Commute Ponderings…

(Part 1) 2/22/10

While on the bus today, going home from school, I was struck with an idea. Actually, it was much more of an epiphany than anything. It seems in my life, and in other places around me, there has been a lot of negativity floating around that all stems from very childish and immature things. No one should take offense to this fact or find it very surprising. Most arguments, fights, tantrums, (whatever the case may be) all stem from an immature thought (I believe). Today was different for me. I was finally able to let go of my inner frustrations and grab a hold of the maturity that was alluding my actions for the past couple of months. This maturity starts with the realization and recognition that stupid stuff does not matter. Victory should not be won when your point is proven or made, it should be obtained when you find a way to make things right. When an altercation or disagreement can be solved, and peace can be made (especially between friends), then you have accomplished something so much more difficult and rewarding.

If it is one of the many cases in which peace cannot be made (through the lack of mutual maturity among both persons), then you are still left with a couple of options…

You can bash ’em on Facebook or give the “Stink Palm.” (Look it up…)

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(Part 2) 2/25/10

Yesterday, on the bus, I had a strange moment of realization. The kind of moment that you notice and feel like a dork for noticing (if that at all makes sense). Anyways, it happened at a strange and very coincidental time. This strange occurrence could not have happened on a better day for me (or worse day depending on how it is looked upon). So, by this point I guess you just want to know what it is I realized already. Well…I was sitting on the opposite side of the bus than I normally do.

Every day that I ride the bus, I always sit on the right side. There were two girls, talking, blocking the aisle this time (and I wouldn’t dare enter into that awkward social situation of trying to venture through a dense, liberal-politics conversation). So, naturally, I took the first empty seat I saw, which happened to be on the left hand side of the bus. Am I weird for noticing this? I dunno, but this day was an off day anyways and it just seemed to fit right. I was called mysterious by a complete stranger in one of my classes, my friend and sister came into town for an unexpected visit, and I actually had something to say in my poetry class. Given these occurrences, I believe that I can safely state that sitting on the opposite side of the bus just felt like fate.

Have you ever done something out of the ordinary just to mix it up. Sleep on the opposite side of the bed or take the back way to school? I feel that doing little things like this can help keep life fresh, even if it is minuscule. Even the tiniest change in my daily routine can help keep my brain on it’s toes. I feel as if I am stretching my mind and thoughts in ways that are only accomplished through Gnana Yoga practices.

So sit on the other side of the bus for one day and see how it makes your brain react. If not, just push through the chattering post-structuralists and take the side that you prefer.

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(Part 3) 3/2/10

While today was not very somber, I was feeling as such on my bus ride home. A bitterness filled my mouth and I could not find a logical reason why such would have happened. Perhaps it was the soft realization that my writings and works will probably fall to few eyes within my lifetime. It may have also been the unsuccessful class I had previous which left me ashamed. Shame in my lack of effort and the lack of recognition of what little was there.

Upon such contemplations, a thought crept into my mind that I would soon rather forget. Forgetting does not do well for creativity, I fear. In believing this, I wrestled further with my notion.

No matter what one does within their life, someone in the world will always be excluded in some manner.

Someone who is blind can only experience writing through auditory means. This is unfortunate as they will be given a predetermined voice to the piece. If you were a painter, how could you describe your art to such a person?

A profoundly deaf person could not fully experience a piece of music, outside the vibrations of the beat that are felt. As a musician, you will never be able to portray the message or emotion fully to such people.

I could go on with many more examples, but I believe that my point has been made clear thus far.

A question full of hope percolated into my mind. Just as a gas leak will sustain a person in an infinite torpor, so too did this question fill my psyche until every fissure was desecrated with its convoluted nature.

Is there an art form, however simple, that can possibly be universal?

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