| A Forever-Nap |
[01 Dec 2011|11:52am] |
The old woman felt a tugging, burning sensation sweep from her fingertips to her shoulder. At last, she thought. Fate has been skirted far too long. The burning turned into a fury of pain as it coursed through the veins of her left arm. She sat back in her old-but-not-yet-fashionably-vintage chair and waited.
Her end was near. It had been a long time coming. She straightened the hem of her skirt and swept a few cracker crumbs from her blouse. She wanted to look presentable when they found her.
Hours passed and shadows stretched out across the hardwood floor like a lethargic cat finally waking from sleep. The amber light pouring through the window struck her face and she woke confused.
Blast it all, she thought. Certainly I was done-for that time.
She sighed and placed her arthritic feet firmly on the ground. Gripping the arm of her chair, she tediously lifted herself upright.
The old woman gave up living after her 70th birthday. Her children, all in disparate parts of the country, had their own jobs, children, and mortgages to keep them company. The only company she wanted now was a nice forever-nap.
She still lived inside the dilapidated house where she was born. She ate pieces of bread with cold tea and focused on her stories. Changing channels pleased her more than trips to the bathroom or phone calls. The world is a scary place now, she told herself. Solace came in the form of infomercials and gushy television programs. At least they were reliable.
Shivering, the old woman wrapped her paisley moo-moo more tightly around her frail body.
She thought back to that time in the restaurant. Steak marsala, mashed potatoes piled as high as the eye could see, and a vinegar based salad dressing that made her cough. It happened suddenly.
I am choking.
The realization brought tears of joy to her eyes. At long last! She mused. Her throat closed tighter and tighter as the chunk of meat stuck in her esophagus attempted to dislodge itself. Stay put, little one. You are a godsend.
And involuntary ruttle escaped her lips. Damn it all, she thought, as patrons across the restaurant turned to face her. That woman is choking! A hussy in heels and ridiculous gold jewelry shouted.
A man in a business suit rushed over and began to vigorously pump her diaphragm. So close. I was so close. The restaurant provided her with a free dessert, as if that could alleviate her bitter disappointment. I don’t think I can choke on pudding. Poop.
Dragging herself back to the present moment, the old woman turned off the story box and shuffled to bed. Another night. Another still, dark night to spend alone. Sleep came quickly.
She woke to a cacophony of noise outside her window. Confounded birds, always muddling those last sweet moments of blissful, empty dreaming.
Tea, toast, tube. Bathroom, tube, nap. Tube, tuna, tea. Tube, sleep.
Maybe I’ll water the plants? No, they’re already dead. What about raking the leaves off the front stoop? If only my damned legs would let me balance upright for more than 5 minutes. No, there was nothing to be done, and if there was, there would be no point in doing it.
Every day without fail, days stretched into years. Her life read like an atheist’s church schedule.
She died late one night in the middle of a warm spring shower. Sleeping in her paisley moo-moo with a cup of cold tea at attendance, the old woman felt ice on her brow. Her vision became blurred and corroded. Smells and pictures came to her. Far off she could see a tree, some flowers and reeds, rustling in a calm, fragrant breeze.
A path of blood-red, copper and sunshine leaves in autumn.
Gusts of twilight wind over a brisk New England sea.
Stars burning through a cold black sky.
Clouds like cotton candy suspended in blue so pure it could break your heart.
Her eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets, quaking from the effort of recalling images so tempting and so long forgotten.
A cool rain traveling through the mountains, scenery moving with multi-shaded clouds, dropping ripples of light through rivers and streams.
Fireflies suspended in glass, flitting and spinning like a ballerina on a broken music box.
The tingle of taste buds as they experience the sweet bitterness of lemonade. The sound of a lonely violin carrying across the wind. Embers scattering on the beams of fire as it licks the dry branches of winter. The feeling of vastness when looking down on the world from a craggy light house atop a white-dust seaside.
The warmth of a baby in her arms. The smell of flowers. The sound of birds.
Where was I? She thought. What was I doing? The birds in my window were calling out for attention. I ignored their song. They were warning me. They knew this would happen.
All of my life I was dying. And only now that I am dying have I learned how to live.
Her forever-nap was upon her then, but not without dreams.
|
(1Flutter by| On butterfly wings)
|
| Checking Up on Resolutions |
[21 Jun 2011|02:07pm] |
draw/write more (in progress)
learn French (learning)
read a book in French
learn to write in shorthand
learn roman numerals
use better grammar, learn parts of speech
read a famous philosophical piece from a german, french, greek, american author (French and German done)
taste kobe beef (Done)
go kayaking
go white water rafting
eat more veggies/fruits/yogurt (Done)
drink more water (Done)
relearn Piano
go to Savannah, Chattanooga (Savannah-Done)
explore a haunted house/site/civil war battlefield (explored everything but haunted house)
QUIT SMOKING (in progress)
|
(1Flutter by| On butterfly wings)
|
| New Years Resolutions 2011 |
[03 Jan 2011|12:53pm] |
draw/write more
learn French
read a book in French
learn to write in shorthand
learn roman numerals
use better grammar, learn parts of speech
read a famous philosophical piece from a german, french, greek, american author
taste kobe beef
go kayaking
go white water rafting
eat more veggies/fruits/yogurt
drink more water
relearn Piano
go to Savannah, Chattanooga
explore a haunted house/site/civil war battlefield
QUIT SMOKING
|
(6Flutter bys| On butterfly wings)
|
|
[22 Jun 2010|03:01pm] |
Paul: I have a new get rich plan.
