Saturday, July 24, 2010

michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 72)

is there something in 'thinking too much'? i mean; is there even such a thing as 'thinking too much'? it's like, every waking day my brain is filled with thoughts, until my body rests again. sometimes i have so many thoughts i have to digress, yet to return to the original place. is that 'too much'? or is that me just having to learn to how better organize these thoughts? i had to actually learn that quickly, when i decided to do radio.

of course, just like there's so much music in the world, there's so many thoughts. and as you know, how you reach the people is important. with this, i reach a point in frustration, not necessarily because i don't think i am reaching people (if you have reached one person, there is a potential for great positive change) but because sometimes i wonder if the message is clear.

it's really difficult for me to vocally communicate with people. (why do i do a medium like radio then? i have no idea). i always wish there was a way for me to convey the same exact thing through writing... i love to write so very much. even if you were physically here right now and we were talking i'd still write you really long letters, conveying my emotions. one time i wrote a friend of mine a 96-page letter (and yes, this was by hand)... as i said, there are so many thoughts in my head; sentences inspired by paragraphs, inspired by events. if i could spend time just listening to others, then responding in the written word i'd be perfectly happy. i don't articulate myself as well when i speak, and the words just flow better from my head when i write.

perhaps my desire to not speak has something to do with that spontaneity, in relation to vulnerability.

in many ways i'm actually more revealing when i write, but still i feel as if i am scrutinized more when i speak. i feel that people want more from me when i speak, and somehow that is taking something away from me. it all goes back to what we talked about a couple of days ago, i'm sure... that reverting back to the childhood fears.

is that something a therapist would help with? i don't know; i have seen quite a few throughout my life, and still these fears attach themselves to me. or rather, i allow them to.

one thing that has helped is being outside, where i get to indulge in play. i've not been wanting to sit here in my room all day. i can attribute part of this to having to get up so much earlier. when i finish work i want to spend time with lumbia, and i want to go and ride my bicycle. and i want to be with people. i need that spontaneity and companionship in my life again. these past few days i have been exploring worlds i knew nothing about, and learning about other people in these worlds.

i long for a time where i can just explore, where i can roam. emotionally i don't get to that place a lot (i have so many fears i have not even discussed with you here) but i try to say the mantra of every day alive being a good day... every step i take is a step i could make to get to this place. i am making a conscious effort this summer to take those steps.

with this, i give thought to your lament, upon reflecting on your childhood (or lack thereof). "it's been my fate to compensate for the childhood i've never known"... in a funny way, your plea for others to examine before they judge is apologetic... you are illustrating a world in which you indulge in (whether or not it's in your mind) but really, you shouldn't have to explain being yourself to anyone. ultimately though, the song is a call for others to look in their subconscious mirror; either for the child within, or for their own imperfections.

i have to remember this when i judge myself so harshly. i have to think- when i speak, someone is actually listening and engaging.

every day alive is a good day. a new day to explore, to learn, to continue to be myself, whether writing or speaking. to not have to compensate for any missing pieces. to know that thinking is sharing, and living.

thank you for sharing these lessons with me.


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