The meeting of heaven and hell

Tonight, I experienced real, tangible spiritual warfare, for the first time in my life. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever encountered. I watched as demons took over someone I love, and fought and prayed harder than I have in my entire life, to get him back. They were dark, and vicious, and so terrifyingly real... If ever there was a doubt in my mind that there is a war being waged for the souls of mankind, that doubt is gone. I had nothing to rely on, nothing to comfort me, but my own faith, that God would take care of him, that God would never let him out of His sight. It was the only thing that brought me through. 

It's so fresh in my mind... The dark and mysterious way they talked, the evil in their eyes, shown through his... The way they mocked me, fought me, tried to discourage me... I never knew what real demons could do. The way they shake you all the way down to your very soul... When he finally came back to me, I cried tears of relief, and thanked God profusely for his deliverance. I have never been so happy about a simple text message in my life. That message was the end to the longest, most agonizing three hours of my life.

Today, I saw the way a soul breaks... The way a person can be invaded by forces outside their control... The most excruciating violation knowable to man - the violation of the soul. I watched it twist and tear and distort, all the while praying with every ounce of faith I have, begging, pleading with God. Calling on him to vanquish these enemies, not for my sake, but for his. I experienced the power of intercession, and watched an angel fight 100 demons. I have experienced the meeting of heaven and hell, and part of me senses that this is just the beginning. And that is terrifying.

Some Donkeys Don't

I'm sure we're all familiar with everyone's favorite "silly, willy, nilly old bear," Winnie the Pooh (if you aren't, please, for the love of God, contact me, and I will assist you in correcting this clear lapse in your childhood). Guys, can we just talk about how awesomely zen Eeyore is?

Eeyore is usually perceived as depressed, but I really don't think that's true. In fact, I think it's quite the opposite. Hear me out.* Eeyore rarely actually complains about his life. Not ever, really. I mean, think about it. Comments on his misfortunes,  yes, but does he ever really complain about them? Not that I can recall. He knows where things stand, and regardless of whether or not they are in his favor, he's accepted them. Which is not to say he's not happy when things do go his way. Of course he is. He's not a robot. But he's also happy when his friends are more fortunate than he. And when they aren't, he goes out of his way to help them. Consider, for example, when Owl's house falls down. Despite his own inability to have a decent house, he spends days scouring the Hundred Acre Wood for a house that Owl can live in, even through a downpour that floods the entire Wood. He wants his friends to be as happy as he is. 

One of the moments that most clearly demonstrates this, for me, appears in "Pooh's Grand Adventure," when they reach the clearing, and Piglet is befriended by a delightful family of butterflies. Despite their penchant for destroying his house, he clearly would like his own family of butterfly friends, but he doesn't actually seem to be upset about it. He's accepted his place in their world, and he knows where he stands. "Some Piglets have it," he says, "Some Donkeys don't." Those words, to me, say more than the writers could probably have imagined. "Some Donkeys don't." Not, "Some Donkeys should try harder." Not, "Some Donkeys wish they had everything their friends have." Not even, "Some Donkeys should have it," or "will have it someday." A simple, mellow, "don't." He doesn't have "it," and he doesn't want or need it. He's satisfied with himself as he is.

How awesome is that? I mean, how often do we go about wishing our lives were better, or wanting something a friend or neighbor has? How many of us can honestly say we're satisfied with our place in the world? Not many, I'm sure. So, in my year of "relinquishing," I'm making it a goal to be more like Eeyore. To be satisfied with myself as I am, and to stop needing "more" to be "happy." To recognize that not everyone can be the most fortunate, and that I'm lucky to have what I do. Sometimes you're the Piglet, and sometimes you're the Donkey. And some Donkeys don't.

     ~Happy Hippie Herbivore

*Note: examples here are taken from the Disney movies. Eeyore doesn't really seem to feature as prominently in the books, and much of the dialogue is different.

Not Without Breaking: A poem

It's not that I'm uninspired.
It's that I'm overwhelmed with inspiration.
Feelings,
emotions,
experiences,
all these words swirling around in my head with
no way to get them out.
Not without breaking.

