Im having a senstive day

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/453

Definition.

I am not a christian. I am not a jew. I am not a buddhist, a hindu, a muslim, a witch, an atheist or or a pagan.  I am neither male nor female  nor transexual, asexual, trangender or hermaphrodite. I am not gay or straight nor bisexual.  

I am a christian, jew, buddhist, hindu, muslim, witch, atheist, and pagan. I am male, female, transexual, asexual, transgender, and hermaphrodite. 

I am gay, straight and bisexual. 

Oppression- (op~pres~sion) noun-  allowing the way you define yourself or the way others define you to make you feel as though you are less of a person. 

War- the conflict between a person or a group of people because the way they are defining themselves is conflicting within themselves or another person.  

I will no longer allow myself to be defined. I will no longer allow myself to be defined by others. A war should be fought against oppression with love for people and hate for injustice.  

5 noble truths (for my chris- hahaha)

1) My name is Allison Kemp

2) Im sometimes, well, always revered as the coolest that has ever existed.

3) The majority of people outside of the continental U.S. take time everyday around 3:45 (right before daily tea and shag) bow down to a personal shrine of me hidden deep in the depths of their largest closet. 

4) Because people have done this for centuries they have known the greatest pleasure to have ever existed. No there is no after life or individual rewards. The pleasure comes from the gift of being able to worship me for a time everyday and sending me large quantities of chocolate.

5) You too can experience this joy. Take a knee.  :)

somedays I hate the Sun.....

a small ray of Sun peeks through under the curtain in my bedroom.  i squint my eyes and peer in the other direction.  the light still permeates to the opposite side of the room in which it enters.  i curse at its brightness.  i curse at it saying "its too bright. my head hurts.".  somedays i hate the Sun.

i stepped out of my house yesterday only to be attacked by a streaming ray of light. it was early. too early.  i tried to escape reality the previous night but as i stepped out of my house it peers down on my like a hammer.  it sends spikes through my eyes forcing them closed. its sends piercing pain from the front to the back of my head.  i have no time to be concerned with the sun so i curse its existence, and carry myself Gracefully down the stairs.  

the Sun still stares at me as i race down the road to make it to work on time.  i feel as though i escape from the Sun for a moment in my windowless office at work.  im handed envelopes to carry to a building across campus.  DAMNIT! the Sun. the Sun.  

it rains down on me showing the holes in my skin. it rains down on me forcing light through me. around me.  under me.  it embraces me entirely.  

leave me alone!! i just want to be alone.

i know what ive down. i know where ive been. You know too. You followed me there.  You held me when i fell to the ground keeping your light piercing. 

You show too much of my weakness. You show too much of my pride.  You are so persistant. so damn persistant. 

why? whats the point? i know You were there before me, after me, and always. i know You were there streaming light all day.  a moon mirror in the night. a beakon. a shiny, peristant, piercing, constant, bright, forceful, beakon.  

i cant run from You. i cant hide from You.  i am forced under Your presence everyday.   my hold world turns black. my body takes on heat.  my heart picks up speed.  my mind races in greek.  my hands turn to clams and my feet to stones.  every mark. every scar lies naked before you.  every joint burning under my skin. every drink solid under my tongue.  my arms are forced outward with the piercing pain of everything  being driven in my hands. the weight of it all is terrifying. trees ache. every hope absences itself from my being. my legs dangle. my feet still made of stone.  screeches nailing through my ears.   the clouds roll in. thunder strikes. lighting streaks. the screams i make can not be heard about the ripping shrouds and falling castles of broken dreams. casts made of broken mirrors given to me by cinderella, Queen of Cheetos, drunken sailors and tired mothers.  i scream and no one hears.  i scream but no one sees.  where did you go? you are absent from my sight, Sun.  You abandoned me, because im naked? Drip. Drop.  the rain hits the marks and scars on my body forcing them open into pools of red beneath my feet.  it falls to the ground and i scream out to those who around. giving for-th to them my last words of hope although most has drained from me. i bow my head towards the ground and the water streams down my hair and my neck to my feet.  my body feels limp.  

I lay motionless on the ground, You are there.  holding Me.  embracing Me. 

