Feelings have no literal translation. Not even with body language. Or music. They’re private. Tossed and lost in the middle of the ocean like pirates’ treasure. Like Atlantis. It kills all of us to know that no one will ever know exactly how we feel. They call that loneliness. The only feeling without need for translation.
“You guys want to stay here and watch Transformers,” my dad said. “Or do you want to go on a ride?”
My older brother voted to stay at the department store to finish the episode on a big screen color TV.
I voted for the ride.
“Well, you guys have to figure this out,” my dad said.
I turned to my brother, “I want to go on a ride.”
“I want to watch Transformers,” my brother said.
“I want to go for a ride!”
“I never saw this on a big TV.”
“What’s the ride?” I said to my dad.
“Well, you’re not going to see until you get on?”
“I want to go on a ride,” I said to my brother.
“I don’t want to go,” he said.
“But you’ve seen this one,” my dad said.
“Yeah, we saw it!” I said.
“I want to go!”
I want to gooooooooo!
He looked over, “No.”
I turned to my dad: “I want to go for a ride.”
“Well,” he said. “Since you guys can’t decide, you can watch this at home.”
“But it’s gonna be over then,” my brother said.
“It’ll come on again.”
We went on the ride. It was a five-story, downward spiral car ramp. The one we were always going to ride if we wanted to leave the parking lot.
Hour of the Muse. A video poem that I wrote, directed and performed in.
A video poem written and directed by Marc Alexander Valle ©2018
A video poem that I wrote, edited and performed in. All photos from pixabay.com
A video that I wrote, edited and performed. All photos from pixabay.com First published in The Drabble (https://thedrabble.wordpress.com/)
(The real names of the people below have been changed.)
For the first time, I leaned in during our dedication of merit, the part of the meditation session where we dedicate our sit to someone or something.
“I’d like to dedicate the merits of my practice to those who have shown me kindness and compassion. We often forget that in a jungle of hurtful people, there are those who still help.”
I didn’t say it exactly like that. I never speak as clearly as I write, but I finally spoke out because I meant what I said.
Most of my life, I’ve focused on negative people. I’ve often referred to them as “my enemies”. I thought that if these people were not in the picture, I would feel respected and understood.
My Buddhist reverend stresses the importance of compassion, reinforces it through repetition. It took years of going to practice for it to finally seep in. People have been compassionate to me, and I only wanted more from everyone.
Pam was the only person who talked to me in high school without me having to open up first.
Albert helped me when I was trying to make a movie. I wanted to be known as a young man.
Donna invited me to a party at age 23 when I hadn’t been invited to one in years.
Tanya set me up on a date when I couldn’t even get a hello from a woman.
Gabriel helped me be more confident about myself when I did get more dates.
Professor Dan sat me down and helped me set up this blog.
Ellen is my friend today and is always on the lookout for potential career contacts.
Mom and Dad did so much that they cannot be thanked enough.
I can’t owe it all to mediation. Meditation was the tool. I chose meditation because there was something in it, something I needed to sharpen my awareness and love of myself. I helped Marc first. Then, the door of perception opened and allowed me to see the things I needed see at the pace that I could bear.
I don’t know how I made the choice to help myself. Somethings will always remain a mystery.