Must Trust

People and land have such a strong bond, don't they? Look at Pompeii. Look at any turbulent piece of land and those who are from that place refuse to budge even if it means sacrificing their life. You have to respect that choice- their decision. I would say to them, be prepared for the moment when no one is going to come save you- but stay if you want to stay. We are all aware that we sit one massive rumble away from game over. We know there is a chance a solar flare could sizzle us off the slate. We also grasp that there are as many chances as there are stars of us being knocked off orbit, tilted on our axis, electromagnetically altered, graviationally pulled, ... yes, I am just stringing words together at this point- I know nothing about these complicated scientific mysteries of the universe. I could also suggest that maybe none of us do- KNOW. But, my point is that we are living in a state of Must Trust. We must trust it is a safe environment to live. We, by nature, want to trust. 

Why? and Why? 

We must trust we are safe on Earth because we have no other choice that we are aware of, the universe is a power we don't fully understand (yet, I think we do innately- we just ignore this by discipline) and can not overcome. There are laws of nature the universe abides by and if we were smart we'd continue to look at these in a simple way as well as in a complex way. I think sometimes that everything mimics the universe- from the grandness of space to the single cell and on- the answers, if there are any, are here. The simple truths are here. Everything continues on in some form. When we compromise this push of energy forward, we die. But, like a child holding their breath and passing out, the involuntary nature of what is takes hold and the child breathes still. So, when we die, and the breath is gone, there is still much energy that goes on. Life goes on. Maybe that's why people stay on their land. Because life goes on- what is there really to be so frightened of? Energy created can't really turn into nothing can it?

We want to trust because it is, to an extent, human nature- but mostly because we are taught to trust. "Do this, son." says parent. "Why?" says son. "Because I said so, that's why." says parent, "And I always have your best interests in mind." The son bows his head and slinks- in submission and from having been fed nothing new, just told again to obey. 

In religious organizations, children often present wonderful questions. "So, if this Bible is God's word, does that mean God wrote it?" "If these are words Jesus spoke, why didn't he just write them to us himself? Where are his words to read?" "If God is the greatest source of Love, why does the Bible tell me to fear God?"  "How is the Earth only 7,000+/- years old?" "Why does Adam have a belly button?" "How did all these people mentioned suddenly come from 2 people?" The questions, if anyone would enjoy them, come in with enthusiasm and abundance. Children are wanting to understand why these are things to devote their lives to and live in accordance with. They are met with on so many occassions, "Just trust. It is the Word of God." To be considered good, obey. Does anyone consider that the children are fresh examples of Godly energy, yearning to understand and think and reason and create? This is the image we were created in- not mimicing a physical form. That's my take away. "Men have souls, women have no souls, oh, alright then, you women can have souls too now... animals have no souls- okay maybe the dog- the dog can have a soul... this just in, God said donkeys can enjoy a soul- cats, rabbits... all animals get souls!! Shoot, we didn't ask about reptiles and bugs." A soul is like the universe- you are in it- you are of it. No man can say what creature has a soul and what creature does not. It is not up to mankind. This is when humility serves us. 
So, when the child becomes a grown up and he now looks for answers, the first thing he does is look for someone to obey. Where is my King? Where is my Emperor? I need a father figure- someone who will tell me what to do and how to think- I'm not certain otherwise. This serves government well. Government steps up and now the adult has someone to obey. We insist on loving the idea of a King and Queen. We observe England's royalty with such reverence, gloating in the marriages and ceremonies. We try hard to name an American family as our own royalty. Please! Give us someone to look up to and follow. The President has made strides in becoming an Emperor- with Executive Orders he has arbitrarily endowed the role with Magnificient powers to rule solely. Get ready, obeying is being served.

Information comes to the masses. It doesn't matter. They stay in Pompeii. 

Is it the land, is it the idea, the comfort... what is it that is worth a man being willingly shackled? 

