Today is Only the Beginning, My Past is a Complete Mystery
It's funny how weeks pass so quickly and so much fills this life; I can't remember how one day is different from the next. Lately, a moment's peace means a falter of plans. My order is changed. Emotions, actions, events, and things go on around me, and I live through them not know how it was done. Sometimes there's reflection; it's haunting until tomorrow, and I have no idea what tomorrow is. Strangely, I think of why I'm here and wonder who I am behind this façade, this name-looking for a balance and a connection, never knowing where to find it, and nobody else knows either; voices talk on the telephone about it for hours, or sit there drawing some strange parallels one afternoon. It all ends up somewhere in an unconsciously dreamworld; alas the perplaxity in distinguishing truth from reality is plaguing. Thinking of how to connect the two, three, and forty thousand images that fly by me day in and lights out, waking up and shock hits. All I want to do is do what I want to do, and do what I have to do, and like it, and get something out of it. Never does a thought cross my mind that there may someday be disappointment. And, when the sun rises every morning, more things muddle some understanding and shake my order, catching me by utter surprise. Secret hopes that will one day lead me to whatever i think I am going to find, lie before me a mystery.
Months mesh into one another. I went out into the backyard to look for violets, the small wild ones. My aunt had secretly shown me where they were one day after lunch. I still remember my plaid pants were the same color as the violets, with a solid purple shirt, and my almost white Keds sneakers. We went up into the attic where she kept her sewing basket, and I picked out what I thought was the prettiest ribbon to tie together my prescious hand-held flowers. It was a frazzled, satin off-whitish with embroidered lace around it. I knew my flowers had to be worthy enough to deserve such a royal bow. So, we had sneaked around the corner of the house to the sunny spot; that's where they grew the best. Originally, I had picked the flowers without the stems.
In Jean Rhys’ novel “Good Morning Midnight” the reader is introduced to Sasha Jansen. Sasha is a run of the mill alcoholic who has seemingly been handed the most dreadful hand in life. Her husband deserted her, her child died, she is poor, and mostly—she is isolated and alone. Her viewpoints on the world, and herself, are very cynical and pessimistic. Sasha’s story details her downfall in a stream of consciousness narrative that takes the reader from one thing to the next and back again. It tells of the things she has sensed which leads to the inevitable end of hopelessness which causes her to suffer severe disconnection from the world around her. The problem is, absolute hopelessness is the best thing that Sasha could find for herself. For Sasha, everything must be kept in perspective. She must not go places that make her remember, she must not do things that make her remember, and she must not see things that make her remember. For Sasha, remembering her tragedies means destroying the careful routine that she has crafted for her life. Sasha herself alludes to this when she claims “[she] doesn’t want the way to the exhibition, [she] wants the way out.” (13)
For many people, the early hours of the morning can hold numerous possibilities from time for quiet reflections to beginning of the day observations to waking up and taking in the fresh air. In the instance of the poems “Five A.M.” and “Five Flights Up,” respective poets William Stafford and Elizabeth Bishop write of experiences similar to these. However, what lies different in their styles is the state of mind of the speakers. While Stafford’s speaker silently reflects on his walk at dawn from a philosophical view of facing the troubles that lie ahead in his day, Bishop’s speaker observes nature’s creations and their blissful well-being after the bad day had before and the impact these negative thoughts have on her psychological state in terms
What if you were to wake up one day realizing your whole life was a dream? You would never have the opportunity to go back and enjoy some of the things you wish you had time to enjoy. Often in life, we go day by day unconsciously noticing the little beauties of life. In Deborah Landau’s “You’ve Got to Start Somewhere” lyric poem, she dreams the perfect dream of the world she wished she lived in other than the one she currently lives in, for it is corrupted and unappreciated. One of the first things that Landau appeals to her readers is the aspect of imagery.
“Every moment is enormous, and it is all we have” (Goldberg xii). Natalie Goldberg offers her readers the opportunity to recognize the delicate nature of life and the importance of slowing down one’s life. In her autobiography, Long Quiet Highway: Waking Up in America, she invites readers to journey along her path to awakening in an effort as an author to “pass on her breath” (22). By capturing her message and holding it close to one’s heart, the reader grasps the essence of Goldberg’s message. It becomes clear that awakening can take on many forms and can be reached by different roads, but it is all centered on one goal: to go within oneself and find inner peace and understanding. Through her exploration of America, teaching, spirituality, impermanence, and writing, and through her writing style and language, Goldberg sends her readers along their own long, quiet highway.
