i went through a few months where i soaked up all of the books and songs that all kind of sounded and looked alike. they all told me how i should feel and what i should think. i nodded along and was comforted that others had experienced similar confusion and frustration...i was comforted that others had felt a similar pain. i told a friend that it was crazy how all those
cliche phrases that i had once scoffed at, presently came spilling through my own lips. she told me that was the beauty of our common human experiences...that there was a reason why cliches became
cliche.and though i still think that there's brilliant beauty in that, there's something i've missed out on. i was recently sitting with my cello and wondering why i felt such a deep gratitude towards it. i realized that it's because my cello never tells me how i should feel. instead, i'm able to play what i'm not able to say. through my cello i'm able to express all those things that i don't have an answer for yet. i've realized that in the course of being comforted through other's stories, i've fallen into a well of commiserating, and in that well, i was surrendering the pen that writes my story. i was letting my story drown in the hundreds and thousands of other stories that were beautiful, but certainly not my own.
i recently saw
lymbyc systym play live and realized that i like my music without words. my heart will always flutter for brilliant songwriting, but i like it when music, every once in a while, just tells me to feel & think rather than telling me
what to feel & think. i've resolved in my heart to take back the pen and write my own story again.
so far...two words have been clearly written.
"practice resurrection."image: papertissue
"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for." -Paulo Coelho
i went through a few months where i soaked up all of the books and songs that all kind of sounded and looked alike. they all told me how i should feel and what i should think. i nodded along and was comforted that others had experienced similar confusion and frustration...i was comforted that others had felt a similar pain. i told a friend that it was crazy how all those cliche phrases that i had once scoffed at, presently came spilling through my own lips. she told me that was the beauty of our common human experiences...that there was a reason why cliches became cliche.
