Kat
- Kat Steiner
- Drums, Pa, United States
- My heart is on my sleeve and my soul is on paper. Please be kind to those around you, we are all glass.
The richness of sybolism
Telling my story with no words
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Little Scuttlebutts
My sister in law stayed with Chris and I for a few days seemingly to care for him after knee surgery so I could go back to work. As it turned out she took care of me in a way I had no idea I needed.
Kimberly being at the house has allowed me to exhale, let go, checkout. I'm being mothered and finding how healing it is to let someone take care of me, to tuck me in with a kiss, to make meals for me and say it is ok to cry and lay in bed at 4pm. How surprisingly easy it is and how much I needed it, wow did I need it.
There is a situation in my life that's akin to being a rock climber who fell a great distance and got wedged in a small tight crack. At first being stuck suddenly is startling, then scary, then hurts like hell. Your struggle to get out only results in settling further into the crack. Unable to move either way the weight around you starts to feel secure and safe. You find comfort and solace in this close position that takes all the responsibility from you.
You know staying there will result in death but the contact, the tactile stimulation of the great surface area of nerves is reassuring and impossible not to want.
Without notice, when you are no longer fighting, almost learning to love the captivity, you feel the pain of being taken out by a force not your own. Now, the ache of what broke while you were stuck starts to produce agony once your free from it. How bittersweet.
Kimberly being at the house has allowed me to exhale, let go, checkout. I'm being mothered and finding how healing it is to let someone take care of me, to tuck me in with a kiss, to make meals for me and say it is ok to cry and lay in bed at 4pm. How surprisingly easy it is and how much I needed it, wow did I need it.
There is a situation in my life that's akin to being a rock climber who fell a great distance and got wedged in a small tight crack. At first being stuck suddenly is startling, then scary, then hurts like hell. Your struggle to get out only results in settling further into the crack. Unable to move either way the weight around you starts to feel secure and safe. You find comfort and solace in this close position that takes all the responsibility from you.
You know staying there will result in death but the contact, the tactile stimulation of the great surface area of nerves is reassuring and impossible not to want.
Without notice, when you are no longer fighting, almost learning to love the captivity, you feel the pain of being taken out by a force not your own. Now, the ache of what broke while you were stuck starts to produce agony once your free from it. How bittersweet.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Book time punks!
I am finally, thanks to Marie, my lovely soul mates, prayers and Brad, putting my book together. I don't have any idea what i am doing but i don't care. it will come to me, this is a part of me, its who i am. i feel like i have been a runner with my feet in those starting braces for years waiting for the gunshot to go off so i could start running. well, i had the gun in my own hand the whole time but I'm stubborn and thick headed i didnt realize it so its just my way.
i have 44 pages of material and it is mostly edited. however, i have about 200 other pieces that could go in but they are very rough and need sorting and editing so i will start on that next. this is by far the most work beside the actual writing over the last 4 years that i have done on this. i refuse to let my life keep flying by me.
all things that happen to me make me this person at this moment and i am nothing less than eternally grateful for the opportunity of experiences.
i have 44 pages of material and it is mostly edited. however, i have about 200 other pieces that could go in but they are very rough and need sorting and editing so i will start on that next. this is by far the most work beside the actual writing over the last 4 years that i have done on this. i refuse to let my life keep flying by me.
all things that happen to me make me this person at this moment and i am nothing less than eternally grateful for the opportunity of experiences.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Chia guts?
I would like to say people keep me from reaching my potential but that would be a cheesy cop out. Obviously I am my largest obstacle but I do know there are many people who have helped build the mountains around me. I am ridiculously fearful and I never realized that. I am afraid my thoughts, words, actions, reactions, writings, mistakes, hairdos, clothes, homemaking skills, choice of antidepressant, the way I order beer on draft and calling the cable company for help will cause someone to judge me. It isn't really the judging part I am afraid of because usually if given the opportunity I can defend my logic pretty well. To me it's very sound, or maybe the answer would be cause I said so... either way just give me the chance to explain. Honestly I think if I could download my thoughts into some motherboard psyche zip drive I think all would be cool. The problem really is the fact that people judge with a smile, they lie. They tell you it's great or they say the polite thing and then bash you behind your back. I don't have thick skin by any means but discussion is where it's at man, lets talk about it, really TALK about it. I don't want to be friends with fake people, I want genuine, as ugly as genuine can be, by virtue it's beautiful.
