OODA

My sister told me about something a while ago and I do my best to keep it in mind. It's a way to look at how we act in the world, called an OODA Loop. The acronym stands for Observe, Orient, Decide, and Act. Apparently fighter pilots use this when they're in aerial combat, but I think it can be applicable in my land locked world as well. 

Unfortunately, I somehow skip a step or two in my loops. I forget to observe, or I don't make a fully formed decision. Maybe if I just stop myself sometimes, and start the OODA process anew, I can reign in the horses of my impulsivity before they bring me to the edge of yet another cliff. 

A hike

I saw rocks today, scoured clean by the wind and walks, cut by rivers and rafts. I sped up time while clamoring; years became seconds as my body soaked in sunlight and exhaled sweat. My life- eighty, ninety heartbeats. The stone in its wisdom stayed silent and unresponsive to my efforts. But it grew in front of me, rising up only to fall; breaking, compressing while I flashed past. 

Glaciers breathe in such a way, slowly through time. They inhale water and cold; they exhale rock and oxygen. When their breath goes out the world rebounds, brushing off the weight of the ice like my skin rebounding from shoes tied too tight. Would that I could brush my fears off so readily, but they grow and erode like the rocks that jutted out in front of me. 

I just need to breathe, and in the time it takes for the glacier to draw in its next breath, I'll be a memory. All harms forgiven, all fears forgotten, and all paths traveled. 

Caffeine

My hands are shaking; it's not natural; it doesn't fit in with the motion of the earth. My body has become buildings in New York City- when earthquakes hit dissonance tears the buildings apart. It's a signal that the artificial constructs we surround ourselves with don't, can't resonate. 

I want to be one with my surroundings, an impossible task at best. I have to fuel my body in multiple ways- and in every way I ultimately poison myself. The air I suck, smoke. The food I eat, fat. Caffeine in what I imbibe. 

And I wonder why my body tilts on its axis like the earth, creating seasons I can't possibly weather. 

Broke

It wasn't a breakup, but it had the same feel. All of a sudden people were more feral; They cycloned around me but they weren't going to restore color into the world. I had to do that on my own. Slowly I picked the yellows and blues and reds throughout the graphite, making the world real again. I know how to do it now. I can do it again.

Breaks can traumatize; the only thing I've ever broken on my body was my foot. I'm not sure if my bones are stronger than normal or if I'm just more careful about being hurt; my guess is the latter. I've always had a good sense on when to stop exerting myself physically. I can't claim the same when it comes to mental and emotional exertion. I shove my soul out for people to do with as they will- and it's been the nature of people to snap it like they are dancing across rotting ice.

So I take a break from people, occasionally. I need time to heal, for my emotions to knit back together. When they knit with jagged edges the circuits cross; I start confusing one emotion for another. Love and fear become synonymous. Happiness and anger. My experiences from the past cross over into the present, and I confuse the two, mixing them into an unpleasant future. Fears can run thick in those futures that I create, running through them like a vein of arsenic in a chocolate cake. 

Lately I've been divorcing myself from the future, letting things run in the present like a motion picture.  I'm tired of splicing single frames of hope in what I typically assume will be an endless show of disaster following failure. Right now the picture is paused while I find out how to change the film. And when it starts again, I'll bring my colored pencils with me so I can show you how I colored the world just like the land of Oz.

New Drugs of Choice

I get high on people. It's my only recourse now that I have no other alternative. It's a form of using, but it's reciprocal; people use me similarly. I can tell when they are because when I look into their eyes, I see a definite dilation of the pupils, and I know their mind is flowing more easily. They talk at greater ease and speed than they normally would. I get lost in the rush that follows that realization. I become a surfer riding the wave of their words, but knowledge of the ensuing crash takes me out of it. I get self conscious and my words become harsh without my intentions. This ultimately stops the conversation.

I wish I could just flow like the ink from a pen.

Wonderland.

I'm having a difficult time relating with people today. These days happen and every time they do I look for the nearest hole in the ground to crawl in. I hope that when I do there's going to be a world where nothing makes sense; Alice's Wonderland seems ideal. In that way the chaos going on in my head matches up with the world surrounding me. There has to be a way to stop feeling when I don't want to. I know it. 

When you return...

I still think about you. Not every day, and not for long periods of time. But you cross my mind like the lash of a foil. The words that were said don't seem to matter as much now; they were wrapped in bands of copper wire and took a charge as they spun off our tongues out of control. Nothing seems as intractable, yet eminently reparable as the past- nor as frighteningly out of control as the future. They hover on both sides at times like a pair of heavy fisted sentinels ready to pound me back into the present if I attempt to rush either way.

Right now, I'll live for right now, and let us take care of ourselves. We will meet again, when our thoughts align.