Excerpt of Vision

The nature of love, at least in the sense of romance and friendship, is that it is unforeseen, unplanned. Out of some odd irony, or coincidence, one feels tinges of love where they previously did not exist for a person they previously did not care about. Love is normally experienced, felt and enjoyed before it is recognized as, and therefore called, love. In love, the emotions qualify the existence. In love, the happening is a mistake, sometimes a horrible one, sometimes a beautiful one.

The nature of hate, however, is that it is unnatural. Hate, in all of its malicious glory, is an intentional and directed occurrence. While one goes to sleep not expecting to love the next day, one wakes up with hate on their itinerary. Once they've decided to hate, their thoughts, actions and perception of others is molded to match. Once they've decided to hate an individual, their brain allows them to believe, with great confidence, that that individual in turn hates them, thereby justifying their hate. While love is often quietly unreciprocated, hate churns loudly in a violent cycle, even if it has only one participant. While love is usually a by chance happening, hate is a decision, an intention.

The problem with hate for the hated, is that it leads them to believe that they are worthy of hate, worthy of being hated. It makes them question themselves, makes them wonder what they did to deserve this intentional and directed emotion. It wounds their ego, hurts their pride, and knocks them to the floor. Hate hurts more than love satisfies, because love is a mistake, but hate is a bullet shot in execution-style; it is accurate, direct, and without mistakes.

The second problem with hate for the hated is that in its stinging freshness, it confuses and causes one to believe that if they are worthy of being hated, they are capable of hating as well.

And so they do. Or at least try to. Or at the very least except that they cannot, but try to convince all others that they do, that they hate with a fiery passion. Because the only thing more hurtful to one's image and esteem than being hated, is being hated without hating in return.

Unfortunately that's human nature, and not immaturity. Fortunately, neither are for me. Not for too long, at least.

"Was yesterday so important that you can't start fresh today?"

Not to me.

Cherry Coffee Cake

Last night I saw you in my dreams. Now I can't wait to go to sleep.

In a translucent green bag, I keep all the cards my grandfather sends me. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentine's Day cards, and an overwhelming number of cards for no occasion. Just to say hello, offer a few words of encouragement and a prayer, and remind me that I am loved.

Since my grandparents moved to Ohio, I don't get to see them very often, but I can always depend on his cards to comfort me. Early this morning I awoke to deal with a bit of strife, and before I laid back down to sleep, I read one of his cards.

Then I saw him in my dreams. We were sitting in the living room at his old house on Coyle. He had his favorite blue mug with gold lettering in his hand, full of steaming black coffee. I sat on his lap. He told me again the story of my birth, how his mother was gravely ill, but fought to live just long enough to see me born into the world. He told me how proud he was that I was named after his daughter. He told me, as he has many times, that he knew even from my infancy that I was born to show the world greatness, that I was a giant.

Then he got sad. He said he could see that I was being knocked off my square, that I was questioning myself, my motives, and my abilities. That in me I was harboring confusion and feelings that is uncharacteristic of me. He said that I was a giant, but I was playing small.

And he was right.

Purpose is one of the most important words in my life. I have chosen to endure so many things because of purpose. My life is meaningful, it has direction, it will have great impact; it has purpose. But lately I've been knocked off my square. I've allowed the doubt of others to make me question myself, my college and career choices and my future. I've allowed the vileness of others to contaminate the serenity in myself. I've allowed others misery to adulterate my happiness. I've lost sight of my purpose.

At the end of my dream, my grandfather sat his mug down, planted me on the floor and stood before me. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a diamond. It was bright, beautiful and captivating. Then he reached in his other pocket and pulled out mud, and covered the diamond in it.

And I awoke, suddenly feeling the need to take a shower, and give my grandfather a call.

Thanks.

Projectile

All the streetlights glowing, happened to be just like moments passing in front of me.

I'm sitting here trying to hold back my vomit.

Let me know..

You hate me?

I hate you, too.

Moments passing in front of me..

I wish I could explain in this blog how I feel about this bullshit right now. But I can't.

Just vomiting..