Our little baby bird

With eyes so round and gaping through galaxies

she balanced on the line of life and death

standing long legs and binding families

from before she took her first breath

she lives half in this realm and half in another

speaking truth and laughter

carried by the love of our mother

and the wit of our father

her little giggle brightens up rooms

and her thoughts confuse theologians 

in spring her named flower blooms

and in fright she fights like trojans 

she’ll spout creativity like it’s air

and roam like a child free in the night

with long blonde locks of hair

she constantly battles fright

she has seen and still sees the evil of this world

she knows it too well for her age

even though it may leave her whirled 

she still can enjoy her time of teenage

oh my sweet little bird full of light

I fear sometimes you may not know

with all my strength and all my might

how I love you so

I think of your sweet smile on the daily

with each day I hope to make you proud

as I imagine you playing the ukulele

and singing singing out so loud

oh my sweet, sweet little bird

I hope you always know 

oh, how I love you so

God allows Evil

The idea that God allows bad things to happen is inherently good. I could piss off and upset a lot of people by saying that. 

But I would then ask them this, would you be the person you are today, the person with the knowledge you know and the wisdom you’ve gained and the empathy you’ve come to understand if you had not gone through all of the trials you’ve been through so far? Would you be the same person you are today if none of those terrible struggles and trials had ever happened? 

My faith requires the belief that God is big enough to allow and even plan on bad things happening. In such truth I catch a glimpse of the magnitude of God. It is not that He is good and yet allows the bad but rather He is so good that He allows the bad. And of course never for arbitrary reasons but instead to bring about the capability of growth in our understanding of the true realm we come from. 

A first realm, a realm beyond this one we have come to know. Because unlike this realm with all of its limitations, the first realm is so grand and absolute that even the concept of a good God so large that He has the capability to allow an opposite to Himself is not an idea beyond comprehension. 

See when asking these questions like why does God allow evil, we are tapping into a separate world very far from our own yet living side by side with. This world is full of endless possibilities beyond what we could imagine so why do we even try to limit the probability of it. We should instead embrace the fact that there is a world beyond and answers beyond and possibilities beyond. Beyond all that our minds could form. We can’t even comprehend the size of the universe, yet we try to grasp the size of the One who hold it in His hands. But this should never stop us from asking the questions and pondering the vastness of creation and its Creator. This should instead open the floor to conversation. 

Don’t you see, the reason we have such unknown conclusions is because God wants us to have a conversation with Him? He wants us to ask questions to be frustrated to lose faith and then regain it. He wants to be constantly in communication so He has allowed gaps in our minds and limits beyond our reach. 

Our God is so big, He has allowed us to see the truth of light and darkness, good and evil, questions and sometimes answers, concepts without conclusions. 

He is so vast and grand that we will never tire of searching to discover a new region of His territory.  

Am I even good at anything?

Sometimes I ask myself this question but it is always asked when scrolling through something like instagram where everyone only ever puts their best face forward. But I just can't do that. When I see the perfect lives posted on instagram my only thought is, "wow, am I even good at anything at all? Am I traveling the world taking stunning photographs of my experiences, am I a yogi master with limbs like playdo? I know for a fact I do not fit the oh so admirable mold of the ideal "hipster" so it's not like my instagram page is any sort of theme or color sequence or cool thing with hundred of likes on pictures as simple and pointless as  my morning cup of tea." None of that is what I want out of life anyway.  I find what it beautiful and I like to share it but I wish there was a day when everyone could share more than the obvious beauty but rather the honest beauty. The rolls and curves and acne and ugly crying. I want to see the human in people. But to be honest, the only reason I want everyone else to be honest about themselves is because I crave to be honest about myself. And of course society and engraved in me that I am only ever capable and allowed to to what is accepted by the social norm. No matter how free spirit a person is or says they are or tries to be, everyone is always holding some honest part of themselves back. That is the piece I want to see. Those moment that no one else sees. The moments when you're alone in your apartment and you are doing nothing but thinking and being yourself. Your true and honest self. The one who doesn't hold in their stomach or try to look good while lounging because admit it, even if there is only one person in the room, no one is comfortable. Everyone is still putting on a face. A fake front to impress. So when I find myself with nothing much to do and wanting a spark of inspiration, I failingly turn to something like instagram. However, this always backfires at me because I only ever become discouraged. With only ever seeing the actually picture perfect "lives" in front of me I am given a false sense of how things should be or how society demands them to be. Everyone has to be unique but also fit in. Everyone has to be creative and come up with new ideas but only the new ideas that are or will be accepted by all the top notch fashion bloggers. What complete and tter bullshit. It really is horrifying. I really only like instagram because I like the filters and edits it provides and it allows a place for me to put my documentations in an accessible place so that I may go back one day and find some long forgotten memory from my own life. That's it. Its really just a storage unit that others are blessed to be apart of. So why ever treat it otherwise. I don't want to go into a business where I rely on the media or the internet or any computer like object for my income or my passion. I want to make art. If the world requires a digital documentation of it to live, fine, I'll deal, but to solely rely on electronics as your form or creative outlet? I am simply not built that way. I commend those who are and enjoy such things. I enjoy typing and messing with the possibilities of electronics, but when it comes to getting in the zone, when my true creativity comes out, it has to be raw. It has to be organic. It has to be tangible. It has to be part of reality. Not digiality. I know it is different for other people, but for me, I just can't handle the idea of being so infested in a form of social media like instagram that it becomes my livelihood, to document my life for other's entertainment, and then get paid to advertise, like a living breathing walking billboard. I'm sorry but that just seems so absolutely fake. Sorry, sometimes I feel this way after going on instagram. But that is my rant. The End.