Anyway, this is why my writings sit in a stack all over my house and in my mini pocket recorder and why the loveliest, most amazing creations remain on my pillow during dreams and why my guitar sits dusty, sad that it's owner is a freakin coward.
Anyway, this is why my writings sit in a stack all over my house and in my mini pocket recorder and why the loveliest, most amazing creations remain on my pillow during dreams and why my guitar sits dusty, sad that it's owner is a freakin coward.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
How my heart and hand got screwed by the seasons
You made my heart that in turn convinced my hand (another claim of yours) pick up the supple, young, green, full of life leaf (you, again). Leaf representative of the newness and frangrance of promise. You created it all, how can it be anything but the most lovely kind, storybook ending?
It seems like an ensemble directed by the same person. It’s just supposed to flow into beauty, no conscious mind, just gutteral glee. Without regard, being naive to an ugly fault.
The seasons did actually find a way to change around my sun drenched upturned face, my pink toes dancing in the earth. Happiness and oblivion turn slowly into a pathetic shade of left behind in a longer grayer day. An awkward girl dressed inappropriately for the winter, dull face no longer lifted to the bright sun in hope.
Now, now she stares to the cold cement in shame hopes no one sees whats in her eyes, her heart, her hand. The leaf she held onto, held onto so tightly to protect, to transfer every bit of energy from it to her palm. To memorize every cell. The seasons passed without her notice or permission. Now, leave the impatient cold without permission defiantly attempts to free itself. It wants to blow away, as far away, in as many pieces as it can in the winter wind. In its simple natural act of moving on with the season it does not realize the brokenness left behind. The broken heart and body look toward the heavens. How could you create this perfect love for me, put it right in my hand, make it fit so right for a season, just a season? We were supposed to be pressed into a fossil together, how could you? Then down on the betraying hand. How could you hold such a beautiful leaf? How could the seasons be so unfair? Why bring such beauty and let it escape our tight grip as brown dust? And all of us together hate when people say “when you love something, you let it go” B*llSh$$!
It seems like an ensemble directed by the same person. It’s just supposed to flow into beauty, no conscious mind, just gutteral glee. Without regard, being naive to an ugly fault.
The seasons did actually find a way to change around my sun drenched upturned face, my pink toes dancing in the earth. Happiness and oblivion turn slowly into a pathetic shade of left behind in a longer grayer day. An awkward girl dressed inappropriately for the winter, dull face no longer lifted to the bright sun in hope.
Now, now she stares to the cold cement in shame hopes no one sees whats in her eyes, her heart, her hand. The leaf she held onto, held onto so tightly to protect, to transfer every bit of energy from it to her palm. To memorize every cell. The seasons passed without her notice or permission. Now, leave the impatient cold without permission defiantly attempts to free itself. It wants to blow away, as far away, in as many pieces as it can in the winter wind. In its simple natural act of moving on with the season it does not realize the brokenness left behind. The broken heart and body look toward the heavens. How could you create this perfect love for me, put it right in my hand, make it fit so right for a season, just a season? We were supposed to be pressed into a fossil together, how could you? Then down on the betraying hand. How could you hold such a beautiful leaf? How could the seasons be so unfair? Why bring such beauty and let it escape our tight grip as brown dust? And all of us together hate when people say “when you love something, you let it go” B*llSh$$!
Miss Tranguch taught me about this in high school biology
Validity vs. accuracy. You know what made me think about this? Seriously people this is how my brain works. i was in the shower and tossed 2 empty containers out over the curtain in the general direction of the garbage can hoping i didn't leave the toilet seat open :) so i actually end up getting both in the sink right next to each other. this is validity. i didn't intend on getting them in the sink b/c that is not where they belong, however my shot was consistent albeit wrong. if i would have gotten them both into the garbage i would have had accuracy and validity. so, true to pattern, i am thinking heavily in the shower about how this can be applied to life..any area really. sometimes we try so hard to aim for the right thing and we have consistency but we hit the wrong target over and over. this really is not helpful b/c after so many times we think we are actually hitting our target just b/c things end up in the same place time and time again. my compass is broken. i have a movable target to suite my bad accuracy. this is not helpful, in fact its very destructive. now, i recognize and am trying to rely on the real compass and think about what i should do and what is right until my own compass gets back from the shop.
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