1. Make a home movie of our cats.
2. Place it for sale online
3. Leak a copy to bittorrent
4. Send a legal notice to all downloaders offering not to press charges if they pay us $1500.
5. Profit!
-----------------------
Me: “When you start out sitting meditation, it takes a long time for the mind to settle down, but as soon as the session is over you get right up and throw it away. It’s like climbing a ladder slowly, step by step, to the second floor, and then jumping out the window.”
Paul: uhm, i don't get that...are they saying it's bad thing?
Me: No, it's saying people meditate only to forget what they learned.
Me: ur climbing a ladder steadily and slowly just to jump out the window
Paul: ok, because jumping out of a second story window is not a good thing
Me: no, it is not.
Me: unless you are a fireman
Me: or a very lucky cat
Paul: Ok, they are saying it is bad to just forget
Me: correct-o-mundo
Paul: so it's ok to forget if I am a fireman?
Me: yes because u have the bouncy trampoline under you
Me: its ok to jump if you have a way to get back up
Paul: lucky fireman and their trampolines
Me: and cats
Paul: with their catolines
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
|
[10 May 2010|03:11pm] |
Don't do the life that's doing you.
Do something else instead.
Have the strength
to wrest your individual life
from the jaws of the collective.
-Anne Meyer
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
|
[07 May 2010|03:44pm] |
Paul: ha
Me: ah
Me: Ha
Paul: aH
Me: Ah
Me: hA
Paul: HA
Me: AH
Me: lmao
Paul: done
Me: and this is why i love u
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
| Conversations on Omegle |
[30 Apr 2010|03:01pm] |
Stranger: Can i stick my CD in your drive?
You: nah dude, my drive is broken
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: asl?
You: oompa/loompa/doo
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Stranger: hi... boy or girl?
You: eunich
Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Lawlz.
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
| Spiritual Recovery for Anxiety |
[21 Apr 2010|02:27pm] |
Exploring spiritualism in general seems cathartic to the internal tension of anxiety. The process of exploring any religious path entails an externalization of opinions and feelings, and thus the suspension of certain reservations. The self and existence become contingent not merely upon personal whim and individual willpower, but are purported to have greater, more meaningful intentions stemming from unseen, mythic forces. The penchant to ascribe occurrences to something not wholly self-based may actually have the power to relieve much of the anxiety that often impedes decision-making and interactions in day-to-day life.
These two videos explain the benefits of spiritualism as a means to lessen the anxiety of the individual. The first discusses the unseen negative consequences of meritocratic society, and the potential danger of overstating individual/societal responsibility. The second considers the impetus for creativity and the internal anxiety/pressure often associated with genius. It proposes a very interesting idea that externalization of the self through belief may help protect the individual from fear and anxiety.
http://www.ted.com/talks/alain_de_botton_a_kinder_gentler_philosophy_of_success.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html
Hope these videos are as inspirational for you all as they were for me!
PS- I am not advocating religion or spiritualism as a means to cure the world. I simply think that considering the possibilities of life outside the scope of the "human burden" is potentially mind-opening.
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
|
[16 Apr 2010|02:03pm] |
In Blackwater Woods
By Mary Oliver
(1935 - )
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
|
[24 Mar 2010|11:11am] |
Use 413-497-0033 (April Fool's Day Prank Assistance Hotline) to pull
YOUR April Fool's Day pranks!
Prank Suggestion of the Day: Leave a note on
parked cars (in lots or on the street) apologizing for hitting the car
and leaving 413-497-0033 for them to contact you so you can apologize
and pay for the damages. First they'll go nuts trying to find damage
on a car that was never hit, then they'll call the number and realize
it was an April Fool's Day prank! - www.HumorHotlines.com
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
| An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce |
[03 Dec 2009|12:52pm] |
|
He had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum.
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
| But I will always wear one inside-out sock |
[01 Oct 2009|10:58am] |
Seeing the pulse of the future, which always leads back to the same place; these words spread a fire just like lightning cowers, and this wall will tumble only in the afterthought of his salty tears.
The bleeding won't stop, even if the wound would subside. The throbbing echo of that empty voice lingers still in a hollow vessel, lost to that false epiphany.
Let the needle down, down into that center were nothing comes through but mechanical promise, poisoning candy- vile sweet; electrifying, effervescent, retrospective ghosts of tired nowhere.
And suddenly it is all remembered, the reason for that callous Monday and the chill felt from the outside world.
|
(On butterfly wings)
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7){kind=small}
parparvered's journal
