if someone would have told me 20 years ago that it would take me 3 hours to come up with something to write i would not have believed them. i used to write about any and everything. i have a stack of journals from my pre-pubescent years full of things that i now find so trivial. but back then those things made the world go ’round: what i or someone i looked up to was wearing that day. what my mother said we were having for dinner that night and how happy i was all day looking forward to it. what books i’d just ordered from the scholastic catalog.

i had mastered the art of sharing my thoughts. even if it was only with the pages of my black and white composition notebooks. today, i sit in front of a sheet of paper or in front of my laptop, stuck. i rule out every thought that comes to mind to share. i rob it of its importance or relevance with a touch of the delete button.

as we grow older and more bogged down with everyone else’s opinions of us and our work, we develop a tinge of cynicism. we collect doubt and assign it to ourselves even if the people who laid it on us did so in hopes of ridding themselves of it. then nothing is good enough. our art is great to us. but we are sure that that is just because we created it. we convince ourselves that it is trivial in comparison to all else that exists.

then we turn on our tvs and watch reality shows. we turn on our radios and hear trash from talentless people who are getting paid millions for saying nothing. we watch movies that could have been written by a third grader score big bucks in the box office. and even then, we never stop to question why we feel so insecure about the piece of ourselves we battle to share.

the task i am assigning myself is to produce works of art and share them before i can fully talk myself out of it. like now, and the fact that as soon as i finish typing this sentence i am racing to hit the Publish button before my finger slides over the Delete.

perched on my bed. Maxwell is singing about love is not a want/ love is now a need as only he can. in that desperately genuine whisper/whine. the water should be boiling for the rice but i haven’t turned the stove on yet. the kitten i rescued is curled in the crevice of my grandfather’s chair and a cypress bergamot candle is burning slowly, filling the air in my bedroom with a sweet grassy aroma. this ain’t for the war whore. strictly for the lovers only. lost and lonely. my  jasmine green tea is cooling in the mug my brother and sister-in-law gave me when i married. it’s steam rising up away from my aged armoire. one day i’ll fix it. it’s paint is chipped and it’s doors never close right. i gotta shove ‘em. every time. don’t know why i keep trying to force them closed when i know they’ll just open again. one day i’ll fix it. this about a take it day-by-day. this about a wait that’s worth it baby. my husband is on his way home from work. the train never runs fast enough nights like this. when i wait to hear the door announce his return. ever since the way that you looked at me. love is not a want/ love is now a need. whirlwinds of thought chase each other around my mind, none catching. a storm is brewing. even as the sun is beginning to shine. not for the easy/ this ain’t bout that style. there’s an empty tangerine peel on the napkin next to me. it reminds me of the missing pieces and i wonder if those pieces are missing me. i think about happiness. i think about loving it enough to pursue it. through the trenches. with or without all those pieces. to be unafraid of where it may lead you. this is strictly for the lovers only. my tears soak my lap. for the lost and lonely. this is if you want to hold me. i blot them with the napkin and hear the door open.

i have to believe in the goodness of humanity. it’s a necessity to exist during these times. i have to believe in the laughter and innocence of babies. that they all won’t grow up to be blind. i have to believe in the endurance of the trees and that of our ancestors. so that i can believe in mine. i have to believe in the kindness of strangers but more so the amount of themselves they find in me. i have to believe in something. as we all do if we aren’t to fall for everything we see. i have to believe in rainbows and silver linings but not in pots of gold. i have to cherish the three-leaf clovers rather than passing them over to search for the four-. i have to believe in you. but more than that, in me. i have to believe in the days i’ve forgotten and the days i’ve yet to see. i have to believe in the strength in numbers and the power in words. the love in others. the uprightness of her. i have to believe in a infectiousness of a smile so that even when it hurts i can. i have to believe in the might of one pair of shoulders but further the significance of one helping hand. i have to believe in the unseen because what we’re shown is so bleak. i have to be a ray of light every time i speak. i have to believe that what i believe matters and will be heard. it is only due to my belief that i continue to type these words.

** this did not begin as a poem. it came out rhyming but the thoughts were just flowing thoughts. prose. they chose their own fate.

I realized knowing isn’t enough. I knew what I had to do. I took what I had to do and placed it in the part of my mind that holds the things I know. And there it stayed. So knowing wasn’t enough. It was not until I went there, to that place where my mind stores the things that I know and rummaged through its contents. For spring cleaning. To make room for the other things that I know now yet will act upon later. Because that is what I tend to do.

So I rummaged through. I sifted through. I sorted through.

I looked over what I know. What I knew. What I’ve known. And realized that there, in the things that I know, that I knew, that I’ve known, was the answer to everything I was sitting here acting as if I did not, never, had not.

No, knowing is never enough.

Acknowledging what we know, feeling it with our fingertips and putting it on is the thing.

Putting it on is the thing.

Film-makers have earned millions in the box office by creating calamity on the big screen: End-of-the-world movies. We’ve flocked in droves to see them. Hoping what? That it will prepare us for what might happen? For the thrill? The special effects?

Well, here we are in 2010. We haven’t even made it in three months, yet we’ve already seen multiple back-to-back natural disasters. No theater needed. Haiti. Argentina. Chile. Japan. Hawaii. Human lives lost in the rubble or changed forever through injury. Homes destroyed. Whole cities brought to dust.

You have to be completely self-absorbed not to wonder: what’s next? And possibly more pressing of a thought: Is there any way I can help those affected? And more pressing still: Is there any way to prepare for the possibility of any of these tragedies directly affecting me or my loved ones?

You can’t help but to question your life when you see it so quickly taken from others. And not just the bare bones of life: the breathing. But everything as you now know it. What makes your life your life. The activities you do. The people you love. The things you possess.

What would your life be without all of it?

I finally took the time to see “Book of Eli”. I had heard mixed reviews but I enjoyed it. Though not necessarily in the whew-hew!-this-movie-is-fun-to-watch sense. I enjoyed the message. I think it paints an important picture; one that may help spark necessary questions in a lot of our minds.

What if everything goes to shit? I mean by the looks of things it’s clearly been heading somewhere in the general direction of shit. Would you all of a sudden become a cannibal? A thief? A savage? Would you remain civilized? Humane? Would you give a damn about anyone else? Or only your own survival? Would you be able to go on without all of your “things”? Your technology? Your designer handbags? Any of your luxuries? Or what about your family?

My point, and what I came away from the movie with, is: We are born alone. We get here with nothing. We die alone. We leave with nothing. Throughout our lives we either begin to take for granted all of the things we are blessed with or at the opposite side of the spectrum: make them our gods. Few of us master the ability to exist with all that we are given without clinging to them as if they are what make us who we are. Even fewer learn the humble lesson that to truly live is to serve.

The reason we feel so great when we commit charitable acts is because the people we give to the most through those acts are ourselves. The human race is connected and the energy we put into helping the next person or being just to the next person comes back to us immediately and ten-fold.

So. How do we prepare for the end of the world, if such a thing exists? We reach back to the beginning of our own. We become like children to enter the kingdom of heaven. We gain peace of mind and self by unlearning all of the ignorance. Cleansing ourselves of all the -isms. Humbling ourselves to a greater power. We contribute to the betterment of humanity and this Earth. And if you find yourself unable to think past yourself to consider any of this, well my friend, no need to worry about natural disasters; you’ve already committed suicide.