Are people told it is honorable to sacrifice liberties for freedom? (YES!!! that one was actually successful- can you believe it?) Are people told it is patriotic to not question the Powers? Is the government, like the Universe, a vast, ever expanding super power that no one can grasp, no one can stop, and no one can escape? 

Yes. 

Except, remember that idea about the small equaling the large? The single cell being of the same energy as the universe? This is where studying the simple comes in handy. We are individually as powerful as that enormous, ambiguous entity. But, they don't preach that. That would make masses harder to control. To find truths, look at the simple things.   

We are soulful energy, yearning to feel, understand, think,reason and create. Creating productive systems isn't about obeying. It's about chosing to participate in something you like and bringing your energy and insight to contribute. 

Forward. Better. Progress. Creation. Dare I say, Happiness.

This is not gained from obedience. It comes from decision. 

Decision is the Power of the Universe.

I decided two and a half years ago (or so) that I am patriotic not to any piece of land, not to any government - any institutionalized group of men and laws, not to any individual, not to any symbol, but to the principles and beliefs and philosophies I choose to live my life by, that I believe are good, and wise, and endorse creation and freedom and understanding. I am patriotic. I am very patriotic. Whose ideals have changed? What are we patriotic to? We should decide.

I opened my manuscript with this: "It all balances on belief."

It applies to so much. 

Do you believe in what you Must Trust? 

The art of doing nothing

One year ago, I was sipping a delicate cappucino and toasting Lake Como. I was sitting on an iron cafe chair with my husband beside me, having just loudly drained every ounce of elegance from the Italian language by trying to roll my Rs (that instead skidded into the back of my teeth), and together we took a long moment to appreciate our surroundings. The lake was mysteriously foggy, the air was moist, birds and waterfalls and waiters filled our ears with carefree melody, soothing rhythms, and the romanticism of a well spoken word. "Are you finished, Miss?" sounded like "Let me tell you about passion." to me. To Nick, it sounded like "Let me take your plate." Luckily for me, Nick answered for the group the majority of the time and therefore my imagination could go wild, equating his Italian words to my English wishes, leaving me pretty satisfied and freshly in love.

Today, I am sipping ridiculously strong coffee whisked with French Vanilla Soy Creamer in a mug the size of a crater. Its side kick is a 1.5 liter bottle of water.  My view is of tree tops outside of shutters. Being indoors is a sweet escape from the sweltering heat and humidity. I don't mind it right now, but I succumb to the fact that every inch of my body will be dripping with sweat and my lungs will feel as though the breath isn't bringing air- 100 degree and humid air often makes me feel that I've just walked into a steamed wet wash cloth and tried to inhale. As unpleasant as that sounds, that is my upbringing. South Georgia is hot; it's humid; it's buggy; and it is where I was born and raised. Atlanta is easier. I hear children yelling and playing outside in the neighborhood pool and a narrarator on television is telling me about Indian elephants and their habitat- the Secrets of Wild India. 

The difference in a moment a year's distance apart is no small thing.

I am happy just the same. :)

My mom's dad supplied her with a valuable currency in life. Decision. "You're as happy as you want to be." It is the saying I most remember from childhood. The next, "Everything happens for a reason." The latter, I find, depends on the one before. A happy person can find a positive meaning in anything. 

So, the next best thing to having known a grandfather is having the words they choose to leave behind. And the few pieces he brought back from his time in WW2 aren't so shabby either. Somehow he supplied my mom, Paige and me with pearl necklaces that are as different as our personalities. He never knew his grandchildren, so this feels supernatural. Mine, for instance, is a shorter length necklace with a larger, dynamic pearl in the center, with the rest only gradually tapering in size to the back of my neck. My sister's is a beautifully traditional strand, longer and showcasing an obvious gradient to the center and back. The difference between the two fits us. My grandfather had elegant taste in artistic matters. He possessed creative skills like playing the violin, banjo and guitar. He carved and welded, and he appreciated wilderness. When his family tells my mom they see him in me, I like that. Because aside from favoring him physically in this way or that, I appreciate knowing he was an individual and did things the way he wanted instead of conforming. A Michigan man stuck in Mississippi- he didn't implode. Withstanding the sort of pressure that can come in regional displacement, especially in that era, oooohweee! He must have had a strong sense of his spiritual self and the confidence to follow through. "Give me some of that!"... and the pearl necklace. Thank you, sir!

