Some Quieter Thoughts

Sorry, folks, I have no exciting news on the creation of my own universe to share today. Just some introspection.

I've been (unfortunately) thinking about my Ex a lot today. This is due - in part - to my recently acquired Andy Grammer CD. Every song Andy sings is an anthem to my soul. Sappy? Yes. True? Undeniably. Strangely, my thoughts on the Ex aren't super negative.

I miss him, yes. But... I woke up this morning and I didn't hate him. I just feel... a little sad, and a little disappointed that things didn't work out, but... I'm at peace with it. Finally. I don't know if I'm quite ready to start seeing him socially again (I mean, really, do we even deserve that?), but I feel like I could bump into him somewhere and instead of wanting to cry, I could smile, give him a hug and honestly ask how he's doing and be genuinely interested for a few moments. It doesn't hurt so much to think about how we used to be. It still stings a little, but it's like a bruise that's healing instead of broken ribs and dislocated limbs. I'm calmer now. I can look at the situation with clear eyes and see how in many ways what happened was inevitable. Not necessarily smart, but it happened and I can't change it; I can only keep heading the direction I've set myself in.

I'm ready to go back to school, as well, because I have a plan. I'm going in with every defense available and I'm not anything stop me this time. Nothing.

So I'll leave you with part of the reason I've moved on from the entire "Ex" situation; part of the reason I'm almost completely over him:

The love we shared was real, the secrets we revealed
I hope I was a stepping stone
But now you are more yourself than when you met me
And I can say the same – I’m more myself, than when I met you….

And oh, I just want you to know
this is not a waste of time
there’s so much more below the service
we all search to find the ones who help us grow
and you have done that much for me
and I hope I’ve been a stepping stone

Looking back at what was done
I’m sure I hurt you some
and sure you threw a few low blows
but when the bruises heal, I’ll take down my shield
and thank god above I know you
cuz you are more yourself than when you met me,
and I can say the same – I’m more myself than when I met you

so, please, I ask you don’t
toss the work we’ve done aside
because we’re letting go
this is just a piece of life, focus on the whole
we have come so far…

Well I hope you use my back,
step across the pond and I hope by pushing off me you will come upon
the one who’s surely out there to whom you belong

I needed, I needed to meet you
I needed, I needed to meet your soul
And I hope
I’ve been a stepping stone.
~Andy Grammer, "Stepping Stone"

So there you have it.

Peace,

Willow

A Page of Thoughts, Loud and Quiet

That's it! I'm quitting! I'm dropping out and saying a proverbial "Fuck it!" to the universe at large. I'm creating my own world and you aren't invited! (Okay, so maybe some of you are invited. That is entirely dependent on who you are and how I know you and whether or not you're on my shit list today. Some of you are permanently on my shit list, in which case I cannot help you. Sorry. For the rest, read on!) Besides, as the late, great Alexander McQueen said, "The world needs fantasy, not reality. We have enough reality today."

My world will be very sparsely populated by people who I'm not tempted to murder. (So we're talking a total population of about 40-45.) But these people will be artists, writers, philosophers, la Boheme; poets and dreamers, stargazers and the ones who wish on stars and pink cars. I call you home, silly-hearts and lovers. I summon you, all Right-Brained Peopled! I'll "wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant" (Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Considerations by the Way").

Instead of churches, we will have holy libraries built like cathedrals. We will worship at the altar of the Written Word and our saints will be the great writers of the past, present, and future. Henry David Thoreau, J.K. Rowling, Edgar Allen Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Dr. Seuss, Leo Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Lewis Carroll, the Grimm Brothers, Roald Dahl, Paulo Coelho, Patricia Polacco, Beatrix Potter and others will be among our leading saints. For wasn't it Thoreau who said that, "Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations"? Our preachers will be literature professors and writers, children and their daydreams. Our prayers will be written, sung, and whispered. After sermons we will walk in the parks and think and daydream and hunt for wishing weeds and fairy rings. We will "never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them" (Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid). Peter Pan will reign supreme. (With me, of course.... )

We'll take the great works of art out from under glass and put them in pretty frames like touch-&-feel under natural light. Our children's museums will feature classic illustrations from children's books, statues they can touch, visual artists, dancers and street performers; whole galleries dedicated to art created by the children themselves. Imagine a massive kitchen fridge - the place of highest honor. Bubble baths and bedtime stories will be sacred rituals and lullabies will be our hymns. We'll write our dreams down first thing when we wake up and share them with our lovers at the breakfast table over coffee.

Instead of TVs, we'll have personal libraries and writing desks filled with enough quills, ink, fresh paper and blue pens to satisfy the writing of a lifetime. We'll have magical, automatic teapots that keep tea warm but not scalding, and pour each cup to the liking and preference of the intended drinker. For example, should my aunt and I share a pot, hers would come out with just a bit of cream, while mine would pour out full of milk and sugar. Instead of harsh, "eco-friendly" fluorescent lighting, we'll have lights that look and feel and glow like candlelight. No, I don't mean those stupid electric candles. Our "candles" will flicker, and burn down and be warm and smell nice and infuse our rooms with coziness and a hint of romance (with and without the big R). We'll work with frantic energy and the calm of a Sunday afternoon, taking turns of peace and chaos. We'll have jobs we love that don't destroy our souls.

Our graffiti will be beautiful, like the graffiti of Europe and occasional small places in America. We'll have artists making statements that aren't too politically charged but make you think. Mosaics, spray paint, stencils, brushes, and a message: that's all we'll need to beautify our city walls, buildings and alleys.

You and I will go to the beach on Wednesday afternoons to listen to street musicians and interview tattoo artists. Taylor Swift, Andy Grammer, Jack's Mannequin and Missy Higgins will be the soundtracks of our lives. You'll ask about my poetry and play your guitar while I sing my most recently composed song. You'll wrap your arm around me and I'll take your hand and drag you through the sand. We'll sink our toes in the surf and stare up at the sun and get lost in each other all over again.

I'll be a whirlwind of color and music and clouds and springtime and teacups and good books and yarn and late night conversations, train rides, cigarettes and cheap, satisfying booze.

This is the world I've dreamed up. Are you coming?