I’m not sure I even know how to use symbiosis in a sentence. I did look it up and I still can’t think of anything to say. But indeed, this is why I write to the Daily Prompt. Doing anything I can to find inspiration to keep the pen to paper. Keep the words flowing. In all honesty, it’s not really working today. Just getting these 4 lines out has been a struggle. But that’s what you do when you face struggle, you keep going. You just keep going until you get to the other side. The other side of the tunnel, the darkness, the street, the adversity, the trying times and just get through it. If we were to sit back and reflect at how many times we as individuals and we as the human race have reached down deep and gotten back up and kept going, we would probably be amazed at our durability. So when times are tough, keep your head up, and call upon all of those before you. Then remember to smile when you turn around to see that you made it.
Well, I think we’ve all learned along the way that acceptance is easier than resistance. So, then, why do we resist? Human nature I guess. Just a natural knee jerk reaction. Is it a sign of weakness, this acceptance? I’ve come to discover that it’s actually a sign of strength, of enlightenment. The Universe, she will do what she wants. There is no stopping the train once it has left the station on the day you were born. One can sway the influence here and there, but ultimately, the cards are on the table and you’re just playing the hand. Play it well, friends.
Sometimes the pressure I feel is massive. I try to not let it be this way, but, alas, a lot of the times it is. Of course, this pressure only comes from myself. This constant nagging of doing more, slacking less, gotta get it done, gotta succeed, can.not.fail. It’s exhausting really. I’ve gotten better at shrugging off the stress. I mean at the end of the day, you can stress all you want but shit’s still gonna happen. You can contribute to the outcome of course but if something is already in the cards, it’s in the cards. As far as cliches go, “Everything happens for a reason” is one that I really like. I believe it is true. You might not know the reason. It might seem like there is no reason. But there is always a reason. Just gotta keep your head up and your eyes open and stay receptive to what is to be. It’s easier said than done, but like a lot of things, the more you do it, the easier it gets. Kind of like muscle memory. Kind of like creating a new groove in your brain that takes you down the new positive path instead of the old, tired, habitual, negative one that’s so worn in, the tires just go down that road before you even know you’re on it. Now that’s a cliche that I can do without!
I used to love to record things. By hand, of course, because I’ve always been a writer. I started keeping a journal when I was about 21, carefully covering all of the details. The people that were there, the places I went, the feelings that I had. My endeavor continued post-graduation, through the L.A. years, back home, in Atlanta, back home, back to Atlanta….everything neatly recorded in chronological order. I always viewed it as my life’s work, my life’s project and thought “Wow, when I’m old and can’t remember anything, I can pick a journal and read up on what I was doing at 22, 29, 34 etc etc” I thought of it as the ultimate gift to myself. My reward for having the discipline to stay with it. Maybe I would even publish. Pick out the gems and publish a retrospective of my life, filled with travel, rock and roll, celebrity interactions, amazing experiences. I always thought 60 would be a good age to do it. And a big part of me thought that it would actually be an interesting read. That was the Grand Plan. And then…and then, my journals got stolen. Yes, I know, quite random and weird. I’ve touched lightly on The Theft before in my blog, but I don’t do so often. Seven and a half years seems like a long time but the hurt remains and I’ll never forget that night, feeling so nauseous yet letting go so fast because I knew they were gone forever. Gone forever so just pick yourself and keep going. Always keeps going.
For me, it’s all about breaking the patterns. The negative ones. The positive ones I have down cold. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been blessed with a fierce streak of perseverance. This helps me stay on track and accomplish what I need to. The patterns I want to erase are the unnerving thoughts of failure, stress and worry. In kickboxing we call this “head trash”. Why stress over things you can’t control? You can do your best, keep working hard and contribute to the desired outcome as much as you can. But some things are beyond you. Beyond your power and control. Knowing when to give up the control in those moments goes a long way to staying on the right track and avoiding the wrong track.
There doesn’t seem to be a lot of nuance left out in the world. Everything is just so *there*. In your face. Right on top of you. Look at me, look at me, look at me. I blame YouTube for that. It has become a national sport to see who can get the most attention. And when did it become a thing that people can get super famous without actually having a specific talent, without actually ever doing anything? (You know who I mean.) If it were up to me, I would pick nuance over overt every day of the week. Subtlety is a lost art form. Sure, it’s easy to throw it all out there to attract attention. The real skill lies in gently making yourself and your energy known, just enough to create mystery and intrigue. Sensuality wins the day, at least for me, anyway.
Of course the only thought that comes to mind is bees. The second thought is are the bees really dying? The third thought is what does that mean for us and the world? The fourth thought is should I be worried about this? The fifth thought is I am going to let go of all of the stress and the worry and the anxiety that comes with things you can’t control and just be. The sixth thought is a calm I’ve never felt before. The seventh thought is freedom.
It’s so vivid, the memory I have of my grandmother. My beloved Nonnie. I can still picture her precisely. I can still picture sitting in her kitchen as she served up the most perfect toast I’ve ever had. It was perfect. Always. I can still hear the tone of her voice, asking gleefully of course, what she could feed me. “You want some cookies? You want some ice cream? You want a punch in the nose?” The accent was always on ice. Always. I remember talking to my Nonnie on her 82nd birthday. She was ironing my Uncle’s shirts and sounded so excited about it. “There must be 10 or 12 shirts here!” Had I known it was the last time I would speak with her, I would have never hung up the phone. She died suddenly 4 days later. That was 30 years ago. And yet, she remains vivid. ALWAYS.