My Nicholas must feel that displacement sometimes. When I sit here and think back to a year ago, wandering the stone paths in Como and breathing in the Renaissance air of Florence, imagining my view of the moon in the midnight sky being similiar to the view of those who are now likened in the statues towering above the city streets. I can understand why he would miss that authenticity. I miss it and I only glimpse it for slivers of time. It is weaved into his character like cotton fields are weaved into mine. Italy has this culture that is so favored and so natural that its essence is man's essence and it never leaves. That could all be bullshit too. I'm going with it tonight, though. Considering my life revolves around garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil it resonates with me. Olive oil, for goodness sake, is consumed as quickly as water in this home. Basil- well, basil is my love affair. I'm the one sprinkling a basil leaf on everything. 

My mom is super pissed that I haven't posted my photos from last year's trip after all this time. I think that it's time I do that. She has been wanting to savor them. I could use a refresher too. Can one see David too many times? Can one really tire of the Tuscan country side, ancient stone villages, or an Italian dish? Probably not. Not this Georgia girl. 

l'arte di non fare niente. The art of doing nothing.  

Does this have to be practiced? Yes. I think so. Because it is an art, indeed. It isn't about doing, it is about being. Take an action away from a person and see what happens. Discomfort. Fidgeting. It looks like people are trying to escape something or avoid something- and we probably are. We are trying to escape ourselves, trying to avoid life. Just being is something Italy allows and it feels so light. I think maybe this is why enlightenment landed in Italy's lap. To just be feels like discovery of the infinite. When I plopped back into The Land of Doing, the energy felt encapsulating. In a way it invigorates and in a way it feels like regression. It actually feels like a waste of energy because what we are searching for in doing is what is found by just being. 

yada yada.

That should be my blog's name- yada yada, blab blab. 

The art of blabbing.

Here are some pictures:
Our first day in Como~

Lake Como

Nick

Beth

to dinner

On the boat

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Meeting locals

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My cocktail

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Gelato

yum

A food fight I'm up for!

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our friendly cab man

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our hotel

We watched the entire eclipse

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pucker up

   

The Long And The Short Of It

My nails are short. I like them long. I like them short. Nick tends to like them long because they become a useful tool for back scratches. I'm in a short mood. This crisp and sassy mood alternates frequently with a sensual and earthy mood. Both can be mysterious. I've yet to cut my hair, but I did paint my nails a vivid red. 'I Red a Good Book/ Ballon rouge' is the name of the color. They should've kept their name short. I've been flirting with the idea of chopping my hair off since 2008 and I can't pull the trigger. There are a lot of reasons why. One: As soon as I got serious about it and announced it one of Nick's friends almost jumped through the window of the car. We had not seen this friend in a while. He's super nice and evidently likes long hair on girls. That reaction made me hesitate.  Two: You can make long hair look short but can't make short hair look long.  Three: I like wearing it straight back off my face and twisting into a chignon- impossible for short hair.  Four: It's really easy. My hair dries fast and even if it is wet I can wrap it back and it looks fine. Long hair is great for lazy days. I don't want to style my hair every day, there's a life to be lived!! Five: I like hiding behind it sometimes.  Six: It's been pointed out to me that I twirl a strand over and over my forefinger when I'm lost in thought. What will my forefinger think if I take away her friend?  Seven: If I commit to short hair then I have to be spunky, high style me instead of spiritual, roll-in-the-grass me all the time.  No can do.

