I need my space!

I am an ongoing research at one level, or maybe several levels where each level is on a field test comparing its observations/theories with how it is in the field out there in the world, collecting further samples/variations. I, for sure, am a multifaceted, multidimensional being. I cant say for sure about others. I hence need spaces to document, voice out where there is no other forum otherwise, for I have things to say worth being said again and not being said enough vehemently. I come therefore to Spaces for this is a space I can be in too.

Peek-a-boo

I revealed a hiding place yesterday and here I am, today, writing in this space after having not visited this space in some time - hiding from that space which was revealed. It is more like a little guerilla warfare or a game of peek-a-boo. An aspect of me, quite healthy from the looks of it and maintaining forte at that, needs/finds a space in which to play around with ideas,idiosyncracies, quirks, experiment things a bit, much like in a laboratory with or without further movement in the same line of thought explored in the world out there. It is much like a private playspot where the vulnerable parts of me can just be without the judgments and appropriatisms of the world and its expectations. I guess in a sense I also refer to the observer within each of us, the experiencer into whom percolates the experience of living in the circumstances one comes to find oneself in, and this space in my imagination is like the deepest room in the house, and one needs the space of that room just as much as anything else, and it is important and its importance needs to be acknowledged and provided for, for the individual (or the person within the person) lives here.

In living a 'public' life where avenues like Facebook and Twitter gets updates about everyday happenings and is followed by all and sundry at various levels of acquaintenceship, privacy and a space of unfettered honesty becomes important to maintain sanity and balance between ones inner and outer selves, at least until stuch point as the twain can as though one large movement sway as one breath through all that there is, unfettered and presencing what needs be presenced, without disharmonizing, maybe more harmonizing than things ever were, making the world a better place to live in in its wake.

The observer

Every now and then, in quiet spaces never too far from the surface, but not the surface, appears an observer - a witness, if you may - of the transactions between people in shades dark and light, sometimes with an emotional tone but almost always with a sort of tug at the fabric of what is questionably called 'reality,' illuminating in small and big ways the layers in what is passed off as 'everyday life.'

Masks

                   

I havent been in the habit of writing down about every experience I have but maybe it would do me good to develop my expressive abilities, perhaps get over an expressive aphasia if that is not too harsh a phrase. So today I indulged in a bit of woman pruning, if that is a mild way of saying torture and willful torture at that! Haircut? fine. Eyebrows, upperlip...that is torture..and you pay for that...with more time, money and effort into maintaining that after messing with nature in the first place that just gets your tissues to produce more of what you removed and then you got to do the same thing again to maintain that state. Monkeys have no reason to bother with hair (!) and they get to swing the birches but not these modern day monkeys; they go to kitty parties and dab at their lips with pressed paper so their compact powdered face does not get that powder off and reveal the true colors within! And then the bohemian me fights the pretense and masks. It is just so cultivated in the very 'everyday' acts. You wake up in the morning and dab on some powder - bang - mask application right there ! and then layers just keep getting added on as the day goes - smile , 'professional expression,' 'adult, mature facies,' a face for the father, one for the mother, one for the little boy who lives down the lane. Even the owner of the face would not have seen their own face..maybe a brief look in the mirror around brush time before making a hurried cover up with masking stuff, an act sooner done for females than males unless the latter has more vanity is what I think coz I am no man...and if 'man' would not bother too much with it is what i think for i have seen very few if any at all of 'men'..too many boys around. As for the female of the species, "look good and pleasant for you are not good enough" is so rubbed into most of them that inferiority complex in a patriarchal society has them rush for the compact powder or some other form of masking stuff - even an indifferent expression works for a mask; it just takes some practice. Masks! bah.

