength, tenacity and vivacity I’d never expected.  There’s only one exception to this protagonist rule for me.  And interestingly, it’s for a tragic heroine.

My book’s not angsty.  It’s not tragic.  And I’m among the cheeriest people I know (thank God).  Yet inner conflict is what allows me to speak with my characters, to see them, believe them and help breathe that spark of life into them.  Only once I find the pain and the journey can my characters step off the page and into life.

Picnic Tables Askew, Upstate New York

Dear readers, last night I was struck with the realization that I am in one sense composed of many ephemeral personalities cohabiting within one frame. And now a moment ago I discovered that self-reflection involves those different components of my self getting together and having a conversation and hammering out their differences.

Today I had an experience of an inner clash of perspectives. The clash is actually ongoing. I will articulate it both for its own sake and for the sake of the wider concept of inner conflict.

Lately I’ve been reading a great book called “Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom” by Christianne Northrup, a doctor who has set up a clinic for women. In the book, she explains in many instances how many women have health problems related to their life conditions and psychology, because the relationship between mind and body is very strong. A prevailing hindrance to women creating health in their lives is the shame they feel regarding their own bodies and selves. Which, of course, stems from the dominant attitudes (among men and women alike!) of a patriarchal society.

At noon today, I was a feminist. It was a very hot day and I was alone in my apartment and I needed to get out. My main mode of transportation is by bike, and for a significant bike ride, it was definitely weather for wearing shorts. 

But, hold it, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! I have hair on my legs.

Hair. On my legs. Where hair has no right to exist on a woman. But, that’s not right…most full grown women do, indeed, grow hair on their legs, a rather cumbersome “aberration” that affects a large surface area of the body, if it is seen as such. Rebelling against the idea that I should hate and be ashamed of such a benign reality, I summoned up the courage to wear the shorts and go natural.

Fast forward to later today. I came into the presence of people I regard with much respect and admiration, right outside of the Baha’i Center. My “mental pilot entity” completely switched, and right away I had the intense feeling that I should not have dared come out in public in my state of unsightly hairiness. What was I thinking? (that’s the hallmark phrase of the internally conflicted). And by some cosmic brainwave interaction, from a different avenue, the subject of conversation turned for some time to cosmetics and grooming. 

The word “grooming” really alters my thought process regarding this – that’s the power of language, right? Being well-groomed and refined could refer to a lot of things based on social norms and conventions, boiling down to personal opinion. But then there’s the danger of falling into solipsism. In the spirit of “Minimalism” by W. S. Hatcher, some subjectivity does not necessarily mean total subjectivity. To illustrate the point, the Most Holy Book of the Baha’i Faith talks about the importance of refinement. For example, this passage: “Cleave ye unto the cord of refinement with such tenacity as to allow no trace of dirt to be seen upon your garments.” Hence, refinement and such concepts do in fact have concrete meanings. The idea of refinement as a virtuous quality nudges me in the direction of performing what is regarded as refined by the elements of culture that surround me. 

I want to believe that external beauty is founded on health and on acceptance of your face and body as they are in their natural state. That adornments beyond this can and should be enjoyed, but they are secondary to this.

Then, I know there’s a part of me saying, “Idealist girl, you’re living in the real world.” That’s the part of me that wants to bury those insecurities by following the protocol of trying to make my appearance flawless, and also to be fashionable. I embrace the values of beauty and dignity and paying positive attention to my appearance. But there’s such a negative association with the effort it takes to go against nature and make my womanly legs like those of a child, not to mention the time and money that it takes to invest in a versatile variety of high-quality clothing. 

All in all, every viewpoint mentioned co-exists within my mind and show up in different situations, and none of them win out in the end. A part of me would have even thought that this subject was too cliché to write about in my lofty, abstract online journal. 

Somebody please test my DNA multiple times, because I think I’m a chimera.

[signed: The Editor]

True Spirituality:

The master was asked, “What is spirituality?”

He said, “Spirituality is that which succeeds
in bringing one to inner transformation.”

“But if i apply the traditional methods handed
down by the masters, is that not spirituality?”

“It is not spirituality if it does not perform
its function for you. A blanket is no longer a
blanket if it does not keep you warm.”

“So spirituality does change?”

“People change and needs change. So what was
spirituality once is spirituality no more. What
generally gives under the name of spirituality
is merely the record of past methods.”

This one caught my eye today, its beautiful and i hope you get something out of it.

Also my blogging buddy Liz Madsen has been pondering about the root of hurtful behavior to some degree and what it means to care for someone the conflict involved with hurting others you care about. I think its a worthy topic of discussion and to look into the root of.

Honestly, there is a lot of things that go into this but none are external things, they come from within and I might take refuge inside to find out and to narrow thought so that it can express itself adequately in the near future. More to come! Enjoy!