Ramble Ramble No One Reads This

So I guess I'm going to ramble about my brain for a second here...actually it'll probably last a lot longer than a second. And I know no one really reads anything I write except my mom (hi mom<3) and maybe some random people. SO I feel pretty comfortable saying kind of just whatever I want. This is in fact my "Writings of Adventure" blog anyways. I'm literally writing and adventuring in my writing. Because let's be honest, everything is an adventure with the right attitude.

My most recent and preceding adventure is more of a mental one. I have been climbing mountains and trudging through valleys in my own cognitive terrain. Dealing with the health of my own consciousness and how to take care of myself and my thoughts. It's a little easier when you are able to define exactly the thoughts and why they work the way they do and how they form in the way they form when you are given a definitive word or label for your style of thinking. However, the rebuttal is true. The last thing anyone wants is to be put into a box and defined only as that word or phrase that carries its own baggage of stereotypes and assumptions.

So I don't define myself by my diagnosis, mainly because even with people who may have the same diagnosis, I am still unique in my own. Even in my own category there are subdivisions and subgroups with their own lists of each individual circumstance.

I am a fiercely passionate person with a wild imagination and a craving for adventure and new places to see. I have skills in art and design and I am able to use my spontaneous thinking to create new and magical creations. I am able to use my spirited mental methods to explore ideas and depths and concepts of a more bewildered intent.  It's fun being me but I firmly believe that it is only fun for me to be me. No one else would have as much fun being me as I do because no one is me and I am no one else but me. That's it. And it's so much fun that way.

The End.

so..it's been awhile

I really should be working on my Exo/Deu essay right now but I was feeling inspired and posting on my blog had been a long time coming. Let's see, well I'm in my sophomore year of college. I transferred schools and changed my major. Let's start there I guess. I left for a couple reasons.

Culturally, the environment at my previous school was kinda rough.  I recently went back to visit a friend just for a short moment this weekend, (we were leaving to go take bitchin photos at cool abandoned places) and I got a horribly sick feeling in my stomach, a feeling I know all too well. At this particular school, I had two social options (well one wasn't really an option because I wouldn't be accepted into that option).

The first being the prime cut preppy overly conservative Christians who led numerous double standards and lived life through hypocrisy but judged you if you broke code.

The second were the accepting wild creatures of the night, the ones who drank 5-6 days out of the week (at this school you could because the classes were a breeze and didn't require a sober mind to pass) and were accepting of all kinds; ethnicity, sexuality, weight, and gender.

So as a passionate artist who loves Jesus immensely but is also a totally wild, free-spirit hippie, I was lost in translation. I of course went straight toward the 50% who would accept me no matter how wild and crazy and irrational I can be (the partiers: some raised in it and some raised so conservatively that they raged with a wild rebellion that would terrify the Pope). But in doing so I was giving up my commitment to God.

