religion

The other night, I was engaged in a conversation with a bunch of theology majors from different colleges. Two of them were atheists of the most scientific kind, and the third was a devout christian, with a firm belief in something beyond what is proven.

I really don’t know much about any religion other than Catholicism, and I always used to have this fear of atheism because I believed it was terrifying to live my life with the idea that once it was over it was finished for good. That when I died, I would lay in the ground with my eyes closed, feeling more still than the wind on the day of a funeral. I was afraid to admit that one day I would no longer have the control of my limbs, I was afraid to admit that I would decompose and become the earth in a way that was more concrete and scientific instead of abstract and beautiful.

But the way that one person in the conversation put it was enough to question my thoughts.

“For me,” he said “for me, atheism means to live this life to the fullest. I think that religion causes people to spend too much time imagining what happens next, and they therefore get too caught up in acting a certain way, and they do not live up to their fullest potential. So I think it is better to live my life in this stage, without any idea about what could be beyond it.”

What a way to think! Really, it isn’t at all what I imagined atheism to be. Living this life to the fullest, with no ideas about the rich or empty possibilities of the great beyond.

But I do not think I can live my life this way. It’s a monumental idea to me, and I absolutely want to live life in the fullest way possible, and I firmly wish to do so in a way which only I believe is the best. I refuse to get caught up in the strains of acting a certain way for my religion.

But I don’t think I can let go of the idea of the great beyond. The truth is, I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know how many gods look down on me, I don’t know what kind of image I’m made in, I don’t know anything about why nature acts the way it does. I don’t know if I can believe in anything specific, in a vengeful God, in a bunch of humanistic creatures that somehow have risen to enough power to keep me enthralled and obedient.

All i know is that every day the sun sinks to a certain level in the sky, and it bathes the buildings and the trees in a very specific shade of orange that makes my eyes feel so green they just might sink right into the grass. And even though this happens every single day of the year, I only look out the window on certain days. And all I know is that sometimes I can pick a leaf out of a tree  and stare at it for the longest time, trying to pick apart the pieces with my mind, to distinguish the difference between what flows through its veins and my own. And sometimes I cry like the rain. And sometimes i eat an ice cream cone in the summertime, and it hurts because the ice cream is cold on my teeth. But not always. Sometimes I hear a song that reminds me of my dad, and I smile at what he will say when I tell him. And it takes every bit of strength I have to remember that I can’t tell him, that when I am finally able to tell him things again, I might not remember to tell him about this song. Sometimes memories are more beautiful than painful. Sometimes it makes me smile to remember what it feels like to hold someone’s hand. But what really hurts is when I have to label the thought, when I have to put it back into my memory.

Sometimes I poison my body and sometimes i poison my mind. And I know it is all part of the game, but sometimes I just can’t believe that all the things to have faith in can be explained. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and watch elephants cross the African savannah, and when I open them, I have this brief feeling of happiness and solitude because I know that someday I won’t have to close my eyes anymore.

I want to feel warmth from a church. or a synagogue, or any place of worship, really I do. But I don’t think that will ever be me. I want to find peace in the grass and in the clouds and in the leaves of the trees, because somehow I know when I look around and see that there are a million other things that breathe, somehow I already feel in the blood rushing to my ears

that

there is something out there and I want to spend my entire life

in this go around

I want to spend my entire life

trying to find it.

This morning I found myself
in a meadow which was
undisturbed by anything around it,
and I discovered that somehow I was
everything in it
I was what made the meadow move.

I was the grass,
and I was the tree bark,
and I was the wispy white clouds
that floated as if they had never touched
the ground before
and had never wanted to.

I think it's because the world is one big
rotation. Meaning that the world
is one big circulation of blood flow
and the spirit which puts these words
onto the paper is always continuously taken
and given back to something new.

Sometimes when someone gets a heart transplant
the body rejects the new organ and there is nothing
to do except accept because there isn't anything you can
do about it.
that's how I feel about my spirit because I know
that when I am older
and have lived my life long enough to realize
that big ideas are only big until the
world looms big enough to take them
my spirit will flow away like
the breeze that rushes between my fingertips.
and it will pool like the rainbow of oil in a puddle of water
in something which has not yet had a chance
and I will lose a little each time
each time I move on.

one day I will be the trees
and one day I will be the grass
and the breeze will rustle through my veins
like it was made to be only there
and though I will have experienced what it feels like
to have someone kiss me on my human shoulders
I will only remember what it feels like
to have the sunshine kiss my
leaves, like it was made
to be there.

Addict

Sometimes I don’t

feel like I am myself

unless I take something to

the extreme.

The other night I

sat on my bed and

used my fingertips to

search for

drug addiction.

Heroin and crystal meth.

I was so interested,

I was addicted

to the knowledge,

I learned that in order to

become addicted to heroin

you have to see life in a way

that most people don’t

I learned that in order to

become addicted to crystal meth

you have to breathe life in a way

that most people don’t

and I learned that in order to

throw your life to the wolves

that will help you escape reality

you have to let

the needle or

the pipe

or the

a n y t h i n g

kiss your body with tenderness

just one time.

