Progress But Same Old

    Every step of life has its own milestones. In my life, turning 12 made me a young woman, 16 allowed dating, 18 was full of voting rights. At some point I finished reading Harry Potter, I bought my first car, I got engaged. For everyone their milestones are different. For me, I decided to add education as a part of my life journey. Due to this, I now face a rather big milestone in that journey. I am finishing my undergraduate degree. As of December 20th, I will have graduated with my Bachelor's.

    Read the rest of this post at: https://www.gossamerlens.com/post/progress-but-same-old

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Holding On and Moving On

     The last couple years have changed me as a person. With this in mind, I yearn to reach out and to blog again. However, I cannot do so as The Damsel. I have changed to much. While I hold onto the core of me. The writer, the poet. I must move on to a different way of expressing and being. For some this change will seem paltry. For me it has been cleansing. I am moving onto a new blog platform. A link all my own, a website fully functional to the new whims I have.

     I am pleased to introduce you to gossamerlens.com 

     In the blogpost of the same name "Holding On and Moving On" you will find an entry into a new chapter. For sometimes as we grow we must make space for the old us but move on to fulfill ourselves.

     If you wish to continue reading my work, supporting my writing, and see how I have grown and wish to grow my blogger presence... I hope you will scroll to the bottom of the gossamerlens.com and give me a like over there. Following 2019 posts will be posted both here and on my new blog. However, come 2020 it will be all about moving on. 

     Much love, and with goodbyes, The Damsel. 

     Ald Idunn, the new me, looks forward to greeting you.

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Swirling, Moving Emotions

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     A Blank Page before me, a head full of thoughts.  

     Nothing written in ages, so many things to write. 

     I am a person who feels. The other evening my cat needed to take a pill. My mother asked me to put it in as she held him. I, a 19-year-old woman, did my best couple attempts. He mewled quite pitifully and my heart burst, and tears came forth. 

     Once when I was maybe 7 or 9, some age not currently mine. My mum and I went through my room and cleaned out things that were broken, unused, unheeded. I threw away a broken heart shaped music box. It locked, it sang, it was from a friend, and it was broken. We threw it away. Sometime, a couple weeks later, I was caught in a frenzy of searching. It may have been late. All I know is the moon was up when my father came into my room to find his daughter rummaging through her room, with a tear-stained face. I cried my heart out over that box. I sobbed into my father's chest over that box. I don't even remember who it was from... Nor my age... Or details. It was broken and I cried for it's loss.

     I felt. 

     With my 19-year-old tears, in mind, over a cat who's sick and doesn't want his medicine. 

     With my 7 or 9-year-old tears over a broken plastic box, in mind. 

     Let's think of lately. 

     About a year ago I got out of my first serious relationship, with an emotionally abusive boyfriend. I have dated a Marine who was lovely, but broken and hurting. I have watched someone, who irks my feminist and human leanings, become president of the U.S. All this while I traveled along a path of faith. A path leading from confusion, in regards to the church I loved, to hurt... to helplessness... to a changing. 

     I have held silence. Because I feel so very much and this past year has been so very hard. I feel insecure in my feelings. I know so many people have it worse. So, who am I to speak of my feelings? Of my hurt? I want to speak to the pain of the world. But all to often I speak of the pain of my world. The world I am oh so much more familiar with. 

    But silence is not my answer. Poetry has been my leaning. Writing is just an extension of my being. So I'm going to try and forget myself, my insecurity, my uncertainty... the me. 

    I simply want to write and give into the swirling, moving emotions that are to be. 

To Study or To Learn?

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     I sit here studying.  I worry about my assignments, the coming tests (especially finals), and ultimately my grades.  We (although maybe it's just me?) as students tend to take in information in order to pour it back out.  All to often it's about grades and not about actually learning and growing off of information.  

     I wish I could say I break away from this.  That I ignore the grade, and just do it for the learning.  I wish I could say this, because I truly value the idea of soaking in knowledge.  I love the idea of learning just for the sake of learning.  Not for doing well on the next test, and then forgetting all the information after the test is over. But the fact is, I'm competitive and I cannot help myself.  

     Through being homeschooled I learned to love and appreciate learning in general.  I legitimately enjoy learning new things, and I want to keep all the information I can.  Yet, a great part of me wants to do as well as I can, and to beat my previous scores. I want to impress the teacher (if possible) or impress myself.  And if I can't impress my teacher or myself I simply strive to get the best number and/or letter grade possible.  I want to do my best.  All to often "doing my best" ends up meaning "get the best grade"... and I'm tired of it. 

     Shouldn't doing your best mean something more than getting a nice letter grade written on that last biology test?  Shouldn't doing your best mean that you are interested? Shouldn't it mean remembering things?  Shouldn't learning meaning something more?