In the preparation phase, the therapist starts to teach the client some self-care techniques that could guide the client to control his/her emotions (Bartson, 2011). Self-care techniques are also very helpful in guiding the clients’ emotions during and between sessions (Bartson, 2011). In this stage of the therapy, the therapist is able to thoroughly explain the therapy to the patient in the aspect of the process, expectations during and after therapy (Bartson, 2011). Trust is usually developed in this phase of the therapy between the therapist and the client (Bartson,
Life in the middle school and high school was not easy for me. I had become an introvert, I still didn’t know how to be social, and I had very few friends. I was teased for being very quiet, and some people insinuated that I’m scared of fellow people. On the other hand life at home was difficult. My mother had become so bitter and pleased her was next to impossible. She became very harsh with my brother and me, and we were always scolded for even the smallest mistakes. Once in a while, my father would come for us and take us to the city he lived. I would look out of the windows as we drove out of town and would imagine how life in another city would feel like. I looked at the skies, and all I saw were promises of a better future. All my life I had lived in San
Stages of Treatment for Dialectical Behavior Therapy. (n.d.). In Appalachian State University. Retrieved April 3, 2014, from http://www1.appstate.edu/~hillrw/DBT%20Website/stages.html
Let the stream begin. Some body, some things, life and me, communicated the idea to talk now, not to leave it, to stay, and face up to the past, the places, the people, the pain, the many reasons why I left my home and family, all those years ago, to become a drug addict, an alcoholic, a wanderer, move nomadically from house to house, year to year, to live inside a prison, real and imaginary. I met hell. I met the devil. I met them both inside my head. I found out the hard way that humans could easily imagine evil. The path forward comes from the push to write and to deal. Yes, I felt happy in between the miserable spaces. My family helped me to survive and still do now, even more so than before. Without them, I would not exist, for in the darkest moments I realised that they kept me breathing. I want the virtual picket fence, ideal partner, children and career. They may or may not eventuate. Now as I regroup, look upon me with sober, straight and clear eyes, I can have anything. I walk to a lake, to sense nature, to allow the anxiety to live on these pages, to take shape, and mould into a form that speaks atonement.
Sometimes the grasshoppers would appear from around a blade of grass as if they were asking for approval to jump on my blanket. Every so often a leaf would jump off its branch to greet me as I sat. It would float through the air as light as feather and land softly on the grass. As the autumn drew near, it was like a rainstorm of brown, yellow and red leaves, all falling to make way for the beautiful spring leaves.
I pulled into the driveway of my house and parked my car. I grabbed my coat and bag and opened the door. When I got out I instantly began to smell the sweet aroma of the long rose bushes making their way out of our fence and into the world of our driveway. I was so captivated by the fall breeze, and the beautiful smell of fall in the air that I didn't even know that I was to the door. As I snapped back into reality, I looked up and I was standing at my doorway.
Neal, Ed. (1999). Distance education. National Forum: Phi Kappa Phi Journal: Vol. 79 (pp. 40 - 43).
Growing up, I was given the freedom to choose who I wanted to be, to decide what I wanted to do. I grew up with many different opportunities and chances to try out new things. A simple life I led as a child, sheltered and loved by all, but I was oblivious to reality, lost in my own “perfect” world. Yet as I grew up and began to surpass the age of imaginary worlds, the idea of “perfection” had begun to fade and reality began to settle in. Like a splash of cold water, I went from a childish mindset to an adult’s. Child hood play was a thing of the past and responsibility became the norm.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
You are a complex bundle of thoughts, feelings, attitudes, desires, images, fears, hopes, doubts, opinions and ambitions, each of them constantly changing, sometimes from second to second. Your entire life is the result of the intertwining and interconnecting of these factors.
A baby’s life helps to form and shape the future for that child; this goes the same for me. My birth, my sign, and my name, all relate to the way I live and act today. Many people may not see this connection for themselves, but it takes a little bit of research and thinking to come to realize why people are the way they are. Every day and every action that a child experiences can influence their actions as an adult.