Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Xanax & The Art of Love-Making

I have a few thoughts as I sit here at Starbucks on a Wednesday evening, quite a beautiful evening actually.

First of all, I'd like to express my undying devotion to the makers of Xanax, for you are the reason I am having that "soooo relaxed feeling" even though I'm drinking the bold blend o' the day here at Starbucks. Tonight promises more of the same as I sink into my comfy blue couch and watch some Julia, some Aslan, and perhaps some Steve Carrell. Hells ya. It's been a shitty day, so here's to you, Xanax - I may just name my firstborn after you (it it's a girl I'll name her Xena instead, because who doesn't love a warrior princess?)

On to the thrust of this blog (I like the word thrust).

Isn't it easy to live our lives from the outside in? I think we all have done it at one time or another in our lives; perhaps just in our childhoold or teenage years, and perhaps we do it still. We become like chameleons, changing who we are depending on what situation we are faced with. If someone expects us to be happy and "all together" then we put on the fake smiley face and laugh at their unfunny jokes. If we are "into" someone romantically, we can put on a completely different face, one we think he or she will love, and then when they don't, we get pissed off or devastated, or both. Or maybe we're very unhappy and we think that our lives haven't amounted to much thus far, so we try a whole other persona on for size hoping to find a place in society. But inside we're near-dead.

I think we need to live from the inside out instead. We need to unearth that inner goodness and beauty that lives within each and every one of us. Perhaps we saw this inner beauty years ago in our lives, before we experienced trauma or disappointment or failed relationships. But my friends, it is still there. And I think it is only by getting back in touch with it, and the dreams and desires that come with it, that we can healthily move forward in our lives. How do we do this? Some people may be able to do it by some personal journal work or spending quiet time alone. But then there are scores and scores of people like myself who need good quality time with a therapist, someone who's job it is to sift through all your shit and suggest ways to bringing out your innate beauty and goodness.

It is as we connect and unearth our own goodness and strength that we will finally avoid the exhaustion of changing ourselves depending on every situation. We don't have to be bitchy, but essentially we can say "Screw it, I don't care what you think or are telling me to be like. I love myself and the way that I am, and too bad if you can't accept that."

Each of us has so many gifts and possibilities within us, we just need to tap into them. Sometimes I'm a sinner, sometimes I'm a saint. Sometimes I'm hopeful, sometimes I'm horny. Or in the words of the immortal Meredith Bainbridge, "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother." Hahaha, classic.

Hopefully we can find ourselves and figure out who we are. Then we can love ourselves, live from the inside out, and find people who can love us for exactly who we are.

Peace Yo,

Mark Andrew

....and oh ya, this had nothing to do with love-making. :)


Anonymous said...

Classic indeed! :)

*Insert Xena call*



Mark Andrew said...

I always knew you had a kick-ass warrior in you, Alex! :) I'll propose to the board Thursday that we have a Xena marathon in the church.

Ramesh said...

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Jay Moore said...

The Pilgrim: Chapter 33

Kris Kristoffersen

"See hin wasted on the sidewalk,
In his jacket and his jeans,
Wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile.
Once he had a future full of money, love and dreams,
Which he spent like they was going out of style.
And he keeps right on a-changing,
For the better or the worse,
And searching for shrine he's never found,
Never knowing if believing is a blessing or a curse,
Or if the going up is worth the coming down.

He's a poet, he's a picker,
He's a prophet, he's a pusher,
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and
A problem when he's stoned.
He's a walking contradiction,
Partly truth and partly fiction,
Taking every wron direction On his lonely way back home.

He has tasted good and evil,
In your bedrooms and your bars,
And traded in tomorrow for today,
Running from his devils, lord,
And reaching for the stars,
And losing all he loves along the way.
But if this world keeps on turning,
For the better or the worse,
All he ever gets is older and around,
From the rocking of the cradle,
To the rolling of the hearse,
The going up was worth the coming down.

He's a poet, he's a picker,
He's a prophet, he's a pusher,
He's a pilgrim and a preacher and
A problem whe he's stoned.
He's a walking contradiction,
Partly truth and partly fiction,
Taking every wrong direction on that lonely way back home,
And there's lots of wrong directions on that lonely way back home.