Archive for the ‘Storytellers’ 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.

Covenant   Leave a comment

Not everything that breaks the skin
Is an affront to my senses
Some things are just more worth waiting for
While others are better left alone

From the jump
I lost my footing
And found myself spinning
Out of control and going under
There is always a rhythm
That escapes my knowing
And I flail as I fail

But I get up
And I try, try again

You’re like my “watched pot”
That I can’t seem to ever catch boiling
I feel like no matter how I trick time
It’s me that gets covered in
Lost anthems of relationships
And wasted moments of inner conflicts

Night terrors and static and the reincarnation of everything
I thought I laid to rest
Here again
Pressing me up hard against the glass
To be examined by the doctors of my failures
And the professors of my testaments
Battle weary Argonauts
And the wreckage left of sunken ships

Everything repeats
Only now I’m tired
And I’m less inclined to seek the Holy Grail
Now seeking out a new covenant

This is my gospel
According to me

Jen

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

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

This Jen   Leave a comment

 

It’s all in the way you look at it.  People can shape shift and in that they can also make you believe some twisted shit.  I can become just about anything I can imagine and in that I can really take every little thing and make it out to be some radical conceptualization.  I have been dealing with some deeply frustrating feelings lately that make me angry, on the verge of violent really.  But I have not lost control.  And now that I have been tagged as a possible threat, I have decided to go back inside, deep inside.

I’m not sure if this is self-preservation or some sort of abuse, but it is what my natural default setting has always been and remains.  So I will be handed off to better suited professionals.  But I will also become a better client.  I will be calm, controlled and deliberate.  Will this serve me better?  Hell no.  But if you really wanted to help me, you would’ve just kept talking to me instead of passing me off to someone else like I begged you to.

You can’t say I didn’t ask.  You can’t say I didn’t beg, cry, explain.  You can’t say you didn’t know.  And as long as you admit that, I’m fine with letting the many pieces fall where they may.

So say hello to this Jen.  This Jen, the one so many have met before; the one who will make you laugh, who will charm you and who will not appear to need your help because, and here’s the secret, she’s realized you have none to offer her.

This Jen is pleased to meet you.  Now, tell me, what can I do for you today?

Make Good Decisions   Leave a comment

I just posted a poem about being alone and how time is the only thing that will be there for me in the end.  I just wrote it, but I don’t believe it.  I know better.  I get overwhelmed so easily.  I am depressed and anxious and on the verge of losing my mind, so it’s not hard for me to feel and expect the worst in life.  Just last night I was sure that I had lost my dearest friend for no reason.  Seriously, no reason whatsoever, she was simply at work and couldn’t return a call for a few hours and I bugged the fuck out thinking she must hate me and never wanted to talk to me again.  Of course, as soon as she as able she spent an hour talking me down off the ledge reassuring me and making me realize that I am one of the most blessed, lucky and sincerely loved people in the world.  I not only have her love and loyal friendship, but that of several other people and I need to remember that.  (She pretty much threatened me that I need to remember that in her not so subtle, yet utterly adorable manner).  And that’s what I’m planning on doing because when I get the way I was last night I find myself begging the non commutative spirit of my dead mother for permission to take my own life and that’s just downright not allowed.  I can’t let myself get to that point.  There are way too many reasons to live.  There are way too many beautiful, precious and wonderful people in my life that would miss me, who would question their part and their place and who might feel not only sadness, but guilt and anger and I don’t need to bring more of those negative emotions into the world.  Enough of them have been given to me; I don’t need to give them to those I love.  And I won’t.  It’s a long road ahead.  I will learn to say that last sentence with a smile on my face and celebrate it and not as though it is a punishment.

Make good decisions.

%d bloggers like this: