Refinery

still.  thinking.  receiving.  grace.

the eye of the storm will calm me,

the walls of confusion will swallow me,

the ground beneath me will shake me,

when the wind grows violent my hope will strengthen me.

To come out refined.

Stand, sit, eat, sleep, breathe and meet.  The strands of my hours weave into a mural projecting my heart.  Frays and stains all apart of the framework, a creation designed for beauty in the eyes of the Beholder.  I am pieces of imperfections woven together. 

Mmmm.  I just baked some Japanese sweet potatoes from Whole Foods.

       I keep realizing how my actions are not exclusively tied to myself.  My choices affect so much, which can feel overwhelming, but also brings purpose to my existence, so technically without this reminder I am more apt to spiral into the desolation of existential turmoil.  I am grateful for the people who remind me of this.  The people who use words as well as actions to impel me to be free and good again.  These people who may not even know the effect they have on my heart, it's all very beautiful to me; a moment of truth, vulnerability, honesty, brokenness, openness, desperation for help.  To be helped or to help someone, there is only a very fine line when it is something that happens between two people or persons.  I think we are designed for one another, to build a civilization, to communicate, to watch and wonder, to hug and wave to, listen and talk to, wait for, and at times to leave.  I don't think we can be independent of each other.  Of course these are my thoughts deriven from my beliefs, and I am imperfect, but how good it is to know someone who knows you, the frayed dismantled you, and remains in consistency whether in an embrace or from an arms length.  Always visible, even when feeble to your torrent atmosphere, to have a friend with the courage to stay and bear your bearings.  

       To be this friend. 

       To have this friend.

       Though something more amazing in all of this is to search out those who need this friend.  To search for them, surprise them.  Is this not what pumps passion into our hearts?  To be beside ourselves with courage and enter some violent darkness with whatever flashlight or candle in our hands, shaking, but determined to look anyway.  This is life.  Those that suffer, and those that save.  Always interchanging.  I suffer, I am sought and rescued, I seek and save, and then again.  Knitting the stitches, up and down, with an extravagant picture being put into motion. 

       Refining my heart in a fire; the joy of being refined through the suffering of the fire.

       Maybe I'm thinking too much, but these are the things I am thinking...

JmeGrey.

  

       

       

Zombie Days

       If it's not the harrowing 9-5 in creme colored corners and whirring water dispensers, it's the two or three or four hours doing whatever it is you're doing.  When you have but only a few moments of genuine bursts of laughter, but end the night in some sort of trance, without the desire or concern for much anything besides your own comfort, it negates the laughter.  Almost makes the gladness, dew drops of it sprinkled throughout an uneventful day, dissipate entirely as if they never happened, or if they had, become undeserved, bitterly stolen or accidentally dealt and then quickly taken away.

       This isn't apathy.  I know apathy.  I have wandered in the vast deserts of Apathy, and this is not apathy.

       This is life.  Worry.  Unmet expectations.  A lack of vulnerability.  The hermit that never left its shell, but remained warm and tired in the dark thin walls of a familiar casting with cracks.  Why do I always speak in pictures and metaphors?  It's become a language to me; leaving me slightly confused at those who do not speak the same way.

       I just burned my forefinger on a hot glass cylinder (about an inch in diameter, 4 inches tall); after having smothered out my candle by placing a book over the top to suffocate the heat (if you have read previous entries I made the mistake of trying to blow out the candle once, resulting in hot melted wax splattering my unexpected cheeks), the book, for some reason, stuck to the top of the cylinder this time around.  I, all too quickly, used my left forefinger and thumb to grab the tall glass candle (with my right hand holding the book) to pull them away from one another, and did not think the glass would be so searingly painful to touch.  Pain. My fingers are still throbbing, sensitive to the touch, like a million microscopic needles pushing their way into my defenseless skin.  I did, however, realize an important....or maybe not important, but definitely helpful understanding that pain does not usually instigate anger in me.  I am not angry that my finger is in terrible pain, (although I am angry at my slight stupidity), in fact it humors me.  I feel sadness too.  Sad that it hurts when I touch it, because it takes away some of my comfort, but to recognize this brings me happiness too.  I'm ALIVE!  I can feel pain!  Ow.  Every time I touch it, it hurts.  I recoil for a second, then smile.  Recoil/sad then smirk and smile.

       There must be levels for every emotion.  Love, Fear, Joy, Sadness, etc.  I know I'm on to something, but these four walls called "bedroom" do little to foster my thoughts.  I can't think, or I can think, but I don't want to.  This feels heavy, too heavy for now.  I want to relish the light humor of my searing pain from the candle incident.  I want to stay distracted...which now just makes me sad.

       I will continue then, to find some resolve.

       Funny people know when to laugh and when to keep a straight face.  I'm still learning the craft of being funny, because I do think I'm pretty funny, but I laugh too easily/eagerly.

This isn't working.  I'm going to go read.  I have 2 books on loan that need to be returned before I writhe in inconsiderate-ness.

JmeGrey

long walks and long talks

       So I tend to over think things, but only to the point where I feel so overwhelmed that I just want to take a nap or do something to numb the feeling of hopelessness of utter confusion...and I rarely carry my thoughts out far enough to make some sort of detangling conclusion nor do I utilize the resources available to me (because I'm lazy).  I find that long walks help me avoid just spiraling into a dismal place, especially when I walk with a good friend.  Something about good company and moving my legs, fresh air, the sky, makes me feel less cornered.  Even if the words we exchange have little to do with what's in my heart or mind, there's a strange connection between sharing stories, laughing, walking, talking, all of that stuff, that help me see again and again where I am.  I don't want to keep looking at the future, because I'm only a phantom in the future.  I am more me in the present, tangible, alive, seeing, breathing, speaking, laughing, crying, loving, singing.

       Sometimes I slip down my thoughts and suddenly everything becomes a potential danger, to the point where I'm swallowed by fear and I have to go into the small corner of my mind where it's most safe, but really that's the most dangerous place to be.  In a corner.  I don't want to admit that I'm afraid, I want to be brave and willing, active and a voice amidst conforming slurs...but what I want requires more.  I need God.

       I am starting to be ok with feeling pain.  To know that I will fall apart on some days, maybe even on most days for the time being, but the more I fall apart the more I come to realize that I need God, the One who created me, to make me whole.  To be my joy.  To be my reason for living. There's comradery in bearing the storm with/to someone, because we all need God for something, actually for everything.  It's the part of laying down my pride to ask for this help that I need to get over, and then to be grateful when the person doesn't go running for the hills.    

  It's a struggle; some days more than others, but allowing others to see my struggle helps me find hope again.  Hope anchors me to the light, long walks and talks are like a beacon in the storm of my confusion.  I highly recommend them.  

JmeGrey

Life on the daily, nothing spectacular, but pretty sensational!

Oh the woes of me.

       I have failed to keep up with my blogging promises, but you should approve that it wasn't all because I was secretly judging people who said "Which Wich" or in one of my extensively drawn out pedantic moods...that was only part of the time.  I've mostly been being very tangible; talking audibly, gesturing with my actual hands and eyes, walking from sidewalk to entrances, and thinking more loudly than I ought.  Thus the avenue to express myself was stolen by good things, maybe even better things? than this blog.  Unless you are from Germany and you happen to enjoy reading my blog.  In which case, I stand by my woe-ing to myself.  Oh the duplexity of life.  Cold and hot, hungry and stuffed, laughter and crying; I fall victim to the tumult almost minute by minute.

       (Say something meaningful)
...

...

       Darn sandra bullocks.  Everything I write feels forced and cheap.  Bumper stickers.  What am I looking at right now?  Dresses.  Yesterday it was so cold I felt like a corpse in my bed; cold limbs laying on top of one another, now it's only a few hours past and I see dresses.  I'm wearing a tank top.  I'm also wearing a shirt over it, but I contemplated peeling that off earlier when I was getting air pumped into my car tires...for free. :)  I guess Spring is here, but she's pretty flaky so I'm not going to expect her to stay even for the rest of the week.  Though it will hardly change my shivering discomfort whether or not I expect her to stay or not.  Seeing these dresses is good, but then I think about how hot and sticky it will get, how I will soon be pining for just one more bitter night as the walking dead even though I know that's not what I want.  This should be labeled something.  Characteristics are generally as follows:  wanting the opposite of extreme circumstances, mildly masochistic, agreeable only when sitting cross-legged indian style, loves sweet potatoes, and humorously observational only to self.  Maybe that's labeled a "personality".  It really does feel more like a condition though.  Like dyslexia or narcolepsy.  JmeGrey.  Oh that would be kind of sad.  A disease named after you.  Like parkinson's or Asperger Syndrome.  JmeGrey Disease: Perpetual extremes.

