Balance

There’s a need for finding a balance between the physical and the conceptual, the visual and the metaphysical, the perceived and the actual.

The drum of life and living beats at changing paces, and everyone experiences it (even if they’re not in tune to it). Because we are all connected, we are affected by one another. Although we don’t necessarily see it or understand it directly, the connection is still there. We’re constantly playing a game of dominos—when one is pushed, the others are at risk of falling. If we’re not close enough, we stay erect…at least for the time being. But the pieces will be rearranged, and there are more in the box that can take the place of those that have fallen.

Can we be completely replaced? And if we are replaced, how does that affect the other side?

Is balance achievable? If one side is balanced, is the other?

Maybe balance is achievable, but not everyone is a part of it—maybe you are not a part of it. But if not every one is a part of it…is that really balance?

It's a somber day.
Earlier I remembered a small, sort of irrelevant scene. I was pretty young, and I was at a park with my parents and two family friends. We were sitting in the grass, and the man, Tom, was showing me how to make a whistling noise with a blade of grass. His wife tried too, but she and I weren't very good at it. I don't even remember the rest of the day, just us sitting in the grass, laughing and brushing the dirt off of our pants.
It's strange how I'd forgotten about this memory for so long. My family and I used to spend a lot of time with them--they lived just down the street from us. My dad and Tom were very close, until things began to fall apart. Tom died about six years ago in a motorcycle accident. A lot of things were left unsaid and undone, things that will probably never be mended. Thinking about it now, I wish some things could've turned out differently, but that's the way it all works and we can't change that.

I’ve had an incessant need for balance lately. I’m not sure I can describe it exactly. Everything that I know or question has been leading me in circles. I keep coming back to the phrase “everything is relative”. And it’s true, everything is relative. Nothing isn’t connected, but many things have no connections.

I’ve been running around in my head a lot. And I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think I could, but it’s as though I don’t want to. But I don’t want to stay awake either, because it’s too quiet and I get easily stuck in my head. (Is it possible to think too much?)

I want so many things in life—many of them that I have no control over. I want to see people as people, and I want to live with them. I distance myself a lot though…although I’m not sure that’s entirely bad. Hopefully that’s just me looking at and observing the bigger picture. But I really need to come back down to Earth, and I need to sit with someone and talk with someone about little, menial things and big and abstract world issues.

A day once dawned
And it was beautiful
A day once dawned from the ground
Then the night she fell
And the air was beautiful
The night she fell all around

So look see the days
The endless coloured ways
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning

And now we rise
And we are everywhere
And now we rise from the ground
And see she flies
And she is everywhere
See she flies all around

So look see the sights
The endless summer nights
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning.

-"From the Morning" by Nick Drake 

So, I'm starting a "diary" of food. This isn't going to become a food blog, but I'm going to track what I've been learning/will learn about nutrition--at least for a little while. There's no particular reason for starting this documentation, just that I've become interested in nutrition and I've been "sick" lately (something about my digestive system). I've decided to start a vegan/raw diet, more so a choosy vegan diet (meaning the only breads I can have are sprouted or gluten-free). I'm trying to seriously cut down on processed foods--at least the really unhealthy ones. Hopefully all this healthy nonsense (I don't plan on being this persnickety for too long) will kick-start my organs into working correctly (and maybe help me begin a healthier lifestyle).

Today, Larabar vs. Kind Fruit & Nut bar
 Larabar (Cashew Cookie): 230 calories, mashed up, two ingredients (cashews and dates), gluten and dairy free, mushy, tastes like old cashew butter, $1.49

Kind bar (Fruit & Nut Delight): 180 calories, whole nuts bound together by fruits, more ingredients (including soy lecithin), gluten and dairy free, crunchy and soft, sweet, $1.69

The winner? Kind bar


(By the way, I'm at work and I feel like a total health-nut. You know, one of those whack-jobs who has nothing better to do with her time...)

There’s something about dreams that, for whatever reason, I base some of my core emotions. I guess it’s because they come from me, and they are a part of me. I don’t think they tell anything that you don’t already know, but I believe they often confirm feelings that are rooted in the pit of your stomach that you’re sometimes unwilling to admit. It’s as if dreams are projections of yourself that you have to face to come to some sort of truth about your self. Of course they’re not always deep or meaningful, but rather random, and often current thoughts that float together. Sometimes they come from thoughts that spark from other thoughts or things that you’ve seen recently. Sometimes they’re reflections of concerns that you’ve been having.

No matter the real reason they come about, they are part of your consciousness and your unconsciousness. I find they’re sometimes therapeutic, even despite their terrifying approaches. 

"...As the truth hits your ears begin to cry
"Why is it like this!" Why the fuck do I care?
I don't have the answers, or at least the ones you want to hear...
Don't get worried now (We've been in a cold world!)
We just getting flurries now?..."
"Bent Life" by Aesop Rock

The other night I remembered a thought that I had a few years ago. It was an image of a man who digs a hole in his living room. And he digs more and more every day. Then one day he shoots his dog, because he doesn't want his dog to fall in and die. And he just keeps on digging.
It's not much of a story, but I've thought about it over and over, and I still can't figure out how to present it. Maybe as a poem? Or maybe as a short-story, or a one-act? I'm not sure.

(I don't know who this image is by or where it came from, but it emotes what I've been feeling lately.)