When you are addicted

to heroin

it’s funny because

you can stare at your shoe for

eight hours

and you can let your body

slowly fold itself in half

mimicking the action

a normal person would do with

agony

and it is nothing because

you feel like you have just

sunk into a warm bath.

and stars with smiles that warm you

are swimming through your

veins and they

stroke your blood stream

with a tenderness that is

the agony of folding yourself in half

when it leaves you.

When you are addicted

to crystal meth

it’s funny because

your laughter can become

your tears more quickly than

it takes you to blink

when you’re laughing so hard

you cry.

it’s a poison,

a real-life poison that is made

through human hands by

mixing already poisonous

things together until they

turn into lips that

speak of the

kiss of death.

I watched a documentary

that showed a woman

who needed so badly

to escape from her reality

she was not afraid

to jeopardize her

return to it.

She was such a

beautiful disaster,

walking around with

half a mind to put on

her shoes

and the other half to

take them off again.

She twitched like a

sick mental patient

and she was not afraid to

scratch her fingers until they

were bleeding

crying with red to

signify a stop

sign.

I’m still on my antibiotics

she said

gripping the air with a

tightness I have only seen from

people who are

about to turn

into stone.

I know I will never do heroin

or meth

or even want to be somewhere

where I am around it.

But I just,

i JUST

want to take that woman’s

hands and

hold them as tightly as

I know she would

hold mine

and I want to scream

in her ears

that I will never do

meth because I will

never be as weak

as weak as she must be.

But it’s just

it’s JUST that

I am not less weak than

she is and

oh my god it’s just

those wolves

that scare me.

addiction (3 variations)

The only way to become addicted
is to put the needle in your own arm
and the only way to keep the addiction
is to let the needle come back. 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because instead of floating on my back with the clouds
I was an inch above my body
watching as it participated
in the life
I no longer seemed to be a part of.

Emily, I whispered to smoke 
one time is not harmful
because the only way to smoke again
is to bring the instrument to your lips
and play it with an effort 
at mixing your breath 
with the gray dust 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because I kind of liked it
I felt so out of control
and I couldn't think
for the life of me
I was no longer the Emily Cashour
I had always been
or observed

Emily I called it won't 
make you a bad person
because the only way to enjoy smoking
is to do it enough times 
to become used to it. 
The only way to try new drugs
is to open your mouth 
and your veins. 

I got high on Saturday.
It wasn't like I imagined at all
because I do not know
if I will do it again.

Emily she asks how do 
you expect to feel
when you're so unsure about the future
that you cannot spread your fingers
far enough apart 
to see the secrets
that are written between them? 
How many times do I have to ask you 
this question
before you finally 
offer me an answer
that I will believe 
you are saying
not for me
but only for yourself? 
You are the only one who 
can control
what will happen in your future
and if you choose to open yourself up
you will allow in many visitors
but always remember
that no one will come in
unless you forget the scars that 
haven't arrived yet
and you open the door 
to let yourself out


++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For some reason

last night I

pictured myself in the book

Naked Lunch

laying with my cheek pressed against the

sidewalk

a needle in my arm,

whispering to the wind

I only became addicted

when I was eighteen years old

when I was young enough

to try the world

but old enough to feel

and touch

and taste

the consequences.

The street is cold and hard

and soft and warm

and confusingly comforting

But God, I woke up this morning

and realized that

I am not kissing the asphalt

not yet

not yet

not

yet?

I told myself this morning

Emily, the only way to become addicted

is to put a needle in your own arm

and the only way to keep the addiction

is to let the needle come back.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lately I’ve been

walking with tiny steps

in and out of reality.

I’ve taken deep breaths

that I’m unsure have been

based off of

the air that I have been used to breathing

for eighteen years

until yesterday.

I got high on Saturday

and instead of touching the sky

like I had always believed I would

instead of kissing the clouds

in a way that I always imagined,

I was floating

but only an inch above my body

conscious of the fact

that it was still moving

still blinking

and still breathing

even without me inside of it.

I don’t know whether I am still

feeling the effects

of sitting on the damp grass

in the darkness of

a saturday night in college

or whether

I am still conscious

or whether I am still dreaming

of the future

that has always been there

on the horizon

leading me to a place that

feels as far away from home

as it can but yet

can only be described to me

as the home that I will seek

from the future.

One thing I have always been most afraid of

is addiction.

I’ve always strayed away from things

that threaten me with

temptation of the word

forever

only because I have always been afraid of

the word itself.

For some reason

last night I

pictured myself in the book

Naked Lunch

laying with my cheek pressed against the

sidewalk

a needle in my arm,

whispering to the wind

all the words I have been dying to say

to tell about how I am addicted

because my life has always been

out of my own control.