So, for that year, I walked in a mildly askew direction. Wandering around and looking in all the wrong places for meaning and acceptance and depth of consciousness and heart. I did the new student cliché thing and started kinda sorta dating someone within the first week of school...lame I know.

This inevitably screwed me over for pretty much the rest of the semester until I started liking one of my new yet really close guy friends...bad move Summer. Here's a note of advice: don't toy with the boys who actually like you who are your friends if you don't actually feel the same romantic feelings back because then you'll just get confused about how you feel about them which confuses them and in the end everyone is heartbroken. But, thank the LORD, we're still good friends, in a kinda twisted and awkward way.

So yea it was a rough year. To those who think you can hang out with the partiers and not actually be pressured to party, YOU ARE WRONG. After a while, the absurd and previously deranged actions and emotions become a sort of norm, a comfort even, a safe haven. When you are all crazy, no one's crazy and everyone's sain. It's kind of beautiful in many ways but damaging to the important things.

SO moving on, I transfered. Partly because the societal environment was hindering to my original goal in life and also because I tend to have a flight reaction rather than fight reaction. Physically, if someone wants to attack me, yea I'll beat the living shit out of them, but emotionally, relationally, people getting close, dangerously close before I have time to trust them, yea I'm on the next flight out especially if I smell trouble.

I wasn't always like that though. I used to be very good at staying and working things out. But that dwindled away back in like my sophomore year of high school. Then I learned to run. So, in a sense I ran, as I kinda crave to do. I like new places, new experiences, new identities, new people, I like newness and change, maybe to an over exaggerated sense. For example, I'm only in my first semester here at my new school and I am already going away next semester to do studies in the mountains.

I really like newness. But newness can be oldness. I like contradictions and irony and paradoxes. So I like new things that are old but new to me. I like going back to old things that I have left because I am always new. Looking back on my old and forgotten things, gives them all a newness.

Maybe that's why I like to leave, so I can go back and say I left and came back. So I will always be on the move, a free spirit just making memories and long lasting connections and then suddenly leaving, like a favorite character in a John Green book.

What I don't like is overdone rhythm. Yea rhythm and routine are good for a short while, but as time goes on, and maybe it's because of me getting older, but the time I can last in routine gets shorter and shorter. But I always go back. I give time away and make hearts grow fonder and then I return for that open armed expression of love and surprise when I finally show up again. Maybe that's it, my one true fear. Being forgotten in the rhythm of things. Becoming like wallpaper from time and time passed by. Disappearing into the norm of everyday life. How boring.

At this point, I am just rambling, but hey, it's not like anyone reads my blog anyways. I am really just utilizing my sudden spark of inspiration to procrastinate on my assignments. I just want to write though. I want to write what's in my mind and create what's in my thoughts and paint the things I see. Too bad I have to get a degree. But, I really shouldn't complain. I have an amazing opportunity and I can do so much more exploring and 'running' through school than I would be able to if I was just back home with a job trying to save up for traveling.

I'm doing good here. Keeping sain for the most part. I've got my emotions stabled to an extent and surprisingly without using western medications but with natural healthy practices. Like being vegan and exercising daily and only drinking coffee on occasion.

I'm just tired.

My own damn fault though. I didn't sleep all of friday or saturday night or day and then slept till 3:30 on sunday, went back to sleep at 10 only to be woken by my mildly obnoxious roommate at 1 am and didn't fall back asleep till 2am only to be woken again at 7 for my class. So yea I'm tired.

But, hey, that's college.

I feel like so much has happened and I've grown so much yet I'm still a child. A baby, still about to embark on a great adventure. It gets worse every day. I wake up a suddenly realize, "wow, I remember like yesterday when I would dream of being in college and how old I would feel." only to be quickly followed by, "damn, I'm only 19. I'm like still in diapers compared to everyone here." Maybe that's just because I'm in senior/junior housing but still, I definitely don't feel my age, or any age for that matter. I just feel like a constant existence slowly growing and changing but also staying the same. (yea I like contradictory statements)

Anyways, that's my update for now. I'll probably write tomorrow because I tend to write in clusters of a ton at a time or absolutely nothing at all. I say that as if anyone reads this blog of mine. But, I'm kinda glad no one does. Then, I don't have an image I have to keep up, I can just be me and that's it.