Gracefully, I carry Myself back up the stairs.  I look at the sun and realize that you are there. the sun.  it shines bright.  a beakon. a shiny, persistant, piercing, constant, bright, forceful, beakon.  

up and down the stairs i go.  Gracefully. Gracefully.  washed by the rain.  cleansed by the light. 

 covered in the Sun.  embraced by the Sun.  sometimes cursing at the Sun.  always passionately in love with the Sun.  

Swimmer's Ear

As a child, the vast majority of my summers I spent in pools, well one pool in particular. My grandmother, my father's mother, had a pool in her backyard. It is here that I learned to swim. Learned to dive. Learned to backflip, as well as various other tricks. I actually went to the olympics every summer competing in both swim and dive competitionsI played Mermaids and dolphins and pirates (a make-believe game). I raced my friends and my brother. I was an underwater-dancer. I dived for treasures. I gave boat tours around the pool to look at the local wildlife. There were some pretty fascinating species. I became a chemist checking the pool for adequate chemicals. I was a frog-advocate allowing them to escape the depths of the skimmer. Fastest times and 10's across the board. You know, thats how I row. I would swing with my "Nana", as I called her, and she would tell me about Native Americans, Tarot Card Readings, Yin/Yang and numerous other topics. As a child, I was pretty sure she was the most fascinating woman alive. She only ate cheetos, cereal and coke. Fascinating species. She was an ex-dancer, ex- figure skater, broadway-hopeful, wife of the 50's, 5 kids, fashionista turned nightgown. Its a rarity for me to have a true childhood memory that does not involve that pool in some fashion.

With my experience with swimmer's ear, and you can imagine thats a lot, there was a cloudy hearing. Like I could still hear, but almost as if it were through a towel or having a phone conversation with someone in china.

I wonder today how much of my childhood is mystified with this cloudy hearing, and on top of that whether I want to know. Whether I really did spend a significant amount of time at the pool on Tyler St., or if I merely remember to have because most of my experiences from this time were peaceful yet exciting. I am almost certain that my Safaris around the pool were complete with feral cats, schnauzer dogs, occasional ant, corn-eating squirrels, and the rare occurrence of sober fathers. I wonder how toxic the chemicals were to my brain, and perhaps how many times I saved the same stupid frog. The treasure that I sought after would have not bought me a piece of gum. I've certainly never been to the olympics. I wonder if my fabulous grandmother suffers from manic depression. Locking herself in her room for days and days, eating only minimum, telling fantasy filled stories of Broadway and figure skating. Overly intuitive. Obsessed with matriarchal duties. I wonder now about Swimmer's ear.

Do my experiences make my experiences or the perception of my experiences make my experiences? I would hope for the latter, but would be uncertain to think it true. If a child is abused by adult, yet remembers none of it, does it affect them? If a child is raised in a home with an alcoholic father who beats their mother, yet remembers none of it, does it affect them? Even if a child is burned in a fire and retains the scars, yet remembers none of it, does it affect them?

I question whether my swimmer's ear still persists today. I am certain that my perception of an experience would reflect how that experience affects me. I am certain as I walk into a bar, sober-minded, a bar in which I had entered before intoxicated, that my perception of the experience is different. I am certain that my emotions cloud my judgment. I am certain that my past experiences, clouded or not, affect the experiences I have today.

I once saved the life of my friend who was being pushed off the plank into the vast ocean below. We stole the pirates treasure and afterwards we traveled to Africa. We caught a glimpse of lions, hyenas, groundhogs and poisonous insects. We raced to Europe by sea and along the way made friends with dolphins and mermaids. We got caught at the top of a snow-capped mountain but we used our magical powers to melt the ice and slid down the mountain back into the ocean below. We ran from drunken-sailors and had cheetos with the queen.

We perceive our certainties and count our blessings. We move pass our misfortunes and seek sanctuary in each other. We ignore wars and find a world of peace. We are ailed by clouds and rain, yet the sun is all we see. We listen to the birds and flowers just the same. We experience our experiences and love is all we need.

