Archive for the ‘Faith’ Category

Quality vs. Intensity   Leave a comment

I have not written here in a long time. Quality thoughts have been lacking. Intense emotion has not. Manic episodes, depressive states, homicidal reactions, suicidal ideation, mental clutter; I’ve been a mess. But I miss you, my quiet little blog. And I want to come home.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

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Sweet Things   Leave a comment

Dear friends,

I love you all. First and foremost, let me just say that because I, by now you know, don’t wait for “special occasions” like Thanksgiving to say sweet things or show my emotions. I have been bitten once too often by the misfortune of time to know that we don’t often get to reach the anniversary of milestones before the definition of our existence is qualified by the manifest of our character. By that I simply mean, it is not the memories of those gathered around a table on holidays that make me filled with love and gratitude, but instead all of those times past when minutes slipped by silent and unknowing and one of you or another had helped me justify my reality that lends to me now this feeling of such full honor and reward. As I prepare for a quiet celebration this Thursday, just a small meal that I will prepare myself for the two of us and then in the evening meeting up with my dearest friend for some not-so-casual conversation, I am thinking of everyone living up to their traditions who are surrounded by families and friends and busy with the coming of Christmas. I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore because I live its message all year round and no longer believe in its foundational origination. The same as I gave up faith for knowledge and prayer for learning, I have given up telling stories for sincere communication and dwelling on the past for weaving my timeline so that I can constantly be present while ever moving forward, slow and with purpose. I come to you now, humble and with a sincere heart, offering you with all the hope, honesty and innocent commitment I can muster, my love and friendship and my constant effort to be a quiet place where your weary heart may find comfort, your tired soul may find peace and your restless mind may find refuge. As you have all done for me, from time to time, whether you know it or not, I extend to give you now and always. I love you, my friends. Thank you for bringing me to this place of self love and acceptance. I could never have found me without you.

Enjoy your holiday,
Jen

Something Transitional   Leave a comment

 

My head is really cloudy and I’m not sure where I’m going to wind up.  I’ve spoken with a good friend and I’ve explained a little bit to my girlfriend, but I don’t think I’ve said nearly enough to anyone.  The main reason is because I don’t believe I have much of a clue as to what is going on with me.

There is quite possibly a chance that I am actually doing really well and about to bust out with something amazing; some remarkable period of growth and enlightenment.  Or that could just be the budding development of a manic episode about to take me down a very dark road.  I don’t know.  I guess we will just have to watch and see.

What I am aiming to report here is this:  I know that I have been holding on to this, this life and this concept of existence for far too long.  So whether it is death in a final sense or death as a means of rebirth and growth or something transitional or what have you, something needs to change.  I am not depressed and hoping to leave, but I am not going to lie about my eagerness, my desperate need to move on from this state of being.  If I can’t find a way to make something happen then I will have little choice, so I am going to try with all my heart, all of my creativity, all my tattered faith, all of my hope, all of my childlike wonder, all of my love, all my sense of responsibility, all of my lust for joy and thirst for knowledge and anything and everything that can propel me and move me further and beyond to make something of this life.  I am not trying for success or fortune or fame, but for some sense of purpose.  Art and integrity and a personal value that is currently lacking, I need to believe in myself again.

Right now, with all of the pretty faces that shine on me with such love and devotion, while they find me and bring me warmth it is like the sun baring down on a dead body.  I need to be jolted with the spirit of life again.

To continue like this is exactly the same thing as being dead.  And I will not allow myself to lumber around the planet, a giant and wasteful, draining the joy out of those that love me, corpse that can furnish no purpose and offer no further hope.

So while I hope this letter is the end of this despair and the beginning of me kick starting my way back or some fresh start, if nothing changes then take it as the beginning of a goodbye that will not drag on and on.  I don’t have time to waste.  I’m tired of wasting.

I still love.  And that’s why I know it’s about time I start this process.

Jen Czahur

Good Vibes   1 comment

I have written things that were honest and necessary.  I wrote them because they were forcing themselves out of my ratty fingertips and I was afraid that if I didn’t they would find some other means of escape.  Perhaps something even more ugly than tampering with your ideas.  It’s true, I have suffered and I have failed at managing my pain.  I have failed so tragically.

I write to placate my demons.  And sometimes, my demons use my very words to torture me further still.

But I am hoping to turn a fresh page and to start sharing what is good and what is kind and gentle and handing from my mind to yours what is beautiful and treasured.  Please, bear with me.  I am not a pro at being whimsical and all together happy.  I get bogged down often and writing is still my go to coping skill.

And sharing my writing is the only way I know of finding any true sense of validation.  So perhaps, I will still come here and plant demon seeds.  I am sorry, but I know no other way.

Maybe you can teach me.  Or maybe I can start to journey again around this world and meet and marvel and dream with my eyes open and take in what it is to be alive.

I think I just planted my first seeds of joy.

Good vibes.  I will water and tend these, my lovely things.

Walk with me.

 

Wildflowers   Leave a comment

wildflowers1

Wildflowers grow up in all sorts of random locations.  I suppose, all flowers that grow in nature are wild while the ones that grow in greenhouses, gardens and in pots along side windows and such are more like toddlers cared for by mothers in the suburbs.  They are still beautiful and full of possibilities, but they are less a ramshackle work of art then a landscaped carving of design.  They stand out only in that they modify what was predetermined and they foster little in the way of creativity or style.