It's all so personal, too personal, and I haven't let anyone see me in a long time.
I'm an actress. It's what I do.
Push it all back, stuff it into the cracks
and the corners
and the closets,
so no one sees.
Put on a happy face, smile for the cameras, and keep the rest of it tucked away,
behind a brick wall of indifference.
Don't let people in.
They might see,
they might laugh,
they might judge,
they might assume.

They might not understand.
Then what?
Are you sure you're strong enough for that?

That's what I thought.
What I knew.
Because there's only one thing in the world scarier than that.
What if they do understand?
What if they don't laugh,
don't judge,
don't assume?
What if they see
all the things hidden in between the lines?
What if they peer
deep down into your exposed soul,
and stare openly at the broken, exhausted creature that calls it
"home?"
Could you stand there and let them watch?
Could you let them see?
Could you handle that?

Because I can't.
Not without breaking.
And breaking hurts.

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

Trading It In

The hardest days to relinquish are the ones where you need to the most. When the very thing you need to let go of is pressing on your consciousness every moment. When all you want to do is breathe, but every inhale brings new pain, and every exhale feels like giving up.

You're tired.

I'm tired.

Letting go is hard to do, when all you want is something to hang on to.

I'm realizing, though, that it's not about just letting go. I'm not supposed to take my troubles to the altar, and then just leave empty handed and alone. It's about trading in the things I don't need, for the things I do. Worry for wonder, fear for freedom, troubles for truth.
It's a give and take, and right now, I'm not doing either. I'm clinging to what I have, for fear that in losing it, I lose everything, and gain nothing. But what if, by letting go of everything, I'm gaining more? What if I'm putting down my burdens, so I can take the hand of one who loves me more?

Wouldn't that be worth it?
Worth all of it?

Wouldn't gaining all the treasures of heaven be worth every penny and every breath lost and left behind between here and there?

Wouldn't you rather trade it all in?

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

One Word

It's not giving up.

That's the most important part.

I almost came to that point a few weeks ago. I decided then and there that I'm stronger than that. I refuse to be that weak.

So, this is not giving up.

It IS giving away.

Giving in.

Letting go.

It is both an admission of weakness, and a display of strength.

It's the word whispered to me through trials and struggles, through pain and pride, through everything I thought I was, and everything it turns out I am.

Relinquish.

This is my word for 2014 as I deal with all the trials and struggles, the pain, and the promise. I'm letting it all go, relinquishing my pride, my control, my pains, my fears, my life, surrendering it all, in favor of a higher plan, and a higher calling. And let me tell you something.

It's terrifying.

This is a big deal. A scary, difficult, unbelievable work of pure crazy. And you know what? I'm ready for that. I'm ready to let it all go, and not have to be in control for a while. God has this all worked out, and I'm coming to terms with the idea that, maybe, I never had control in the first place. So, I spending this year focused on a word and a verse. Relinquish. Psalm 55:22. "Give your burdens to the LORD and he will take care of you. He will not permit the godly to slip and fall." (NLT)

"Good morning, my beloved

I have plans for you today

If you will let me calm your heart

I'll come and carry you away

You will be fearless in the morning,

And silent in the night

And angels come to guide you to the light

Good morning, my beloved

Know my eye has been on you

Cling to all my promises

And know that they are true

The time has come for your becoming

And though the change brings pain

Know that this will bring eternal gain

For it's my hands that mold the clay

And my voice that starts the day

It's my breath that brings new life

Through my perfect sacrifice

It's my words that tell the story

That will bring you to my glory

So, though the way is dark,

It leads to home.

Be still and know,

It's my hands that mold the clay."

-mold the clay, 12/23/13

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

If you've never had a real panic attack before...

It starts when your stomach drops. You have to pull in your first breath, like something is sitting on your chest. Your heart drops, then starts pounding like you just ran a mile as fast as you can. You go cold all over from your head to your toes, like someone poured a bucket of ice water over you. Everything gets fuzzy and you can't speak because it's b-bl-blocking your concentration. The world is spinning, and you can feel every turn.

Then the panic sets in.

Your first instinct says heart attack. It's screaming through every vein, as your head throbs and your heart pounds and you struggle to maintain clarity. You're dying, you know you are, and it's only a matter of minutes now, and then it's over, all over. "Not here, not now, not me," you think, as you cling to every gasping breath, while your extremities go numb from hyperventilation.

But then you start to breathe again, once, twice, three times, coming slower and slower and easier and easier. Wiggle your fingers, wiggle your toes, everything still there, everything still works. You're still dizzy, but you can talk now, you can think now. Then your heart starts to settle back to normal, thumpthumpthumpthump, thump-thump, thump, thump... thump...

The world starts to come clear again. You're shaking and shivering and trying to grasp what just happened. Nothing makes sense. All you know is you're going to be okay. Someday.

Right now, all you want is to sit.
To process.
To cry.
And then to move on.
Someday.
Somehow.
Soon.

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

Graaaaaaaaains...

So, my roommate is writing a Zombie book, and it got me thinking. What would I do if I became a zombie? Veggie-wise, I mean. Would I go full Z and start chowing down on everyone I know, or would I stay a V and forgo the usual zombie fare?

Well, I guess this depends on a few factors. First, what kind of nourishment do zombies actually require? Do zombies primarily feast on brains because that is the actual nourishment required for their continued survival, or merely because the gray matter of that asshole down the street is literally delicious revenge? Do they genuinely like the taste? Can they taste? Or, like in Warm Bodies, do they simply eat the brains because it allows them to feel human again, if only for a little while? I like to think that unless they serve some essential nutritional purpose, I would pass on the grey matter and opt for a nice stir fry. Of course, if zombies can taste, that begs my next question: Does returning from the dead change your taste buds? I have to assume that it would, because no one I know has any interest in eating the breains of a fellow human, even one they hate. I must, therefore, wonder if I'll still like the same veggies I like now. Then again, if I don't, maybe I'll start to like some of the veggies I've always hated. (I'm looking at you, celery.) Who knows? Or perhaps Zombie taste-buds are specifically tuned toward fleshy flavors. And if brains are so delicious, would I still be able to forgo them? Or would I even allow myself to try them in the first place, knowing that it might become a weakness, like bacon is now?

This, of course, all hinges on one very important question: What kind of zombie am I? Am I a conscious, self-aware, fully functional rotting corpse, or merely a member of a mindless horde of diseased flesh and unsatisfied cravings? After all, if I'm not fully aware, I can't be held responsible for my actions. Any brain-munching I might partake in while in any less than a fully self-aware, coherent state may not be my own decision, or desires, and must be treated as an unconscious episode, or bout of insanity. Especially if there are mindless hordes involved. If, however, I'm fully self-aware, I can make the conscious decision to remain a vegetarian, even in the face of enormous peer pressure. Of course, at that point, I'm dead anyway, so all my health and food-preference related reasons go out the window. Hell, I'll probably get shot by some farmer with a hero complex sometime in the very near future anyway. Might as well wreak some havoc while I've got the chance...

I guess what I'm saying is, if someday I come up to you and try to munch on your brains with a vacant expression on my pale, rotting face, don't take it personally. I'm not myself today. Just hand me some broccoli and try not to make a mess when you shoot me, okay? Thanks.

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

Words of Wisdom (From my Pants)

I have a sad announcement. As of last night, my laptop is no longer among the living. It is with heavy heart that I must inform you that its hard drive has crashed.

"Hey, crazy plant lady," you say, "What does this have to do with your pants?" Shush. I'm getting to that. Be patient.

First, you must know that the loss of my laptop is an emotional one. She was a good laptop. I named her Lizzie, and she served me well the three years I had her. She was with me through countless all-nighters and final papers and Doctor Who marathons with my roommate. Although I did have most of my important files backed up, there are still things that will be lost. The most recent photos I had, a chapter from the book I was writing, access to all the things I've long since forgotten the passwords to, a few measures of my senior composition project (although, I think those might still be saved in an email). All things I took for granted. It's a hard loss.

Now, the pants. My grandmother took me shopping on Monday. I'm very hard on clothing, especially shoes and jeans, and all my jeans had acquired holes in... unfortunate places. As a result, she took me to buy a few new pairs of jeans before I head back to school in a few weeks. Due to my... "slightly below average" stature, they needed to be hemmed. They arrived in the mail on Thursday. Both pairs I had liked best happened to be from the same brand, "Liverpool," and it so happens, as I was removing them from the box, that I noticed on the inside of the right front pocket of both pairs, a Beatles quote. One, from "Revolution," the other from "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da." As a Beatles fan, and self-proclaimed hippie, I was pleased with this development, and didn't really think anything of it.

Until last night, when, in the midst of my sorrow over the loss of my beloved laptop, I took off my pants and was faced with the following words of wisdom: "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da. Life goes on." These words were exactly what I needed to hear, the sentiment fitting perfectly with the events of my life. Yes, I had lost my computer, and that loss hurt. But the earth continues to spin, the sun continues to shine, and, yes, "Life goes on." It just goes to show that even in the darkest of times, wisdom can come from the strangest of places. Even, yes, your pants. Now, as I go to shop for a new hard drive, and hopefully bring new life to the shell that once was my laptop, I remember those words.

Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.
Life.
Goes.
On.

~Happy Hippie Herbivore

Dear FBI,

Today, my mother said the best thing ever. Ladies and gentlemen, from now on, I'm no longer a vegetarian.

I'm a "Planterrorist."

I choose to refer to myself as such for a number of reasons. First, because I'm not an incredibly strict vegetarian (I'm a lacto-ovo-vegetarian, meaning I eat eggs and dairy products, and I allow myself seafood very occasionally, as well). Therefore, Vegetarian seems almost like the wrong term, as I do not eat strictly vegetables all the time. Second, while I do indeed indulge in animal products, those products are not, and were never alive. They may aid in the lives of other living creatures, or in the case of eggs, have the potential to be living creatures, but they are not alive. Plants, on the other hand, are living things. They eat and grow and procreate. Plants, therefore, are the only living things that I eat (well, except that occasional seafood), and I eat enough of them that, frankly, they should be scared of me. No, they should be terrified. The third reason,while my primary reason, is much less scientific. To put it simply, Planterrorist just sounds so much more badass than vegetarian.

It is for these reasons, I choose to be known henceforth as a Planterrorist. I hope that you will respect my decision.

So, dearest FBI, let it be known that when I declare myself, in public places, to be a "Planterrorist," it does not mean that I am planning acts of terrorism. It simply means that I am a terror to plants. Because I eat them. A lot. Please don't shoot me.
     Sincerely,
~Happy Hippie Herbivore

Update: My stupid biologist best friend slash roommate pointed out to me that eggs don't technically have the potential to be alive, because they aren't fertilized. I knew that. I was just testing you. Shut up. I knew what I meant. Your face.

Happy Hippie Herbivore

The first thing you should know about me is that I'm not one of those bleeding-heart, meat-is-murder, militant vegetarians. I'm more of a vegetables-are-delicious-and-easy-to-cook-and-also-meat-is-kind-of-bad-for-you type vegetarian. I do, on occasion, indulge in a few of my favorite foods from before I went green. I really miss bacon. Like, a lot. That being said, I do try to adhere to my vegetarianism fairly strictly. It helps that I didn't really eat a lot of meat to begin with. Although, it's funny, you never really know how much meat you eat until you stop... 

 I'm 21 years old, going on 22 in September, heading into my senior year studying Music Theory at my University. I hope to be a commercial songwriter or broadway composer. My backup plan is rocket science. My boyfriend, my roommate, and my sister are my favorite people in the world, and they all have different opinions of my vegetarianism. My sister thinks it's awesome, but she could never do it. My boyfriend doesn't care what I eat. My roommate called me a godless heathen. (All in jest, of course. What can I say? The girl likes her meat.)

I'm kind of new at this (I've only been vegetarian for about a month) and I'm a moderately picky eater, although I'll try anything once, and most things twice. Nonetheless, I'm happy with my choice, and look forward to all the exciting new vegetables I get to try. Let me know in the comments if you have any recipes you recommend! 

 ~Happy Hippie Herbivore