Ojai Day

The wet streets. The imperative clouds. It is not a cloud. One continuous block of grey. No discernment. No border our boundary. Just grey. And a slippery cold after all the warm faces at Ojai Day. I always run away. Walk off as if there’s somewhere else I am going to. What do I say? I like you? I aminterested in who you are? I am grateful for you warmth, your welcoming?
Then what? I don’t want to say anything. Id like to just sit there, stand there with these beautiful people that have love in their lives.
Isn’t that what I’m waiting for? Or not. I’m looking for an escape. Some bigger life. BIGGER life. What’s not enough about this one? All of my friends children I can be a big brother or uncle to. All these people I can love, I can celebrate for being who they are, their simple selves, their un incredible, non richard branson selves. They are incredible. Why does everyone have to be a rockstar? Why do I feel like a failure if I don’t become soemone huge, someone on a magazine? Someone to be seen.
Walking away from it all in the half gloom, the faint drizzle, the wet pulling of tires through pavement, I am sad. Travis is walking away with Katy. Jo is probaby off with Re. Everyone has their mate.
But what could I possibly offer a woman? What could I possibly be for a woman but someone to be not alone with. I don’t know what I have to offer. I’m still looking for a career.

Of course, I could stop fighting the money demons and just do the things I want to do. Seriously. All this time is going into thinking and blah blah. What if I just made and did and trusted? And who wants to be with someone as confused as I am? I don’t want to be in myself, in this emotion. I don’t really think I have my own emotions. I either feel like I am just reacting to a thought, or to the weather, my environment, or my beliefs about a situation. I wonder if that’s all emotions are though, really. I don’t know. I’m not in other peoples bodies. I don’t know what they feel, how they experience these things. Personally I almost always feel like I’m faking them when they are in public, but when I’m alone, mostly I just want to cry.
Its just, and I’ve said this before and I keep saying it to myself; the world is so beautiful. It is so goddamned beautiful with these people and this suffering and this constant discovery of children and all of it, all of it that’s not gross, that’s not ketchup packets and mass consumption of useless crap. But everything else is beautiful, stunning, all these humans, all this shyness and frailty and wanting. These hearts these faces, all want to be known, to be loved. Why have I been keeping their stories locked away for so long?

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About noah crowe

I was born without a name. Later my family named me Noah Crowe. Crowe is my father's last name. I am an artist. Rather, I am a human being, seeking to know what I am. I am writing this blog to document my quest to know who I am in this world for my unborn son (and/or daughter). My father never passed on his journey to me, and I believe that it is story and ritual that informs our world; the worlds we live in, internally and externally. This is my way of giving myself, and my potential son, a window into this process of finding spiritual meaning and service in a culture that I find to lack the foundation of integration between the spiritual, the communal, and the societal.
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