Laur's Blog, Volume 10: Bird Journals and Plot Mountains

Bird Journals

I used to wish I were small. I used to play with porcelain fairy dolls. I’d long to be like them. I’d pretend I was the main character in each book I’d read. I’d jump from page to page. I used to watch birds in my free time. I even kept a journal of the different kinds I’d see. A lot has changed since growing up. Though in some ways, nothing has at all. I am still as delicate a flower. A porcelain doll. Yet I’ve learned that life is not a story. It isn’t linear, like a book. Now, I don’t have the time for bird watching. Instead, I keep journals of my life’s tribulations and grievances. I wish they could fly away, too.

I wish it were simple. I wish I were simple, small, even. I wish it could all make sense. I used to think a smart woman was someone who had things figured out, though now I realize a smart woman is an aware woman. The ability to engage and the depth of your perception creates space for intelligence. It is not what you see, but rather what you experience that shapes one's intellect.

I used to think that I’d find the “why” in the literature I’d read. I’d find the reason for my being in the quest of each main character. I was meant to live like the Magic Rainbow Fairies, I thought. I was born for quests in the Magic Treehouse. Yet what if I am the main character in a series of my own? Is the segment of my life’s tribulations and grievances the answer to all of my present-day questions? 

Daughter of the Sun

I’ve lost track of how many plot mountains I’ve lived through. I wish I could’ve documented them all. I wish they could fit into one story. I wish to know if ignorance is bliss. If denseness is peaceful. Most importantly, I wish to know if all creativity derives from pain. If only a summary could give me the answers. I long to read my own conclusion one day; I wish I could know the ending. 

Is it happy, sad? Do I end up figuring it all out? Do I reconcile with the laws of the universe? I hate that time will tell. I don’t necessarily like that I know to trust nothing but the clock. I hate that wisdom comes at the expense of innocence.

The older I get, the more I realize that I was born to be big and bold. I am a daughter of the sun, a star. I was meant to shine. Cliche, but truthful. I don’t have a ruling planet; I only have the light within me. It hasn’t come to me easily; I’ve had to create it for myself. I’ve had to find the brightness, the warmth, in me. I used to rely on others. I used to think that their comfort would keep me warm at night. Now I know that no one else can grant me my own peace.

Awareness as Intelligence

A smart woman is an aware woman. It is not how many books one has read or how many math problems one can solve, but rather, how one’s engagement in the world shapes one's perceptions. Intelligence isn’t granted overnight. Rome wasn’t built in a day. You’re not expected to conquer it in one. It is not the questions, but the answers you choose to guide yourself with, the solutions to each equation, that account for one’s intellectual capacity.

I wish I read like I used to. I long to still jump from page to page. I wish I had the time to watch birds. I wish my grievances didn’t inspire me. I wish that, in an alternate reality, my creativity didn’t derive from my pain, the depths of my experiences, or the me that has been shaped by them. I long for things not to be so black and white, to not be given one or the other; good or bad health, substance or denseness, intellectualism or dullness. 

No Answer Is an Answer

My time has not come. I put my faith in the clock, yet again. I remain aware of my surroundings, of my being. I feel each notion of the world around me. Each motion of our universe. I was gifted with the curse of feeling; yet, isn’t that the whole point? Emotion? The fuck of it all is the feeling of it all. Isn’t the ability to even feel my “why”?

It is the mere art of letting things happen, of continuing, that keeps us sensate. The ability to feel sensation keeps us alive. The ability to be alive is the ability to experience. To endure. To engage. To believe. To be.

I don’t need an answer. I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a “why”. The ability to question the world is enough to keep me living, breathing. The ability to be here is the beauty of the present. The beauty of the present is the beauty of life.