Dividends of the Psyche, Matters of the Heart.

December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 May 2012 June 2012

Devote your self. To your self. --Me




The best and most fulfilling form of relaxation is mental rest. I can confidently say that the moment I decide to rest, after a calming, hot shower, I close my eyes intently and the unthinkable happens -- I THINK. Unless I've spent endless hours on my feet, elongating my will to its most devastating limit, the thought of resting often remains little more than a mere thought.

Many avid thinkers are no different from myself.
Masters in the art of kicking up our feet, propping up a pillow or two, a calming album or book as a companion... and hours later the calm has not yet made way for much else than a heavy sigh and boredom.
The thought process brought on by what I like to identify simply as The Calm leads to frustrated inactivity, despite the plethora of activity in my mind when I need it LEAST.


Science explains that, while asleep, the mind tries to solve the problems of the preceding day.
But when I all would rather do is forget the problems, if only for an undetermined amount of hours, perhaps The Calm needs a new name.







It's the title to one of the chapters in my UNFINISHED book.

I'm deciding to depict human wrath. It's a part of growing, a part of living, and a part of the cycle of pain; I feel that it is only right that even a story which ends happily or fortunate have a natural climactic moment of rage and uneasiness. The reality of this inclusion is, pardon my redundancy, a reality. But uh... where was I...

The wrath. It can be a sure means to a definite end.
For many, it serves the sole purpose of release; a purging of negative feelings, accumulated by grief and pain caused by one we love, loved, wanted to love, or could never have. Wrath builds, when the truth of the matter is avoided or hastily thrust upon us. There is no predicting exactly the manner which wrath will present itself once it simmers to the surface like a hot pot of salted liquid trapped beneath a handled glass top.

I never knew where to go to understand my propensity for acting on a forthcoming rage, until I realized I could use it's energy strategically and, most importantly, for my benefit beyond vengeance. With me, there's always been little appeal with accessing an animalistic wrath of attacking, badgering, destroying... meandering... berading... degrading... undoing someone who's wronged or mismanaged my emotions.


Then again, typicalities have never been my thing.


It's never been a real biblical path that I take, not to mistake me for an atheist or downplayer of my faith; rather, a calculated act of reverence to my common sense. Refusing the "eye for an eye" regime, without preaching a "fire & brimstone" kind of mentality.


[My soapbox doesn't have a cross painted on it.]


I view taking away the necessity for impactful rage as a means of proper ignorance: using my superior wit to undo the misdeeds of another, reaping the benefits of taking what I normally would call (as I grit my teeth) a cliché... "the high road".

It's been working highly in my favor so far. Rage may become her, but it sure as hell doesn't motivate her.
You aren't always what you eat.


But there hasn't been a day where I haven't lived by my word. So, in their own way, they feed me.








Indeed.







"Lo único que me veo obligado a es la libertad."




Beauty comes from a background story; many stories form from a compilation of painful occurrences. I don't want to be "that girl".



I don't want my story to be a collection of sad expressions and wasted pages on unrequited love. Ego placed aside, I refuse to let that be my story... IF, a story centered around me is destined to exist. Being "that girl" just doesn't quite fit me. Unparalleled is an understatement when comparing this identity to my true self, my true worth, and my promise.

Nothing fits. I am a living, breathing, walking, talking jigsaw, with ill-equipped pawns which have no place within. The borders are hardly visible, and there is little more than a quandary amongst my thoughts. Given the fact that I make the decisions I choose, with no regrets despite the consequence, I come to this identical pass with each ending moment. For, there is always an end.

....ALWAYS AN END.