     I think that learning should mean something more.  It should mean something more than studying late to pass tests, working to get the best grade you can, and memorizing facts (or teachers ideas).  Learning, according to Webster, means gaining "knowledge or skills through experience, study, or by being taught."  Maybe we should balance out our focus and think a little less about studying or being taught, and think a little more about learning through experience. 

     I plan on balancing a little more this summer, and having more full experiences. Join me? 

Wibbly Wobbly Adulthood

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     At some point... you become an adult. Correct?  I mean, I don't really know.  It's a little hard to tell if someones an adult, or just a really big kid... Though we seem to have some adults in this world (or people who claim to be).  

     I guess we could say that I question adulthood. How can you not? I mean... nobody really knows when it happens.  Are you an adult when you turn 18?  Or perhaps once you can drink?  Or maybe when you can legally rent a car?  I don't know.  We don't know.  Nobody can seem to agree on when you become an adult. That's a little confusing, don't you think?   

     Well, forget the confusion... I'll just say 18 is adulthood. We will say, 18 is adulthood.  

     In that case, I am an adult now!  That thought is overwhelming.  Not in the way a test may be, or any kind of physical or mental exertion would be.  But rather in the way a sudden realization might be. In fact, it is sort of a realization.  Turning 18 has been a sudden realization that I've been around a decent bit.  I am done with high-school, I am moving into some of my final stages of college... And yet I feel completely unprepared "to adult." Taxes, paying for necessities, my actions being my own... it is all a little overwhelming. 

     
     I feel like no amount of Self-Help  books will help me become the adult I want to be.  So naturally, I've read all the Self-Help books I can get my hands on.  Maybe I'm a little silly.  On one hand I feel ready to be an adult, and on the other I don't want to even think about adulting.  

     Perhaps my anxiety comes from the fact that I don't want to just be an "adult".  I want to be a full functioning and contributing human being.  I don't want to just do things.  I want to see, learn, educate, help, and spread love.  I don't just want to adult. I want to be the best adult I can possibly be.  Humanity needs more then adults who can be confused for "big children."  The world needs more humans who are trying to balance what wibbly wobbly adulthood means. 

Making a Difference ~ Guest Post

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How do you want to make a difference?

Here is what _CarvedWords_ believes you should be working on to make a difference: 

     One way or another, we all wish that we're able to make a difference in this world even by a bit if it is possible to us. There are loads of everyday things I'd like to change if it were possible for me. 

     Education has limited itself to textbooks and syllabus. Students are only taught to solve the equations and write answers as they are expected in the examinations. Students can be seen getting good marks with grades higher then expected. They can answer all the questions which relate to the textbook. But what about what's outside? What's actually going on in the real world? The more they indulge themselves into the textbooks, the more their creativity gets limited. 

     Education is meant to make learners. Not to destroy the artist within them. We can spot students conquering heights of success, but with that seems to come a low creativity. At the end of the day, a person won't be proud of the position he has in a multinational company. All he would need is creativity to fill his life with enthusiasm and joy. Education should bring out an artist in a student, because every student has got one talent or another. Teachers should encourage the talent within them. Students should be taught to be passionate towards their goals. 

     I don't blame the system as a whole, neither do I have any offense with the knowledge and the quality of it the education is providing students. I just wanna say that even after these efforts there still remains a huge gap gap between education and creativity. We as a society have our responsibility towards making the change that is needed. We've got to do something to reduce this gap, we gotta build a strong bridge between both education and creativity. 

