My narrow reality

I find it hard to write for the outside now. I have been wanting to, so badly, identify the voices and impulses in my head. What validates me, what doesn’t? Where do I get my projections from? Who mirrors what?

I study it, cross-referencing it with how I’ve lived, how I’ve grown up, where I’ve been, and how my own views change depending on experience. I think to myself, “I didn’t know this thing about this until someone mentioned it, despite it being very obvious to a large group of people, so maybe someone else deserves the same allowance to not know something.” I take into consideration things like education, memory, lifestyle, family.

I then realize the paradox of how unique I am while still being a predictable reaction of genetics and society.

I become confused as to who to listen to, since everyone is imperfect and no one truly understood all aspects of my being. It’s difficult because so many paths seemed like answers, instead of just more dogmas. If you believe in nothing then it’s all equally possible, existing in the same place of non duality.

I am not understanding but I am maybe in acceptance. And I want to currently, be living in that acceptance, because the information here is kind of fun.

It’s kind of like this…

When you go to another country, a lot of things can change –deep intrinsic things– that open your entire mind and world as you realize that the things you thought were givens, that everyone knew, are actually different somewhere else. Things about politics and human justice, or beauty standards and social norms, or general acceptance for science and vulnerability to mysticism.

So that means I am aware of how my understanding of reality is all based on one manipulated belief after another one.

What happens when the ground underneath you collapses and you question gravity itself?

Well if you’re still alive you realize you didn’t need the belief that it was there for you to still exist. This is all metaphoric, guys, I still believe gravity is a thing. (Although, have you seen that one movie?)

For me, I realized anything goes, up to a certain point. I am not sure what that certain point is, because the reality is I see everything through fear because most of the people that surround me, my society, and my culture, see things through fear. Most people I know are ruled by their fear, one way or another.

Being lost so much, I tied so much meaning to certain identities I chose for myself, and felt deeply offended when someone else would not accept this reality I had written up. After all, to me, my chosen identity seemed logical and well-earned. For example, when I was a kid, I absolutely loved dragonflies. I still do, as it was my first tattoo, but back then, to me it was a personal identity thing. I was dragonfly girl. I held on to it tightly, and if anyone else tried to come around, claiming that they too, loved dragonflies, I enviously ignored their existence in my head. Only I could be dragonfly girl, there could only be one, and that One was Me.

Seems so funny now. It came from a sense of lack. I worked on letting things like that go, however the deeper envy within me stayed. I accepted the identity “given” to me (woman, latina, daughter, eldest sibling, half french, american raised, etc) and became possessive over them. There was a passionate desire to Exist, to Express that Existence. And the way that I knew how to do it, was by echoing my identity on to others. My existence always felt threatened. It was unstable, since it depended strictly on how others saw me. Did they recognize the mask I had decided to claim as my true face, and if not, why not, was I not good enough to wear this mask? The cycle would go on. Social Activism filled this craving, except after a point I realized it was all victim-based but…that’s for another story. Either way, keeping my identity has always been important to me, no matter how much I tried to shed it.

I looked for people that mirrored back what I wanted and therefore my mask would be validated and safe, and I would never question myself again.

I talk about this in past tense like it is something that used to happen but doesn’t anymore. It still does, in different ways. Just…less, more subtle, and I am becoming better and better at unwriting stories that I wrote for myself but that actually belong to other people. At noticing the masks I wear so as not to see some basic truth about me. I do not think that wearing masks is bad, or wrong. I just…don’t want to, because I find them painful and limiting. I am practicing the not wearing them. That just means I spend my time with people who I can be as authentic as possible with. But at some point certain masks are needed and I understand that. 

This type of..change, or shift or whatever you want to call it, is scary for a myriad of reasons, but one of the ones that stand out for me is because it means your relationships shift, and you might lose friends, though you might also make new ones. Except making new friends requires a lot more active steps whereas losing them, not so much.


So perhaps I will lose friends. I have come to the peaceful realization of how OK that is too.

I feel the rejection but I feel it differently. Like a shirt I’m wearing, but can take off once I realize that’s all it was.

I do not want to tell people how they live. I do not want to give them my “expert” advice because I am only an expert in myself.

I get lost again, and fall, and that’s fine. I lose people, and that’s fine. I lose myself, and that’s fine. It’s all fine, it all comes back to this feeling, of right now. Not a feeling of going forward, or backward, but still a feeling of moving. A feeling of inside. Of looking within. That feeling is my mantra right now, what I’m choosing to live in. It’s called Mox. There’s a voice to it. Her name is Magic. And we are here.

Oblivion is the closest truth there is right now. 



Like I know any better

I asked the universe to show me humility gently.

I think existential dread is one way to go about it. Not the only one but…One.

I think the problem is when I try to tell others what to do with their lives. The sheer ridiculousness of that makes the paradox implode into itself.

This is me, and my life. A story to be written by me for me. A script perhaps, a movie, a play, or something else entirely, something I don’t yet understand as life is not that, if not one big question mark after another. Is this the scenario, the plot, the twist, the script?

I cannot create over free will but I can create with it, so i am here, in my creation, waiting to see who will come out to play with me.
Let us be gods and goddesses together.

Me gusta cuando estoy en el campo
en el desierto se piensa mejor
sera por eso que ahi escogio morir el principito

All my love,

Cuando te dejan

“You have to understand”
they tell me
Not realizing that I’m going through something similar
if not worse

my reality has always been doubted
looked upon like maybe
i’m exaggerating
“just think positive thoughts”
they would tell me
“you have the power”

And now these same people
finding that it is not
that easy to think positive thoughts
that some things
are in fact
worth mourning
are telling me I don’t understand
that pain is theirs to claim
like I have not been intimate friends with it
for as long as I can remember
like I haven’t learned to carry
wars that aren’t mine
foreign struggles
mysterious torments
endless suffering
stubborn melancholy
Like I haven’t learned to live
in hell itself.
Like I’m just a little girl,
and not the many women
that cry inside of me as well.
Like I have no wisdom to offer
on what it feels like to hurt
and not have anyone but yourself
to blame.

Tell me what hurts more
Ending your own life,
Or giving birth to yourself
over and over again?

Tell me what hurts more
Dying at the hands of others
Or choosing not to live by your own free will?

Tell me what hurts more
someone leaving you for their freedom
Or someone leaving you for their pain?

I’ve been taught to not compare the pain
That compassion has no judgment
There is no better or worse
simply context
and our will to deal

I’ve been told to understand
But I do.
And that’s what I’ve been trying to say.
I do understand.

But understanding doesn’t make it hurt less.
Understanding doesn’t make them stay.
Understanding doesn’t mean strength.

All understanding does is show you
they can’t abandon you
if they were never there
to begin with.
All understanding does is show you
there’s only ever you
taking yourself out of here
over and over again
And all the people that love you
waiting on you the other side saying
“welcome back. we missed you”
All understanding does is show you
that the most painful abandon
is when you leave yourself.