It's 9:12pm and I really should work on my homework if I want to get a few hours of shut eye before my roommate brings the circus into our room. Farewell for now my imaginary friends.

I just want to be happy

I don’t understand

why does it hurt so much just to be alive?

I push everyone away even though it kills me to be alone

I need something but I don’t know what it is

I try and I try and I try to be strong and brave and start each day brand new 

but it all hurts so much

just mere existence is a sluggish and painful walk

like trying to run in water

I keep kicking and kicking without going anywhere

Everywhere I go I keep feeling the desire to just get out

No matter how beautiful a day is

all I want to do is leave

go home

wherever that is

because even when I go home I want to just get out

like I want to be somewhere and nowhere at the same time

gone and going away far far away

running from myself

myself and the sorrow I carry

what makes me this way? why am I plagued with so much pain?

Numbing pain

I am trying to be strong, but I am so very weak

I can’t do this on my own and yet I feel like no one can help me

does anyone truly understand the feelings of wanting to escape from your own self

wanting to just be someone else

just for a day

taste what it feels like to be free and rid of yourself

I just want to be someone else because I don’t like myself

How did it come to this? I used to be so strong

What happened? What was the trigger?

I just want to be back to who I used to be

Full of joy and free to be, free of me

When did the darkness begin to take over?

I wish I could go back and warn myself,

stop myself from becoming me

Maybe change the course and give myself a good and solid chance of becoming someone else, someone great

but I guess life doesn’t work like that

there’s no magic, there’s no three wishes or fairy dust to help us fly

there’s no time machines to make better of our lives

there’s just this flat world, like a dirty white canvas, waiting to be cleaned and used 

waiting to become colorful and bright 

waiting waiting

always waiting

always wishing

always wanting something else

never content

Always wanting to live and be bright yet 

All I am is dying and covered in a shadow

I wish I could put blame on someone else

Make a villain 

A face to the darkness, a face I can hate but all I see is my own reflection

I want to live 

I want to be joyful

I want to just be happy

truly happy

If I want it so badly then why am I not happy?

Shouldn’t the simple desire be enough?

Why isn’t it enough?

like a leach attached to my spine

an emotion I have not yet a name for

unnamable unchangeable unbreakable

like sorrow but deeper

like anger but softer

like death but lonelier 

what than, curses me with such hatred

such despise 

such pain in my soul, numbing pain

for my own existence

my own essence

my own image perceived by the world

what used to fuel my anger and passion to move on

now eats me alive

like a flame sparks form on wood but soon devour it

I too began as a spark from this part that sets me apart

now I can’t help the whispers

whispers of lies

you are wrong

you are incorrect

you are out of place

out of shape

not you're out of you and apart from you're yet trapped in you

chained inside thick fatty tissue suffocating me

i want to scream, it all pains me so, the pain of existence

not that i want to die, Because I don’t

I want to live, that’s the whole point

I want to live so badly but this pain is killing me

I want to cry and tell of all my misery and pain

but I fear of hurting those who love me and those who matter so much

I fear my own pain will hurt them all, because I know it has already

so I keep quiet, silent as I implode 

a star dying, creating a black hole in its whole

breaking breaking down to nothing but dust

no one can help me now, it’s all up to me to help myself

I wish this would inspire me, but it only dreads me

where did it all go?

the passion the love the excitement 

the hope

all now replaced with pain and agony inside stillness and silence

how can one hate their own reflection?

such a thought used to be so distant now familiar

so what’s the hope in it all? Not a matter of meaning but a matter of purpose

where does mine lie? Lies. 

Isolation. So very isolated in this forest emptied of all its color

no. not a forest. not with trees. an expanse of tall shadows stretching to the highest place unseen. 

will it all stop? I try and I try so hard.

I’m always trying. 

Can’t you tell I’m trying? 

Can’t you tell I’m crying for help because I’m trying, because I’m dying?

A silent cry for help.

Is it chemical or is it me.

Is it me or is it here. Is it this or is it just me. 

Am I the one walking around with eyes closed off to sunlight or is it I who now sees

sees the truth of life, the darkness 

I just don’t know anymore

I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not

All i can tell is it hurts and all I want to do is cry

All I want is to live

All I want is joy

All I want is light

Yet I am surrounded by darkness

Always