       Sometimes I think about California, but I have yet to miss it.  I miss my family and friends, but not all my family and not all my friends, but a good handful.  The rest are loved but just not yet missed.  Perhaps we tie ourselves more tightly to some people thus the farther we are from them the tighter those strings become until they are taut with the need for closer proximity, while others have yards and yards, miles and miles of string lying in loops and loose tangles on the floor.  You could maybe circle the earth twice, thrice, frice (?) and it would still be slack.  Doesn't mean you don't love them.  Unless you define love by distance.  Which seems illogical to me.  Especially in this culture of apps.  Long distance phone calls/ video calls/ emails, make communication so readily available.  If it were someone you were in love with then I'd understand, hand holding is a pretty essential stitch to a lasting relationship.  No hand-holding emoji would suffice.  Aside from the romantic relationship, it is strange to think we don't really have a choice of how long or short our strings to one another are.  So maybe they're not strings, maybe they're vines, vines can eventually grow but I don't think they get shorter.

       I do loathe cliches but I just have to reiterate that Nashville folks are too nice.  Some to the point of caution.  "Would you like a free tour?"  No middle aged man.  I would not like a free tour alone with you at 10pm even if this is an art gallery...because you don't have a name tag or a badge.  You're just nice.  Oh, but thank you so much.  (smiling big, looking so sincere; acting.)

       There are a few people here on their computers/phones/notepads all conveying something, and I can't help but assume that they are half human, in need of tangible comradery.  I want to ask them.  Inquire of them on behalf of the masses upon masses who read this blog.

"Excuse me sir, what are you doing?"
(startled, looks around.) {why do they always look around?}
"I'm getting some work done."
"May I see?"
(shifting uncomfortably)

And that's when I would expose them.  Then love on them.  Buy them a cup of coffe (in which case I'd only be able to do this to 1 or 2 people).  Ask them questions, even the really frivolous ones like "So, what'd you have for lunch?".  Give them easy agreeable statements like "Can you believe it's already March?  Time just flies."
I'd have to say stuff like that.  Ease into the mind, greying, greying, darker greying, and then if I had the patience enough, reach their black core.  This would take days, maybe weeks, months, years!  Depending on how well I was at the easing, and how many layers of grey they had pent up in their heads.

Or maybe they really are doing work or just watching youtube.

I won't know.  Because I didn't ask.

JmeGrey.

Almond + Raisin

       Almond definitely has an edgy side, this is advantageous for when things get dull or unimaginative (because we all know that such tides will rise and fall inevitably, lest we drown in the excitement of being tossed around by a constant/never-ending...(why did I just synomize myself AND MAKE UP A NEW WORD...truly don't know how I feel about that.  Platonic.  It just happened.) rush that keeps things stimulated and packed with a punch.  Without those quiet wordless interactions (ie: sitting together, reading together, falling asleep next to each other) we would surely die.  Death is the denomout ...deneumount ...denemount ...crap...denouement.  Which brings us to the rounded side that Almond has, a side that won't stab the inside of your mouth, which, as mentioned earlier, is a metaphor quite necessary to complete the wholeness and goodness of Almond, and thereby merely offers the anti-stabbing (wordless interactions, understanding that being stabbed all the time is not so great, softness, etc) aspect.  Almond is packed tightly, or perhaps not so tightly (hehe), with nutrients highly supplementary in sustaining the body, heart, and overall function of the psyche.  Circulation is vibrant, brain function progresses, and an optimal width and diameter are promoted.  Almond ages and has lines, but these lines are straight and even enhance appeal and emanate a subtle charisma for defying what most find to be unattractive.  They make you smile; represent durability.  Almond's sweetness is of a refined flavor, cultivated and brought out more distinctly by Raisin.  

       Raisin, in contrast, is almost always sweet.  Raisin is a little fretful and wrinkles more easily, especially over time.  Thin Raisins are often less sweet compared to fuller ones, however some are found to be a compression of sweetness merely disguised within their miniature shapes.  Raisins are overly concerned with their shape, folding this way and that within a bag of other Raisins, it's no wonder their wrinkles arrive much earlier!  However, be they light or dark, most varieties pack quite a kick.  They come a long way having transformed from a firm, wrinkle-free grape into the sustaining, longer-lasting jewel ready to provide the right amount of inspiration for optimal digestion.  Though Raisins are a bit sticky, this attribute can prove beneficial when combined with Almond.  Raisins are supposed to hold things together, even if Almond can't, and when things fall apart, the dents are usually more visible on Raisin than on Almond (though Almond can be quite a mess as well if the duo were mashed tightly enough, leaving Almond stained with bits and pieces of Raisin that take a while to remove).  Nevertheless, its contribution to Almond is of an invaluable gift.  When the two remain steadfastly united, no matter the external and internal conditions, they form a dynamic pair; a nourishing bond.