On a more personal note, college is done for the summer, alot of sleeping and poolside, and HOPEFULLY more entries other than parables (parables are lovely) but sometimes its good to get thought down! <3

As yet

undecided

which is a problem

because before I was categorically appalled.

I fear my stance might be right-wing.

I fear my stance, if I look too closely, might be inhumane.

I fear my stance might make me a bad person.

In my heart

I believe in torture.

Torture is a way of life.

No one is innocent.

Anyone who cannot torture themselves

needs to be taught a lesson.

Self-inflicted, otherwise, seems just for the soul.

Most people are strong enough to suffer alone

anyway in their own minds.

But those who torture outside of themselves

I wish them the same and worse.

I wish them suffering and comprehensible pain of every kind.

I wish their blood to bleed as they watch their friends scream

animalistic cries of the wounded and damned.

I wish for them to know the inevitable and fear.

As yet

unadmitted

that I truly have a wish of agony

that I believe there are those deserving

because before I was categorically appalled.

“decision unfolds to opportunity” the inspiration said to me that day.

and in fact it does.

part of the challenge is that this western society in which we live encourages everyone to give up their autonomy.  most folks accept the resulting orwellian quagmire then decorate the ramshackle lot with trinkets… making the best of it.

every decision offers it's own opportunity

human life is so much more precious than merely “making the best of it”. the difference (read: distance) between making the best of it and living a dream is a decision.

whenever you decide, your world adjusts to reflect your decision… every time and without fail.  the adjustments can be small: to subtly keep you in the flow;  medium: manageable stepping stones that fall into place or sign posts to direct you along the way; or large: sweeping life changes that cause huge upheaval or major course correction.

sometimes the adjustment comes in a form that says: ok, you want it, you’ve got it. we label these adjustments: luck, good fortune, blessings, etc.  sometimes the adjustment comes in a form that asks: are you are sure?… or is designed to help you develop a tool you’ll need later. we call these kinds of adjustments: challenges, obstacles, adversity, etc.   in any case, when the decision is made it offers an opportunity.  also note: NOT making a decision is also a decision.

let’s take a step back and break this down… get into this unfolding business.
so, let’s say you’re faced with a situation that requires both your attention and a decision of some sort.  just for fun, let’s say the decision has a finite time frame.  and let’s say it involves a bit of risk… whether perceived or real.  there might be some inner back and forth and some checking in with friends or loved ones.

if it is a decision that requires an investment of time, effort, perhaps money, and resources / collaboration, often accompanying the consideration is some degree of worry.  in my years of counseling, i have never had anyone give me a good and helpful reason to keep worrying about something.  fortunately, decision obliterates worry.

internally, the back and forth often ends with bully-takes-all where your inner bully acts from fear.  so even if the odds were that you would benefit from taking a bit of risk and acting in a timely manner, you talk yourself out of it.  most folks living from fear end up with pretty predictable, slightly boring, rather uninspired lives.  it feels secure, but it is not actual living.

during your decision-making process, if you were to check in with all seven levels of yourself, you would discover that each of the seven would have something distinct and useful to contribute. with this input, whether consistent across all seven or an outlier or two, you could access your inner wisdom, address any concerns, and move forward with insight that aligns you with your highest good = integrated self = inspired life.

yes, there are consequences to every possible choice: some we enjoy, some maybe not so much. yes, there will be adjustments needed regardless of the choice: these are all opportunities to learn, enjoy, or sharpen your skills, or expand your tool kit.  the important part is willingness to listen to the wisdom within every step of the way.

once an integrated decision is made, you’ll notice how things begin to fall into place. you meet the right people, you start being in the right place at the right time, things flow.  if it happens to be a passion that you bring to the center of your life, you might even get paid for doing what you love… and if you let yourself receive it, the more money and resources will flow toward you.  and the more you do the work you love, the less it feels like work and the more it feels like play.  i don’t know about you, but getting paid to play?  now that’s really being alive.

your comments are welcome.

© Copyright 2009

Excerpt from my out-of-print book, What There Is To Love About A Man (Sourcebooks), which honors and celebrates masculine qualities of body, mind and spirit. Used and imperfect copies can be found here and there on the Internet, if you feel like digging.

Turbulence, from www.physicscentral.com

How can I show you who I really am, when I don’t even know myself? How can I share with you my vulnerable side, when everybody told me I had to be strong? What if I want to spend the rest of my life with a man? What if I want to spend the rest of my life with a woman? How can it be that I’ve trashed my marriage vows all in the name of love? Who’s going to teach my son how to love, when his father can hardly figure it out for himself? How can I become my own man, when my job and my church and my country always said I belonged to them? How do I stand in my personal power without stepping on other people’s toes? How can I let go and not lose everything I’ve worked my whole life to get? How am I supposed to listen to that still, small voice inside, when the rooftop chatter in my head just gets louder all the time? What if I change — really change — and you don’t like who I become? What if I don’t, either? How do I follow my bliss and still pay the bills? How much longer can I keep doing the same things in the same way — and expect everything to turn out differently?

