Early Morning Musings

Lately, I've taken to Instagram to share some of the early morning poetry that comes into my head. It's been a really cathartic experience for me. I allow my sleepy mind to settle and flow and whatever comes, comes. It doesn't matter if it's perfect. It only matters that it's my words and emotions.   

Everyone should have a ritual in the morning that helps make their life a bit more beautiful. Sometimes there is so much chaos in the day, it distracts you from the beauty and the gift of simply being alive. There's so many moments that I forget how lucky I am. But these morning musings help me to center myself. I feel a bit more receptive to the beauty in my life and I share it with others. 

I will share some of my favorite early morning poetry pieces here. :@) 

You can also follow me on Instagram by the way. My name is Loloroxxx (check me out!). 

(I felt very romantic today. Perhaps it's because of the blue skies and the soft clouds). 

(There's something about the moon and the night that intrigues me. I love the nighttime). 

(I see a pattern with my early morning poetry. The sky is a beautiful mystery to me. I embrace it). 

I hope you've enjoyed the poems that I've shared here today. I'll be sure to share more in the future! 

The Tears of God

Last night the sky opened up. I was asleep in my bed when I heard the loud rumble that indicates thunder. But it was the bright electric flash of lightning that actually opened my eyes. It burst through the blinds in my bedroom, and through my closed lids and I almos gasped with how sharply I was taken out of sleep. But then I calmed down and still dreary I watched the storm through my window. 

Because of the blinds I could only see the sharp blue flash illuminate pieces of the sky and then recede into darkness. The shadows in my room unfurled, their jagged edges stretching across my walls, climbing along my ceiling and then folding back into the blanket of black. 

When I was a small child I was told that the rain were God's tears. I didn't understand. Why would God be crying so much? With selfish, childlike understanding I thought He was crying for my pain, when I got a scrape or bumped my knee. Then as I got a little older I believed that His tears were not just for me, but for the pain of others, the world. I couldn't help but think, God must be sad a lot, it feels like He cries all the time. 

Now as I lay awake watching, listening, I recall my childhood thoughts. I wondered what I would have thought if I had experienced this storm when I was young. This was more than mere sorrowful raindrops falling to the earth. This felt...angry. As if God were opening up the heavens to scream at us all. Maybe he was angry about the wars, about our descent into the comfort of our ignorance and intolerance. Maybe He would scream at us to look at ourselves, to see that we have divided ourselves based on the flimsiest attributes that make us different, rather than the majority of similarities uniting us all. Maybe this was a warning. 

Or a plea. 

Lightning flashed in quick succession. I watched blue crack through black. I watched the sky brighten for the second before darkening. I thought to myself, eons of darkness crumble with just a flicker of light to shine through it. Thunder rumbled, I could swear I heard a cry beneath it. 

Art as Release.

Lately I've discovered the wonderful feeling of expressing myself through painting. I'm a writer, I've always loved the written word. There's something cathartic about taking a pen to paper or even the rhythmic sound of the keyboard tapping under your fingertips and watching words come to life on the page or screen. I love the books and their ability to weave words and worlds. It's my first love. 

But lately, while writing I've had a desire to try something new to exercise my brain and help my creativity flow. So I took a brush to canvas. And I fell in love. I'm no Picasso by any means. But creating a visual image with the colors available to me gives me a sense of pride that I find to be really powerful. And the act of brushing along the canvas, creating lines and shapes and making something coherent or emotional moving with the direction my brush is gliding on the surface is exhilarating. I look at each piece I've made with great pride. It's a happy experience. I'm gonna share some of the paintings I've made right here with you! 

I did Van Gogh's "Starry Night" for my older sister. She wanted a triptych painting (which is a three part painting) so this is part one. 

And here's part two: my "Starry Night Cityscape". 

And here's part three: my "Starry Tree". 

What do you think? Personally I love them and I'm proud of my creations. I'll definitely be doing more in the future. I feel like they are beautiful pieces of me painted onto canvas. They make me happy. 