     If I could make a difference, I would like people to change their mindset towards education, making it free from all the chains it has been tied to. Creating a strong bond between education and creativity. Giving this world creative minds rather than those with high IQ's. Making this world colorful, making it a better place. 

~~~

This is how Words_In_Air thinks you can make a difference: 

     The language of love. Make wide spaces in your heart. Life gets so chocked up, kindness so lost, love slips by unseen. Smile at a stranger, help an old lady carry her shopping, offer to cook a meal for someone who's sick. Volunteer at your local church, hospice, old age home, or orphanage. Read to someone who's disabled. It's good to donate something to a worthy cause, but what people crave is human interaction. Look into their eyes, listen with attention to their stories. Take an interest in their personal lives. That smelly beggar down the road? He just wants kindness from you. Ask him his name, give him a compliment, bless him with a pair of shoes, or something to eat and drink. You don't have to strike a conversation with everyone you meet, but the next time you are waiting in line, greet someone and smile. Buy a small chocolate for the checkout girl and bless her. 
It's the little things! 

     If you bless others, you yourself will be blessed. 

Yellowing Pages

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Sitting here writing

Wisps of image

Shrouded shadow

Of Imagined future

Passed before me

Danced like film

Across my vision

The cold

It touched my shoulder

The sounds

They faded away

Like yellowing pages

And I saw your face

As it could be

Your arm over

Around my shoulders

The whisper 

Of those words

The ones I love

To hear you say

Then it crumpled 

Like falling dough

The bread collapsed

And I was chewing 

On nothing

Poem 105 ~ 4/10/2013

     Memories, feelings, and thoughts diminish over time.  What once was often changes.  Sometimes, looking over older poems the emotions I wrote feel like a lie.  As the writer, I know what each poem was born through.  However, just because the adoration, pain, or perspective has passed as I've grown... that doesn't negate the validity of writing.  Every poem has helped me realize, handle, and come to grips with what I have felt.  At the moment of creation, each poem has filled it's purpose.  

     I have grown, I have changed.  I continue to feel, and I must accept the moving on that is life.  You cannot cling on to who you have been, or who you were.  Later it may feel like you chewed on nothing.  But at the time, that "nothing" felt like something.  Poetry is a way to express my now, and reflect on the past.  

     "I am a slave to emotion... Pens... Keep working... Until I need you no more... which will be when I stop feeling" 

                    Poem 106 ~ 4/11/13

Heart in Hand

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Talking with a friend, we found ourselves discussing the state of his relationship with his girlfriend.  As we spoke he stated, "I just feel like I just keep giving my heart, but it isn't being accepted. Obviously it is, since she and I are dating... But it's like I am giving my everything, and they aren't appreciating it."  The response I gave him was one that I have found all too often to be true.  With friends and people I truly trust I have encountered the following.

    You extend your hands, offering up your heart, and the other person looks at it.  They see it, and they say they like "that part" and "this part."  You offer them the whole of your heart, and they simply like or love parts.  So, they accept the whole thing.  But they are truly only accepting certain parts and pieces of you.  It hurts because you want them to take it... but really you want them to look at your offering and for them to look up into your eyes and say "I love it. I love all of it. Thank you!"

    At the time I wasn't dating anyone, so I felt this conversation was more for my friend’s benefit.  However, as I thought more about it I realized... I am both the offerer and the person who says, "I like this part."  I offer my heart to myself, and my whole life I have never looked into my eyes.  I have looked at the heart and told myself that I only like pieces.  I like when I produce a good poem.  I love when I manage to make someone smile.  But, I have never looked over my whole heart, looked into myself, and said, "I realize your humanity, and that you are weak like all others are at times. Yet, I love you.  I will love the whole of you."

    I am my own hurt.  Everyday I cannot help but have my heart in sight of my own judgment.  And every day I judge.  I don't think I am the worst of people, but I sometimes say things to myself that I would never tell anyone else.  Why?  I can look at others and give them the benefit of the doubt.  But I know myself, and thus I don't give myself that benefit.

    Maybe the key, however, is to look at the whole of my heart and realize, I am trying.  My hands offer up.  I wish to accept.  I want to love myself.  For to love is to respect, trust, and be comfortable with.  To feel at peace is a part of loving yourself.

     I offer myself my heart.  In my hands it has lain for years.  The faults and the strengths wishing to be equally understood and seen.  And I see them.  I see it, and I love it.  I love all of it.  I wish to help myself to become stronger.  But, I will lead kindly and I will learn to love more fully.  For peace in my own head and skin... that is the beginning of all I want.

Something Beyond "Self"

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     Sitting, we share poetry.  Bits and pieces of our souls are spilled into the air of our local library, at an open mic event.  Sifting through lines of varying shades of "good."  We listen.  Looking at the faces of those laughing, crying, and stoic... I saw and I learned.

     Pain is life.  For everyone it brings its own sting.  Some experience the loss of a parent, grandparent, child, or friend.  Others experience being abused by someone you should be able to trust.  For some the greatest pain is hate of oneself.  For still others being shunned by peers and experiencing bullying is apart of life.  We all hurt, and it is all different.  Even if you meet someone who has gone through the same circumstance as you, their experience is different.

