inexhaustible, universal
"life force"
induce spiritual
healing energy

access
attunement

negativity

In a past life, your friends were once your enemies and your enemies were once your friends. This could be uplifting, meaning, it is important to treat everyone equally. More specifically, to love everyone equally. There is no difference. Everyone wants to reduce pain and suffering and increase happiness. This is a fact. So, like me, everyone wants to feel really good. Everyone wants Sunday afternoon. Everyone wants Friday night. Everyone wants a new t-shirt and someone to hold hands with.


This could also mean to hate everyone equally, friends included. Acquaintances included. Neighbor with the dog that barks all the time included. Guy playing the keyboard in the train station included. It is possible to have enough hatred for all of these people. It is probably less work than having love for all these people. Buddha was probably exhausted. I am sure Jesus was exhausted. But statues of saints always look so peaceful. They hardly seem tired from all of that loving. Maybe they didn’t have to love as hard, or as much, or maybe they just liked everyone the same amount. They certainly had to feel one way or the other about everyone, as I am sure saints were held to the same standards. Or maybe they were more human. I haven’t read the Bible in years. Only the book on Buddhism. Yes, it is true, in a past life, your friends were once your enemies and your enemies were once your friends.


In a past life I knew no one, I had to hate and love no one, except myself, so perhaps I loved everyone as a person alone must love herself. I spent most of my time putting small objects into my mouth and then spitting them out. I was skilled at doing nothing, all on my own. If someone were to cross my path I would not notice him. I could not notice him, as then I would have to feel one way or the other, and knew I was better off feeling neither emotion, except towards myself, and in regards to that, I usually chose love. It was easier to live simply this way, ingesting, digesting, spitting as I so chose. Watermelon was a favorite of mine, as this involved all three activities. I was my only friend. I have done this through all of my lifetimes. I have spit things at many different now extinct animals. I now spit things at animals that I will know will become extinct in the future. I have used chewing tobacco. And in a past life, I have always made sure to remind myself that my friends were once my enemies and my enemies were once my friends, as I have been everything, and we have walked through it all together, spitting, digesting, loving, and finding it quite easy not to hate.

I am always happy to be a mammal.
Everyone seems to be preparing. Storing and secluding themselves from the weather.
Summer is over, and no one seems to be too depressed about it. I turn on my sunshine light bulb and move my plants near it and just feel like I am a part of something I have created here, in my room.
It feels so good to just think about really long books and green tea.
About finishing that Colette book I started last winter and maybe start doing all the things I said I would on my "list to become a better person." Maybe starting A Swann's Way.
I wrote today and it felt so good. I'm still trying to decide what to put in here now that I've decided not to post poems so I can try to get work published. Maybe winter will bring more writing. A professor asked me if I was excited about the fact that I've been basically writing two poems a week, and I didn't think so. I feel like I could write something I really liked every day and it wouldn't be enough. There would still be more to say. I guess this is why I started taking pictures again - immediate reaction to something beautiful.

I wrote a friend and said that I couldn't live in this world if it wasn't beautiful. And I think that is probably the only statement I have said that will remain true no matter my mood. This is important to me. To have one stable idea. Something to count on, to look forward to.

If I am a writer, am I only a writer only at my desk, or am I also a writer outside of my desk?


Art is theft and my mind is filled with the ideas of others. Am I a thief?

You should just watch this. Don't listen to me babble.