A Visit to The Cloisters

So a few weekends ago I was able to take something off of my bucket list that I wanted to do before I turn 30. I visited The Cloisters. Ever since I've heard of the place two years ago I've been obsessed with going there. I'd look it up online. I'd tell friends about it. I wanted to experience this place that houses medieval religious art. It was set up like a kind of monastery and I knew I had to go. 

So finally on a beautiful Sunday afternoon my boyfriend and I took the trip to Washington Heights and visited The Cloisters. We walked a bit through Fort Tryon Park (I will revisit Fort Tryon in detail and talk about it in Project Parks. The place is beautiful) and soon we were on the path to The Cloisters. 

Even though it's part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it's not located anywhere near it, which was a little confusing. However, upon entering the place I could see why. All the artifacts and sections of monasteries needed a place all of it's own. There's a good deal to see here. I'll show a few things that I loved about this place. 

I think some of my favorite parts were looking at the various gardens and outdoor space The Cloisters provided. There's nothing more amazing to me than the feeling I get when I walk through a pathway or architectural structure and it's as if I've stepped into another world. It's like I've fallen through the rabbit hole 

Again...

And again.

Look at this doorway. All the detail and care is just lovely to behold! 

When I saw parts of the building from this angle it reminded me of a castle. 

And then there was the sunlight shining through the windows. So mystical. 

And the stained glass was quite a treat to look at. 

This is another garden area in The Cloisters. For some reason it reminds me of ancient Egypt. 

The Unicorn tapestries were intricate (some were graphic with scenes of the unicorn being attacked) but each tapestry held its own beauty. 

Another outdoor area!

When I saw this dragon paiting I nearly fell over. It's gorgeous! Look at the colors and the serpentine bend of it's tail. 

The Virgin Mary and Jesus. 

This triptych painting took my breath away. The colors were so rich!

My experience here was calming as I surrounded myself with all the artwork and sculptures and beautiful gardens. If you've never been to The Cloisters, please do yourselves a favor and go. 

To Be Carefree

I'm trying to remember what it meant to be carefree. It seems like an act of pure will now to exist in this world and just let things be. I just can't seem to manage it. It's like something that only children can master, the art of enjoying everything in the moment as it is without fear or worry or the burden of what the next day brings. I envy those little beings. They are able to laugh and cry without any shame. They don't care if you're staring at them or judging them. They live. And in that living there is something freeing, because they don't let the things of this world worry them. They are in the moment. This moment. Right now.

My moments consist of memories. Every single act I make reminds me of another time. It's like constant deja vu. For example, reading in the sunshine always transports me back to my childhood where nothing existed except for me and my books. I could remember the smell of them clearly, earthy and deep. The feeling of anticipation as I turned the page back then felt almost haunting as I'd turn the page of my current book in the present. It was as if I've been transported back in time and I was 12 years old again, with nothing but the end of the story stretching along those hot summer days.

Or I'd walk through a neighborhood in Brooklyn where private houses stood on either side of the street like quiet soldiers and I'd remember the many walks home from school. I'd find myself staring at the shadows of the trees on the sidewalk, jumping on the patches of sunlight that the leaves permitted to shine down. For a moment, I was weightless. My life is constant nostalgia, constant parallels. I live in this world and the next, the next being a world of events already gone by, already lived. They appear like mirages in my vision and I succumb to them, aware of how this life mimics the one of long ago. Except for one main thing. I've forgotten what it means to be carefree, to skip in the patches of sunlight that the trees provide or to laugh and be silly without the self consciousness that comes from caring what others think. Always, always I would turn and look around, worried that someone had caught me in a moment of reverie. I've forgotten how to let things be. Even though the memory sits upon my heart pulsing with each action I take, a mirror of a childhood that follows me wherever I go.

