Transparent Markers

In relationships, where is the marker between ego and self respect?

In respect, where is the marker between ego and sense of self?

What do we know about sense of self? My sense of self shifts everyday, from its very foundation. I spend a lot of time oscillating between an understanding of my scope of self and then an understanding of how many of those parts are interacting on a daily basis. 

How many people are convinced that they haven’t looked deep enough into themselves? Like they haven’t peeled back the layers far enough and what they understand to be of self might very well have left a few layers unexplored. What if you’re only a talented liar when it comes to lies you tell yourself?

I’m convinced this is the case with a lot of people who harbor the fear of being hurt, or who have at some point or the other in their lives, decided against the long hard road of emotional unease, opting instead to pretend that something never mattered that much, never got deep enough to hurt them to distraction. That fear of vulnerability is an acceptance of self deception; a contract to lie to oneself for as long as necessary and maybe till the day they die, a bed of uncertainty made that will grow doubt and confusion for a significant portion of one’s life. It’s as simple as this – if I fear my hurt to the point where I am unwilling to feel it all the way through, I will throw up blocks with varying levels of dishonesty in order to build a solid enough labyrinth in my mind to prevent my access to the truth aka the pain. That labyrinth will only serve as the shaky foundation to my continued perception of my self and my values and my strength. This foundation will leave cracks wide enough for anxiety, self doubt, self loathing, and depression to seep in and find purchase. If one is susceptible to these things, at least.

Whenever the day comes that I then want to dig out, break down this house on its shaky foundation, I will find that it’s been welded with a variety of stuff I had no business gathering. Now the chaff and grain are identifying as self, now I identify as part chaff, now I’m doubting my worth. Now I’m doubting me. How does one go about untangling that? And how does the building’s demolition not feel like self destruction? How do you start from scratch when the scratch you’ve so far come to understand has been a lie?

Where is that marker exactly? Where is that sense of self?

Anyway, I’m a stone in this quarry, a sailor on this sea. I’m currently struggling with these questions. I’m on a constant search to find me.

Inspiration Journaling

Organic Burn

There are things that have begun to burn.

Save those you can while they in any part


We leave what we cannot take. We trusted

What we did not make

After all, and went ahead and claimed it –


No, we did not make love. We made,


We did. But we did not create it. God did. God


Love. So how could the creator become in any part

the created? No.

So when these things that have begun to burn

can not be salvaged

We leave them and run. We haste from the embers that become

We are followed in our turn but the scarring is

localised to a minimum. An infinitesimal organic suicide


We labour with the remnants of our burn

To plagiarise and live in reruns.

Tomorrow we make again what we did not create

And trust again what we did not make

Our memory heals enough so we replicate.



Prose et Poesie

Juneau in June: The Juneau June bug

For the next few days, I’m going to be playing this new game I invented called the, “Imagine you’re in a different place living a momentarily different life” game. Yes, yes, I am definitely not the first or one billionth person to wish for some variation of this but it should be a blast nonetheless. My first order of business? I’m going to imagine I’m going to Alaska. Yep, it’s going to be a Juneau in June kind of adventure!

Let’s imagine I have this amazing trip planned, every detail of the itinerary booked down to a T. Then, the night before my ultimate solo adventure, I get the worst stomach cramps ever. I’m talking roll around, sleep for 30 minute intervals, TMI the next morning (or in this post – uh oh) kind of stomach cramps. But before that night of horrors begins, I come home from work to NO INTERNET OR TV. Why? Because my service has been disconnected. Why?

Why do you think?

I forgot to pay the bloody bill and adult right. But this adulting business is tough work. It’s not a roller coaster, I promise. More like a six flags drop ride – super fast, no prep, and with the worst/best feelings of weightlessness and imbalance. Except with adulting, those feelings don’t go away after you walk it off for 5 minutes.

Anyway, so here I am on the worst evening of life contemplating (of course) if these are supposed to be omens of some sort. Should I not go on this trip? Is superstition even a thing? Where did I hide my pepto bismol? etc etc. Of course I decide I’m going anyway! What kind of imagination would I have if I didn’t even make it to my destination?! So obviously, we’ll have to follow my journey to Juneau (I love me my alliteration, obvs) tomorrow.

A bientot.