But this morning when I woke

I told myself

Emily, the only way to become addicted

is to put a needle in your own arm

and the only way to keep the addiction

is to let the needle come back

and yet somehow I still cannot believe

that the only hands which hold my life

are my own

and there is nothing more than that fact

that I hate.

The only thing that I have been sure about lately

is that my thoughts are strange

and the only thing I have been unsure of lately

is whether or not they

are strange in the right way.

whether I will wake up in the morning of tomorrow

in a bed I have always dreamed of

or whether I will have to face

the failure of

what could have been

what would have been

what should have been

what everyone in my life

has always told me of

but never shown me

poetry

Close your eyes and remember

to let the flowers grow.

Remember that once

you did not know what the word flower looked like

and I know it is hard to remember now

but if nothing else remember this:

one day you were small

and you sat on a bench and you wore a sweater that was too big for you

and your hair was in your face

and you smiled anyway.

one day you braided your own hair

and put it in two little buns

that stuck out from your head

like ears

one day you smiled at nothing

except for the sun that woke you up

and the day began

before your sorrows

and one day you looked shyly through your own fingertips

as if the only thing that could separate the world from you

was your tiny hands

and the only thing that was separating you from the world

fluttered and whispered and curled around your shoulders

gently; softly; slowly.

remember these words

you are still a girl in a sweater that is too big

and your hair still falls across your face

and tomorrow the day will begin with the sun

whether you let your sorrows beat it

or not.

and no matter how many times that the world has wronged you

your eyes will kiss the scars

because one day you will finally learn

that the word flower means nothing

and that the only beautiful thing about a flower

lies in the light on your face

when you look at one.

time

A new and vastly unexplored phenomena: time, and the speed in which it moves. Because in this world, one can never know whether or not time will move quickly, or slowly. And there is no normality--how can there be a routine when the way in which time moves is so sporadic?

One of the most beautiful things about this world is when time moves slowly. Moments can finally be remembered piece by piece, as a series of snapshots in the mind; like pictures from a scrapbook they capture a moment and make it a more vivid memory.

On any given birthday, time could slow down just as the candles are about to be blown out. The event becomes snapshots: the picture of her eyes widening as she takes a deep breath, the first few candles to give up, all the way to the end as the very last candle gives itself to her birthday wish and the only remnant of its light is the trail of silver smoke kissing the sky.

It is so easy to fall into love at first sight when time moves slowly. How could it not be, when each blink is so significant? Walking by someone means so much more, because when gazes meet they linger for so much longer. That wonderful moment when lips curve upward and separate to form a smile is accentuated by the simple fact that it takes longer for the face to accomplish the task. And it is when she turns around to get another glimpse at you: her hair swishes over her shoulder; and it is when you see her eyes widen involuntarily when she sees you again, and it is when she moves her hand to her cheek to brush away a strand of gold, and it is when you feel your heartbeat in your chest.

One of my favorite things to do is jump on a trampoline when time is moving slowly. Because one of the most beautiful things is being in the air and not knowing how long it will be until your feet touch ground again. And being in the air whilst the seconds are ticking by like moments is almost indescribable. It’s like a movie, the first one you saw that truly moved and changed you; purely and unabashedly visual. The sun’s orange rays seem to be closer, the color of the grass and the leaves and the stems of the flowers are all brighter and more enhanced. And that’s what really counts, isn’t it? The colors of the world. It’s strange how it takes being in the air as time is slowed down for you to realize that the ground you are soon approaching really is a beautiful place.

I’ve always believed in moments. A human life is so fragile and so short, and to slow down seems like the only way to ensure appreciation of the world. I wish there were more moments that could be slowed down. Because when time isn’t a factor anymore it becomes so easy to take a deep breath and understand what it means. And over time, I’ve finally realized something.

I believe in wishing and I believe in stars and I believe in today and I believe in tonight. But no matter what I believe in, what really matters is everything that is out there for me to believe in.

Shh, let the time come. But never let it go.

t o : d a d

The unjustifiably pink clouds

wash over me, and I blink to let the unexpected waves flow down my cheeks.

icy memories cling and I hear your voice:

you speak to me as you used to.

I feel guilty as I miss you

and it confuses me that this is so.

no,

it confuses me that I must miss you at all.

Before, when faced with a choice,

I have always been able to slink my way into both decisions

with precision, I am able to cling to a compromise

like the green from your eyes clings to mine.

and then somehow, while caught in the middle

i find myself tricking my being into contentment.

I know that the future is blank,

as blank as the moon on this starless night,

but I cannot understand what it means to simply wait,

it has never been fair.

i do not like surprise

unless i know about it before it begins.

I suppose all that I can do with tonight

lies in how long I can close my eyes

and how long my body will be able to stand

the chill.

shivers begin from an undetermined place

and I remember every little piece of myself that resembles you

that has always resembled you

in a way that nature created me

in the way that only nature can place two people together.

and I must pick up the pieces of myself

the pieces that broke that night on the front porch of my house

the night that neither of us knew

we were going to say goodbye.

I will always love you

In a way my mother forever wished I never would.