I've had long, dark hair most of my life. Once in college I went to a salon with a friend and had them cut it really short. When we got back to our dorms I was frustrated that my cut looked like a half ass attempt to be short, so I grabbed scissors and continued, judging it all in a full length mirror stuck to our door. My friend Brett was there and she told me later that she was pretty worried as she watched me. But she was a great friend and didn't let me know that at the time. The short hair wasn't so bad. I wish I'd had access to the best hairstylists, then it may have been really fun. With short hair, it seems to me, the cut becomes more important. Once, I was brave and decided to try a hair stylist in Moultrie, my home town, to give me a trim. Mistake. Huge Mistake. I remember her cutting one side of my hair and becoming enthralled with the beauty shop conversation about husbands and boxers and drawers. Something about them never ending up in the drawer. Well, I should've voiced my thoughts which were "What the hell, lady!! Who cares? Focus on my hair." I was so baffled by the accents (Because believe it or not, not every Southerner sounds like a hick- these Southerners did.) and the content of the drama (underwear? really?). Add that to the fact that I was 19 and you have the reason for my meekness. Well, you probably guessed it. She cut the same side of my hair twice and left the other pretty much untouched. I went home, showed my mom the haircut, and cried. I ended up going back and making her fix it. What a disaster. It has taken me a long, long time to say what I really think about my hair to the stylist. In that moment of the reveal I feel that it's more about their work than my hair. I never want to hurt their feelings. 

In St. Simons Island I went to lunch with a friend that had changed her hair from blonde to brunette. She asked me a question about how I felt with dark hair. She said that she felt she had to be serious with dark hair and wanted to know if I felt that way. But, I've always felt serious. So, I was of no help. She was comparing the two hair colors and the moods she associated with them and the effect it had on her. I thought it was an interesting subject. I've never been blonde. I've never put any chemical treatment on my hair. I've liked it and so I've never changed the color. I can imagine feeling light and whimsical with blonde hair. I like seeing the golden colors like Jennifer Aniston's and also the platinum versions that Scarlet Johansson and Rachel McAdams wear nicely. The truth is that I do agree with her to the extent that I feel very attached to my hair and it's a big representation of who I think I am. I have this unchanged hair, long, the same as I had when I was a little girl picking blackberries in the woods behind my house or trying to do back handsprings without my ponytail flopping under my hands, in which case my scalp got a yank.  I'm tempted to get a wig and be blonde for a day. Just to see. I'd never abandon my dark hair though. I like the depth of dark hair and if I colored my hair I'd most likely go darker not lighter. Fits my personality.

This thought thread started with me looking at the keyboard and being pleased with the red flash of my finger tips. Somehow my hair pulled rank.

I saw a Yahoo news flash that Cameron Diaz cried over a haircut gone awry. The article seemed to have a tone of mild condescension, like this- "Oh, poor, poor you... you got a bad hair cut... oh I feel so sorry for your heart ache and bad day. Don't you realize there are people who have real reasons to cry?" I don't agree with that tone. Here's why. The journalist is the one who is writing about it as if it is news. Yahoo is the outlet featuring it as if it is newsworthy. So, it's not Cameron Diaz asking for public attention regarding her hair, it's the writer and publisher. Also, when you get a hair whacking when you wanted your layers trimmed, it often leads to an emotional response whether you want it to or not. People do a lot of things around their hair- they don't cut it for religious reasons or they sleep upright to prevent, I don't know, mashing it against the pillow I suppose. So, it's not totally off the charts that she cry over her hair being on the floor and not rooted to her head. I've seen her interviewed and others talk about her and she seems pretty down to earth and cool. For instance, it was said that she broke her nose snow boarding and she just popped up out of the snow laughing. That's no priss pot if you ask me. And she respects aging, welcoming it and announcing her age with no signs of shame or dread. That's refreshing.  Regarding the attempt to compare hardships, that's always a losing battle. Everything is relative. Everything. Try telling my niece Madeline that taking her blankie away from her and throwing it in a fire is no big loss in the world. It's not true for her. It's a big loss from her perspective. Earth shattering. 

Relative. It's not fair to judge it. Fair. Woooooh, that's a whole other word and writing day.

I'm done for now. 

I'll go blend my moods, long hair and short nails. It seems that contradictions are always a part of the human's self characterization. That's a good thing. How boring if not.