Drug induced Flight (Frequent III)

I recently read a National Geographic article about a girl who decided to travel to Peru to find a "religious experience" from a shaman.  She took a drug administered by a shaman. Although the experience that she had on the drug (hallucinogen) was a negative one, she said that the following day when she awoke that the depression that she had been dealing with her whole life was suddenly lifted from her. She had seen a number of therapists ranging in types and in this short experience with a shaman and the hallucinogen her fight against years of depression was won.  Below is a passage  that she wrote in an article that was featured for National Geographic: 

I grew up among fundamentalist atheists who taught me we're all alone in the universe, the fleeting dramas of our lives culminating in a final, ignorable end: death. Nothing beyond that. It was not a prescription for happiness, yet, for the first couple decades of my life, I became prideful and arrogant about my atheism, believing that I was one of the rare few who had the courage to face life without the crutches of religion or worse such outrageous notions as shamanism. But for all of my overweening rationality, my world remained a dark, forbidding place beyond my control. And my mortality gaped at me mercilessly.

The search for happiness is undeniably something every person attempts at some point in their life. I would say it is a commonality in most peoples lives, but I dont want to over generalize.  Some people find happiness in long hours of work. Some people find happiness in hammering down at walls of the church.   Some people find happiness in the walls of church. Some people find happiness as a parent. Some people find happiness by traveling to Peru and have a drug induced escape of reality.  

Where does this search for happiness end?  Where is the ultimate happiness for you? Although I believe and have faith that I have found that true answer.  That true happiness in which is the beginning and the end to everything.  That true happiness that is not concerned with clothes or money or appearance.  I have found the happiness that endures all things, believes all things, hopes all things.  A happiness founded in truth, justice, mercy, honor, compassion and love.  What is your ultimate happiness? 

cinderella on board.....Frequent flyer miles Part II

I have absolutely nothing to wear. I used to say this as I cried and screamed in front of my closet door the night before free-dress day (we wore uniforms in elementary and high school).

Although if I sat in front of my closet door today and screamed this my roommate might look at me as though I were crazy, I feel this way daily.
I am not one who wants (or do I believe is) concerned with material objects. About a year ago, I tattooed the word "Simplicity" on my foot. Although it has many meanings to me, which will call for a separate blog, part of the meaning is to be free from material possessions.
But there is a struggle inside of me, that I am disgusted with myself. As I stand in front of my closet, I do see nothing to wear. I see a small rack of clothes in which some dont fit or the weather is not suitable or they are so old that I'm afraid at any minute they might unravel. I fear that I am like an eating disorder patient looking at their body, but for me its my closet. I see whats not really there, but my true fear is I AM seeing what is really there.
In the previous blog that I wrote yesterday, I discussed a struggle I have with money. I discussed my anxiety towards spending money. Well clothes, makeup and other items used for style or dress, are at the top of my anxiety list. I know that if my mom sees me in a new outfit or new clothes that she will question me about where it came from and why I bought it. It often seems that I have to run around my integrity and lie to her in many instances so as just to avoid a fight or continue a battle that we have been fighting for years now.
I sometimes wish that she would come over to my house and look at my closet and see what I see. I struggle with my weight so I have clothes that range from a variety of sizes so many of the clothes I own at any given time do not fit me (another cul-de-sac adventure).
I wish that she would realize that often I feel that I look like crap. Often I wish that whenever I go out with my friends I could have something to wear in which I feel appropriate and good about myself.
The struggle is that what I am wearing in general reflects my attitude about myself. And in turn, my attitude is reflected in all areas. I have put on this persona of not caring what I look like. Hippy chic or sometimes just plain grundge. I took on a 6-month no buying spree, and although it didnt last I believe it was put into place so that I would have an explanation for my grundgy appearance. I do this so that I can hide my true problem. What is my true problem? Im not really sure. Im not really sure if the way I look affecting my attitude isnt something that everyone feels. Im not really sure if my weight issue is actually underlying and that clothes are just the personification of that issue. Im not really sure if my money issue is actually the issue and that I have just come to realize that my anxiety about that issue is increased when it comes to dress articles.

So cinderella has made an appearance on my plane. She sits next to anxiety in row 23 seat A.
Every ten minutes or so, she opens who suitcase and screams.
No fairy Godmother. No Prince Charming.
She turns to Anxiety and asks "I forgot, where are we going again?"
Anxiety turns to her and grins and says "WEAR we always go, one more trip around again, Bippity boppity BOOOO!"

"Cul-de-sac nightmares, and open fields of dreams. Waking up another day, in falling castles and broken mirrors it seems"