Recognition

I don't have a problem. I have 2 energy-parasites in the environment I spend most of my work time in.

Trip-up'd

I thought I was growing up to be the woman I was meant to be - the woman I am deep inside. Turns out that all it takes is the next trip-up to flip out and be catty (catty? me?!)  and ranting and raving like a child, not even a girl (which somwhow seems more mature than a child right now). I type about this here coz I think it is not just me; that anybody's next stage in development is just the next trip-up away, coz that trip-up happened because I had not really foreseen that or had any experience of in my entire repertoire of experiences.

What happened? I may have encountered a more complex, if not a more-than-everyday sort of complex character, and thought I had seen quite a few though I knew not all that there is. It is reassuring to know that I was right about there being more kinds (duh), only I hadnt been thinking in those terms since some time - being plateau'd with more or less several kinds with awe being a constant presence in my life with the work I do - that my emotional reaction did not register enough to be pondered in depth! Maybe I have been having quite a time with my emotions since some time that my emotional bandwidth is a bit plateau'd...and that is saying a lot.

Emotional bandwidth plateau - another space a person (me) could be in.

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.