     For many of us in the world we cling to a higher power, something beyond ourselves.  Not only christians do this, but Hindu, Islamic, and Buddhist religions look towards higher beings.  Even those who don't believe in a God or supreme being(s) sometimes turn to science as a a higher source of truth.  However, we sometimes forget to look beside us.  Debates arise between people, and we set up walls and barriers.  We claim our pain as ours.  Sometimes it is what makes us feel "unique."  But pain is one of the things that should really bind us.

     Yes, a mother loosing her teenage daughter to a marriage full of abuse, and loneliness is different then a mother who watches her child move from California to New York.  However, they are both mothers.  Even if they cannot empathize, they can sympathize.  We can hold each other, wipe tears, offer solace and simply... be there. We should look at each other as what we are, human.  We are connected.

     Those I shared my pain with, they didn't make a big deal, they didn't see me cry.  But they looked into my eyes, and saw me.  The walls that could have stood (my religion, gender attraction, schooling differences, dress, and appearance) were broken down between us.  Maybe not forever, but for that moment. And that moment matters.

Pushed Into Flight

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     I say tweet tweet in the wind,
     The new bird can fly
     Mama bird gives a worm to eat
     I sit and think
     Brother bird sings a poem
     Baby bird sleeps.....

     This is the first poem I ever wrote.  I have no memory of writing it.  I declare that it is my first based off of the fact that my mother remembers writing down my words, and that my Grandpa wrote it down for himself.

     When I had just turned 13 my Grandpa gave me two sheets of paper.  Both together contained a grand total of three poems.  He and I sat together on his lazy boy (myself sitting on my arm rest perch).  He read me the poems with tenderness in his voice.  I listened. When he finished I asked him where they were from. He looked into my eyes and told me that they were my very own words. He told me that when I was 3 my mother called him and read to him these poems.  Careful to get every word he typed them up on his laptop. Now he was showing them to me.  His eyes showed pride.  Pride in me and these poems from the child I had been but don't remember being.

      A couple weeks before this moment, I had been under the impression that I had written my first poem.  It was a silly one, but the rhyme was good and the meter rather fair.  Now he told me that it was actually my 4th poem.  After 10 years of keeping it on his computer he wanted me to have a copy.

     "What for?" I asked.  "Why is this important?"

     I wish I could remember his exact words... but I cannot.  However, the condensed version I retain is, "These poems have a child's emotions portrayed in a natural setting.  Feeling is portrayed.  That is where the beauty lies. In the emotion."

     Only a little bit latter he died.  It was raw emotion. It was pain. And it reminded me of what he said. That beauty lies in the emotion.  And so, I wrote. I wrote my 5th poem. One full of love, longing, pain, and missing. The emotion pushed... and my wings unfurled.  I was pushed into a flight of expression.  A flight that sheds many poems, and helps me process the things I feel.

     Scraps and fragments
     Only pieces are good
     These 200 poems
     They hold shattered, scattered lines
     Scattered lines of beauty
     Pens have wasted ink
     I hope they except apologies
     However I'll keep wasting them
     Because I need to
     I'm a slave to emotion
     Pens, I am sorry
     But you shouldn't be
     So keep working
     Until I need you no more
     Which will be when I stop feeling

Lessons Learned from Dating

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     In every culture there is a different way of going about dating.  Some date one boy in particular and give him everything, others go out with many people and treat it as simply a way to become better friends.  Whatever you do, and how you go about it... I think you learn lessons from dating.  Over the last bit that I have been allowed to date (16 is when people in my religion may begin to date), I have treated it several different ways.  

     There are the friends who I have asked out on group dates, in order to just get to know them better.  There are the boys who I have liked and called "boyfriend."  Their are boys who I have adored and sorta gone out with, but we never called it anything.  All of these boys, however we defined our dates, were a risk of the heart I hold.  Not necessarily were they an opportunity for my heart to be broken, or hurt.  But they all were an opportunity to have my heart changed.  

     Every person you meet in this world has an opportunity to change you somehow. Maybe just a little. But they have the opportunity to change you in some degree. The closer we let people, the more opportunity they have to change us, to influence us. And to go on a date is the step up from hanging out.  Thus, it makes sense that people we go on dates, or a date, with would have more opportunity to shape us as a person.  

     The heart starts out ours, and slowly it changes.  It grows.  Family, friends, crushes, acquaintances, bullies.  They all tie in making us who we are.  Some introduce us to sushi.  A few to snub remarks about hair.  Others show us Folk Music.  Many introduce pieces of us, that weren't but now are.  Dating is... something where we say we are willing to open ourselves up to someone.  We will allow those people to influence us somehow.  We are open to it.  We embrace it to some extent.  

     The healing of a long hug; the pain of being ignored; the finding that you like theater popcorn; figuring out you cannot stand super strong cologne; that you enjoy being asked if your comfortable; that you like boys who laugh at things you say; that you don't like boys who never make their own jokes; the building up of your confidence in a talent; or the weakening of one of your aspirations.  These are things you can learn from dating, and which shape who you are.  Done casually or seriously, dating is an opportunity to let things be added to your knowledge, and to your heart. 

     The heart is a pieced together thing.  Always changing.  Growing, shrinking, hurting, reaching.  Dating is often fun, and should be enjoyable.  The important thing is to remember, however you go about it... be wise as to whom you welcome, and open your heart to.  We cannot exactly choose who we have feelings for.  But we can keep such feelings from turning into love.  We can choose who we will invite to touch our soul, our heart, our mind.  The lessons I have learned are many.  But this one encompasses them all: Go wisely, for the hearts sake.