Spaces

These are strange spaces. I hear of a space called quiescent which is of quiet inactivity. I seem to be in another space - of responsible activity - a space where every word, every thought, every movement, even a slight shift in my consciousness consequences something. There does not seem to have been an acute call for responsibly acting such as this before. The word purpose seems superfluous in this space. Any attempt to capture this space in words at the moment seems premature and yet there seems to be something right about attempting to describe the indescribable; feels like a worthy pursuit attempted by several before through time and space - a skill that could come handy en route. Strange spaces these.

Me. Who?

I feel presences flitting through me in whatsoever texture and logic they are made up of. I feel like the canvas on which a painting has been made - the colors and whatsoever has gone into making that painting that painting reinstating their qualities, almost like in a certain way asking the canvas to acknowledge the different strokes and hues and whatever has gone into the painting's making. Who am I in all of this? Am I the consciousness in who's presence the drama of whatsoever exists plays out? Am I the Universe looking upon itself distinguishing more of itself and the magnificence of its creation? And yet I have a purpose. I may admire and see more of myself and whatsoever there is and yet I have a purpose for existing, for having come into existence. I feel like the creator and creation. I feel real and just as equally unreal, and that is not a contradiction and in no way absolves me of any responsibility with my existence; in fact, makes the hues more intense, draws me to make efficient strokes, and to live deliberately/determinedly/meaningfully.

Storyteller us

It is interesting the stories we tell about what is happening around us. There are facts and then there are stories we tell connecting the facts, much like how we join up words in different ways to makw up a sentence. The story tells of the content in the storyteller. Given the same set of facts and asked to join up the facts into a description, two people would tell two different stories linking up the facts. A person's emotional, psychological, intellectual, spiritual, creative, cultural makeup shows up in the stories he/she says..or wven makes up about random happenings in and around them. Some of us are epic story tellers.

Stories have a way, just as anything created, to have a life of its own and to have its own fate depwnding on whose imagination the created goes through. The content convections from the depth of time itself, if the storytellers allows, to enrich the content with the depth of wisdom. We each have story (s) to say. We need more story tellers to connect us as humans and to get more on touch with our humanness and to allow for us to be more humane. "The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers ....of all kinds" to have us become human beings again.

Musings...awe (teddy-bear snugglyness)

I was sifting through my blogs and realized i been 'musing' in odd scraps of paper and notepads and creating other blogs..and all just to voice out and give expression to the awe, bewilderment, anxiety, joy and umpteen other emotions and observations, and to capture a 'shooting star' as it were that flashed in the sky of my awareness, and to sort of point it out to anyone and everyone who would listen "look at that" "did you see it?" "awesome." And then I thought I have this old teddy bear of a blog space that I have also named Spaces (conveniently) to voice and capture all of that. It feels like coming back and snuggling up to my ragged teddy bear as a child ( only I dint ever have a ragged favorite teddy bear as a child), but this must be how a child feels that has one, I guess. Sigh (and smiles).

Mind's laboratory

..is where it is still safe to play out thoughts and examine things and put two and two together in all quirky ways and see what happens. It is not so much like in the presence of an intelligence as much as in the space where such activity could be done and be ok without bouncing off an opinion or judgment - that will be there later, but before that a space to figure things out, to let imagination have its playtime.

On trust and truth

Im addicted to analysis..and to asking questions. Why, what, how, where, when.. why mostly. I want to get to the depth of things. The truth of the matter. Whats at the bottomline. Whats the undercurrent..all to be discovered by questioning. I need to get to that which is not apparent to be able to trust - trust people, situations, systems. To trust myself to take action from knowing that it is based on getting to the heart of the matter. The urge to know that truth at the core of it all is so important to me. Wonder if it is a universal thing (dont want to end up thinking im That unique). Maybe people really want to know the truth of things. Maybe people are cynical and mistrustful of what they see around them and of what they sense with their limited sensing hardware (read 5 senses) and need to see beyond the apparent into the very heart of the matter. Or is it just me?..and i dont think theres anythng wrong with wanting to get to the bottomline. Thats just the way I am, and I like me for being me.