Burden for the Sake of Love

Nobody's perfect. It's something that we tell each other over and over again, reminding the people in our lives that to err is to be human. We make mistakes. We falter. We fall. We worry and stress and we struggle. And many of us do this alone. We keep our problems inside, believing that to let them out or to share our feelings will do no good. Or maybe we are afraid of people seeing a part of us that may be less perfect than the persona we put forth. Many of us find it safer to deal with our burdens by ourselves. But in love, what was once solitary is no longer. That includes our feelings. 

Recently I realized that in a relationship, my worries and fears were no longer just my own. It became the problems and worries of the person I was in a relationship with. It bothered me, seeing that my problems spilled over into his. I'm essentially a solitary person. I deal with my worries as I've always had. Alone. And yet here was this other person asking me to let it go, let it out and talk. And when I refused, believing that this was the right way to handle things, I'd see the hurt on his face and know that it wasn't. It wasn't. So I'd talk and cry and feel very exposed and vulnerable. And he would reassure and gently offer solutions or advice. Or he would just listen because that's maybe all I needed at that moment, an ear to soak in the anxiety plaguing me at night. and I would feel a little sadness bloom in my heart because I've just done something I didn't want to do. I've burdened him. 

But let's switch this around. Let's say I was paying him a visit and I noticed that he seemed withdrawn, sad, distant. Maybe he was talking less or when he did respond it would be with impatience in his voice. I'd wonder what was wrong. I'd want to know. I'd ask him and maybe he would say it was nothing but I would know otherwise. So I'd give him a little space. But in truth I'd be waiting for him to talk. I'd want him to let me in and talk to me about what's bothering him. And if he did I would comfort him and reassure him and offer some advice or a solution if I could. I would listen if that was all that was needed, just so he can get these feelings off his chest. I would willingly accept his burden, that emotional weight that he has been carrying with him. And the reason I would is simple. 

I love him. And because I love him I am willing to accept some of the weight of his burden. When I think about it in those terms I realize that the reason we allow the people we care about to vent or to cry on our shoulders is because we love them. And allowing them to let go is a way of showing them that we accept that they are not perfect, that they falter; and we offer our arms, our shoulders, our ears, our hearts in support. This is something we do willingly, not because we are forced (though if you are being forced to be a receptacle for all of those powerful emotions or if venting also coincides with emotional/physical or any other kind of abuse then there is something very damaging happening in that relationship and I would advise you to seek help).

It is like the sculpture of Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. We can see how the weight of the world burdens him and yet he doesn't drop it. The world is beautiful. The world is filled with some much to love. It is worth the weight and the struggle. And so he keeps holding on. 

That is the nature of loving another. You are each other's wings. You keep them from falling. You are the shoulders that carry their weight. And they are yours. Together you find balance and all that may try to bring you down, is lifted up. 

Project Parks-Inwood Hill Park

Yesterday, even though it wasn't the best day weather-wise (spotty showers, damp, humid) I decided to visit Inwood Hill Park with a friend. It's located at the uppermost edge of Manhattan, accessible only by the A train taken to the last stop. Honestly, I've never travelled that far up so it was kind of exciting for me. It was just a new experience in this city I call home. At the last stop I exited the subway station and walked towards the park. A set of stone steps greeted me. And so began my ascent into a part of New York City that I have never been before.

The first thing I noticed was the silence. All the cars, all the sounds of people, all the hustle and bustle of city life...it was as if it could not enter here. The sudden quietude was disorienting. I realized just how quickly it could feel like you're entering a different world, or a different lifetime even. All the buildings, all the modern creations of man had no effect here. This was nature, pure and simple. It's a rare moment indeed when you can be in NYC without FEELING like you're there. I walked on.

I noticed this carving on a tree. It was a cute little surprise to stumble upon while walking down the path. I couldn't help taking a picture. Lol.

I realized why they called it Inwood Hill Park. The climbing could get a little steep. I was definitely getting a good workout as well as beautiful views. All I could see was green and I loved it. Here spring was in full bloom. I could hear birds chirping high up in the trees and each path I decided to take (there were moments where the paths forked) led me deeper and deeper into the park. I was glad that I brought along a friend. Yet even though we had each other for company, nature demanded our attention. We gave it willingly. 