Wildflowers come in all colors and they extend to all heights and varieties.  Upon further examination, someone with a particular knowledge of such things can tell you that this bud or that stem belongs to a certain weed or perhaps a variation of blossom that is common only to a specific season or climate or what have you.  While someone such as myself with little to no expertise on the subject will merely witness these charming blooms as the lively shoots of earth that break from the soil and reach for the mighty sun.  It’s poetic and inspiring and I don’t really need much more information about them then to know that they each, the short, the tall, the brilliant and the subtle stretch out in their own way for the benefit of the daylight.

It doesn’t occur to me to judge them by their colors or the heartiness of the leaves that brush against the ground or the way that some seem pleasant fodder for the ever present bumble bees.  I do not care to separate them based on how numerous some lay in the field while others are more rare and alone hiding perhaps on the shaded side of a large rock coupled with some bold mushroom or patch of grass.  They do not press me for status.  They simply do their best to soak up their share of the earth and water and take in their fill of the sun and leave me to do my walking or thinking or singing and we seem quite confident in one another’s ability to be exactly who we are without changing one another and that suits me in away that I don’t often find with those hothouse flowers.  Or those potted plants always begging me to trim back leaves or move them from shade to sun or back again.

No, wildflowers seem to understand me better even though they have never set root in my “neck of the woods” and I marvel at their capacity to learn my needs without so much as a word of lesson, a bark of threat, a grovel of bargain.  And this sets me to wonder just why I’ve taken so much time with these silly house plants and garden flowers who need constant reassurance and hour upon hour of pruning and watering and reference book after reference book of study merely to keep them alive let alone to bloom and flourish like my dear wildflower friends who just seem to always know just what to do all on their own without so much as a water bucket or stick of processed food from me.

Everywhere we roam in this world there are wildflowers.  They grow because they grow.  We don’t have to tend to them we simply need to respect their right to be there.  And it serves us an invaluable lesson to be ever mindful that while we journey around in our travels, we too are wildflowers in the eyes of all those who encounters us.  Our roots are not always visible; our histories are not commonly known.  Who we are is simply what is immediately shown.  When someone else stumbles upon you during their journey, you have a choice.  You can be a vibrant flower that offers a unique, positive and triumphant take on your place in the world or you can be shabby weed that comes across as needing to be pulled.  But whatever you choose, however you present yourself, you are a wildflower.

As someone who spends a good portion of my time writing, I fuel my passion by meeting new people.  It’s the new people in my life that are the greatest source of my ideas and without these wildflowers I would’ve grown tired along time ago.  My friends and family are more the garden that I tend.  They require my attention, I have to water them, provide them shade and sun and make sure that they get trimmed and fed.  It’s a give and take relationship that can take a lot out of me and hopefully provides a great deal in return.  But magic doesn’t happen often in such stable, routine relationships.  It can, but not in the vast proportions that a creative type comes to expect and depend upon.

That’s why I wander.  That’s why I come to you, my wildflowers.  I talk to strangers.  I make friends with people for a blissful 10 minute conversation perhaps never to speak to them again, but for those 10 minutes I am completely invested in them.  I love with all my heart and I truly listen and care.  My church is made of the streets of each and every town I have ever walked or driven in and it will continue to grow as I drift through my life until my final steps are taken.  And all along my journey, gathered up on either side, my beautiful wildflowers will blanket my path and usher me from here to there and I will know that I am loved as I have loved because I allowed you to be you as you have enjoyed me being me.

And for that, my dear friends, I am not only grateful.  I feel I have finally reached the sun.

Jen Czahur

Work to Do   Leave a comment

 

I’m trying to turn things around.  It’s true that most of what needs to change is in the fluttering chaos of my head, but there is more than enough actual, physical bullshit in the real world that needs a good ass kicking as well.  Where I live is a horrid situation and I was sold a lie as to a possible change.  I really sank my teeth into the idea that my girl and I would be able to escape here and have a normal existence and it helped get me thinking clearly for about a week or so.  But it didn’t pan out and now I’m back into a hopelessness that shoves itself down around me like a heavy, wet, wool blanket.  I am having a problem even breathing at this point.  But what I have taken away from that short time of being excited is the notion that life can get better and that I do have it in me to be filled up on possibility.  So I am trying to maintain a certain level of activity and clarity, fighting off the depression and anger that is embedding itself in my head with the passing days as the realization sets in that if I don’t work this situation nothing good is going to just happen for me.  I don’t get good things handed to me like some people do.  I will have to struggle, but I am going to be able to attain things.  I am not cursed.  I am not being punished, karma is not out to get me.  I just need to make a plan, think things through and do the work.  I can make a better life for me and for my girl.  I know I can.  Now I just need to do it.  Watch me.

Storytellers   Leave a comment

 

 

I grew up hearing people say to my mother that she should write a book.  It’s true, to hear her tell her life out in story form made her sound like some sort of wild and crazy character who had not only herself been interesting, but had also been invested and involved with other such colorful people and plots.  But as I’ve gotten older and I’ve met my fair share of people and as I myself have had many experiences, I realize that nearly everyone should write a book if all that matters is the story involved.  We all have something interesting to say.  What makes it worth telling isn’t the story, it’s the storyteller.

It’s a rare breed of animal that can captivate you with a tale.  Someone who makes you want to sit, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with wonder, ears pricked in awe and heart pounding with suspense.  It’s not the story; it’s the person telling the story.  Think about it.  Think about how many times someone has told you about something as simple as a trip to the store and it was a revelation.  We need to cherish our storytellers.  We need to prop them up and ask them, beg them if necessary, to tell us their tales because they are the essence of what it means to be human.

But my guess is it won’t take much to get them to start talking.  After all, a true storyteller is always merely awaiting her audience.

Seek these people out.  Live and learn and pass along the passion of this amazing art.

Jen Czahur

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