So much, unsaid
Like all the mute soldiers
Returning from war
Wordless wanderers
Trying to forget themselves
What keeps them there

It’s in their eyes
Hiding under the lids
Like thunderstorms
Lurking behind clouds
Like numb fingertips
Wiping away frozen tears

More came back than didn’t
But even those returning–
Still there, in that place
The one they carried back with them
That’s now their prison
Life sentences, every last one of them

Will it ever end
War that is
Not over there
In here
It takes your words away
Then takes your life away

Life seems way too complicated and its intricacies have indulged me into its mysteries, unravelling its hidden and unpredictable chapters. In my life, things are happening in their own manner but then aren’t they suppose to happen so? Actually, I have no idea. All in all the only thing that I can sense is that inspite of my full fledged efforts of gearing up my life and  of changing its direction, nothing seems to change other than time.Whereas, this change in time makes me realize that I am somewhere stuck and glued to my destiny. I had heard and believed that my destiny is to be carved with my own hands. But once again the destined seems to simply rule over me.

Time again takes me back to my lost memories and reminds me of my attached self.Old  Self wanting to be in company of old friends, gossips and chats at near-by cafes and in the care and love of encouraging elders; finding myself at home.But suddenly, the struggle begins of the laid-back mind and aggressive soul who wants to grow at its own pace. Time and time history repeats this phase in life forcing me to fight back with my own self. I can’t change destiny and I want to remain happy with my on-going efforts of not giving up,  be it what. So, I make a deal with destiny and presume that my efforts will lead me to the destined. And it leaves me with the notion that all that happens, happens for a good reason.Alas! It gives me back my motivation to fight:)

Trust me, the struggle within is way too complex and way too simple ; complex I say is cause it is very difficult for you to know your self and your desires and the most difficult to know your ultimate desire, this set of prioritizing life with time is tedious and tough; simple I say cause everything is based on the cliche rules of life, the more experienced you are, the more easier it is. Although, the intensity of the challenge may grow and so will your complexities but the laid rules and the game of life remains the same, the only difference lies in the way you play it and how well you play it!

This indeed leads me to the banal controversy of all times-Right against the Wrong. Damn! Morals and Ethics come into play and I don’t know how to survive in this era of commercialism and politics. Corruption creeps into the roots and I am asked to justify myself in front of nowhere but just the mirror! As everyone else thinks wrong is right and that indeed is a matter of survival. I kill my innocence and become a professional where money matters and nothing else does. Relations and attachments make me emotional and emotions could be trampled and hurt. So, I am asked to give up on all my dear ones as the dear also are not dear. I move ahead and grow in careerand leave my friends and fellow men.Temporary relations give me everlasting memories and ages after they meet again and all I hear is just a “Hi”. Words seem to be lost with time and no-one knows the reason why? I recollect all my memoirs of them and then we start to share more words.

Time again takes me back to that phase where I don’t want to be a loner again.Loneliness – my precious freedom of life and Company-Being the Food for thought.I am stuck with yet another dilemma of times-Inner Space and Extrovert Self. So, I am cheerful and bubbly and making friends again. But still keeping the distance of not letting them know me that well. For the inner self is scared to be vulnerable and fears losing the dear again. So, I still try and know others and their memories become more precious to me. I have company and I relate to them, share and talk and be dependent again. So, I lose my loneliness and even my freedom. My actions are bound by their actions and words. For I trust them, more than I trust myself. Then emotions clash and you are hurt and expectations shatter and you collapse back into your nutshell. The space is so much needed by you for things to settle down and even you. But somewhere the conflict springs back again when you miss the company and  your friends again.

This inner conflict never seems to stop. I keep on thinking and work a lot. The more I think, the more I get involved. The more I work, I face the real shot.There is just no escape and it is a dangerous plot. Life is way too sarcastic and funny. I laugh over it and then shed tears;). I can’t believe this still gets me going on… But I love life and wanna give it another shot.

from Science News Flash
Source: LiveScience.com, “God and Science: An Inner Conflict,” by Robin Lloyd, January 15, 2009

http://www.livescience.com/culture/090115-god-science.html

This is a short, 13-minute commentary of a recent news article. The article detailed a psychological experiment investigating how people viewed science-based and faith-based explanations. The results showed that people are divided and have difficulty accepting both viewpoints at the same time or an integrated approach including both.

The commentary explores the underlying issues involved and probes how science historians reject the idea that science and faith are fundamentally in conflict and contradict one another. Particular emphasis is placed on the Galileo affair. While people have been led to believe that this was a major conflict history tells a different milder and much more subtle story.

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