The general quiet, serene nature of the park allowed my mind to wander. The famous poem by Robert Frost popped into my head and I found myself reciting part of the poem "The Road Not Taken".

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth...

It's beautiful to me how a walk through the woods can inspire poetry. The merging of thought and nature is art, simple and organic and powerful.

Eventually the path I chose led me to a clearing where I saw a bright green meadow and a body of water I think may have been the Hudson River. There was also this sign with interesting information about Inwood Hill Park. The park consists of a forest, a salt marsh, meadow and many flora and fauna including the Bald Eagle. I was hoping that I would get a glimpse of the majestic bird so that I could take a picture of it. For bird watchers, this would be the perfect place to be since there are a reported 150 species of birds that have been spotted here. For those interested in Geology, there are various kinds of bedrock in this park including marble. For the history fans out there, Inwood was once home to a Native American village. And for the general nature lovers, this area provides a beautiful place to hike and enjoy the beauty that is Mother Earth. 

Here you could see a picture of the Hudson River and some ducks relaxing by the waterside.  I walked along the pathway by the water, enjoying the peacefulness of the day and the fact that the area  was crowd free. It's hard to find a serene spot in the city that isn't packed full of people. I had plenty of room to roam. I savored it. 

My friend allowed me to take a photo of him enjoying a moment of peace in this frequently hectic city. Thank you so much Cliff!

Every now and again I'd come across a runner or just a person looking to do the same thing I was doing, enjoying the outdoors without the congestion. This little fellow happened to be straggling behind his owner who had walked farther up ahead. She was following behind me for a while and when I turned to take this picture, she politely stopped and allowed me to do so. 

I thought somehow the bedrock on that side of the water would spell something out for me but alas, only a solitary "c" could be seen. I wonder what it stood for. The only words my friend and I could come up with happened to be food related lol.

I am obsessed with the concept of a few things. One of those things are  pathways (doors, tunnels, corridors, hallways) and the other is the juxtaposition of nature and industrial. There's something so compelling about seeing the massive structure of a manmade steel bridge and then the delicate curve of leaves on the trees and the sharp tips of branches brushing up against it. The bright splash of green coinciding next to the cold grey shows two worlds forced to coexist. I love looking at the two together, it makes me feel as if we can all exist on the same plane no matter how vastly different we are.

More paths showed me the way. At this point the wind had started to pick up. The leaves rustled gently. The feeling was...otherworldly. Once again there was no one around. I could see the water through the break in the trees. I saw part of a railroad track and thought about about the duality of man and nature, how we exist beside each other, holding our own power. But the power of nature is ancient, and mankind is still young compared to even the youngest forest. We are spring blooms while nature has already seen many winters. I looked at the trees to either side of me and thought of what they must of have seen, a world ever-changing, ever expanding, pushing their boundaries back further as we humans expand and evolve and desire more. There was a wildness to the green around me that I found captivating. No matter what, we couldn't control this. Nature is untamable.

My friend Cliff once again played a good sport and allowed me to take a photo of him.

I'm not really good with the names of flowers but I saw some pretty little ones while walking and decided to snap a photo. 

I had walked for over an hour, time moved way too fast when you are unaware of it. I knew that that though there was plenty more to see I had to save that for another time. While enjoying the last length of this walk, I saw the train tracks and once again couldn't resist taking a photo. Man and nature. There's something beautiful to me in the contrast. I guess because I exist in the world of man but will always appreciate nature. This walk through the park showed me that. I loved the feeling of setting foot in another world but at the end of the day, I live among the cars and the computers and the pulse of a society growing day by day, become more advanced and maybe tragically, more removed from nature. It's important to put down the phones and the tablets and come back to where the trees grow. Center ourselves. Appreciate that there is more to the world than skyscrapers and technology, there's nature in abundance, waiting for us to acknowledge it and remember its beauty. That's something I must always keep in mind.