Disclaimer:  Of course there are always those of us who have come across a rotten Almond and a rotten Raisin, a different story altogether.   (And if not then you probably will not comprehend most of the vernacular used in this blog...because you're 5 and half years old.)

       They are, also, what I consider the best snack ever assembled.  Quite the delight, especially when my stomach growls.  

JmeGrey

(Entry fueled entirely by the Pepperton:  spicy latte with peppermint and cayenne pepper, at Fido.)

Oftentimes things just happen so quickly.

       I just blew out a candle and hot wax splattered and burned my cheeks.  It was really unpleasant, but also hilarious.

my limbs are cold,
the air feels blunt
a few thoughts circle,
I said a prayer.
---

       When I start a conversation with anyone I can't help but feel that I am using up a quota of some sort.  No matter what the agenda may be, I tend to pull from a category box in my mind with a meter that goes from mild to exhausted, oftentimes sooner than I think is socially normal.  I guess to alleviate my nerves a little on the matter I have convinced myself that I am anything but normal, even going so far as to emphasize just how odd I really am, and I don't know yet if that has really helped me come to terms with things not going smoothly, but it has given me a logical branch to climb on, and I enjoy climbing trees.  But what I mean to expand upon is that when the point of exhaustion is reached I am utterly, well, exhausted.  The fuel runs out, and I wait for a miracle to give me some sort of quick ...what's that called when someone's not breathing so you rub those two things together and put them against the person's chest and say "CLEAR!".  Well, that's what I'm envisioning.  I wait for that, hopefully before anyone notices that I am mentally (but oftentimes also literally) sitting Indian-style, very, very still in energy-saving mode...(I keep trying to figure out what it's called, electrical CPR?...resuscitation? ...I think that's it) And most of this so-called "fuel" is probably just a hologram projecting from a deep dark cavernous part of my ego/fear/tilt towards masochism, because I also realized it only rears it's ugly self when I step OUT of the conversation and am no longer listening but analyzing the interaction from an observational standpoint.  Whether I'm observing how the other person is taking all of my words in, or subconsciously comparing it to normal behavior.  If this is still all not making sense some examples would be :

1.  I have exhausted the extent of my "girliness", and can no longer feign giddy or illogically concerned (am I stereotyping? Maybe.  Not on purpose.  Trying to stay aware.).

2.  I have exhausted the topic of God.  That sounds horrible because I'm not eloquent, but what I mean is that the intensity I oftentimes find myself saturated with, when I start talking about the oh so many spectrums/variables/perspectives/postulations regarding a being completely unlike me yet so all-knowing, can bring out the megafone...this sentence is so long and grammatically wrong that I forgot where it was going, but again it's the hologram; ... I think that I am being overbearing or too intense, but maybe the other person or persons aren't thinking that at all, and I am just watching the hologram like a zombie, mouth slightly ajar.  (this blog should be called UNEDITED@blogspot.com)  Moving on.

3.  I have exhausted the topic of music.
4.  Food
5.  (insert word here)

---

       Having a public blog is dangerous for someone who writes from her reality.  Disguising names or trying to sound subtle, but not too subtle as to veer away from what I really want to present to the reading eye:  something not far from a keyhole view of my soul.

---

Ok the baby in the next table has a bad case of camel toe and it's very distracting.

---

       And speaking of perspectives, I was elated at the first real snow blizzard (think in terms of ice cream oreo blizzard, not a regional impairment) here in Nashville, I remember shouting at an hour before midnight: "IT'S SNOWING! IT'S SNOWING! IT'S SNOWING!" and then running outside into a snow globe with my roommate twirling and giggling, taking pointless photos of what ended up looking like just a car window or just a lamp post, or just a corner of a building.  My pixels apparently don't pick up snow particles.  Delete.

       Then last night, when I was so cold, so cold I had to write a brief poem about it (see above), I stepped out to go to the grocery store, because that's what happens when night rolls around and I'm awake, and there it was.  Ashes.  Decrepit little devils trying to kill me with their ice spears.

---

JmeGrey