Facebook Reflection from September 3rd, 2013 @ Age 32
CHARITY STEHLIN—F/K/A Charity Autumn **Frickin** RAYNOR:
I know you like feedback, and re-read the blog again. The only part that I really didnt like was the assumption that his success is due to his fathers death. You are discounting his success. I am sure he worked hard for it, regardless if there were ‘family ties’. Possibly a better way to word. You’re jealous of the silver platter of some in life. Not to be mixed with his loss. And don’t forget, he wasn’t smoking pot all day, and took his education seriously! IDK. Love you.
MARISSA KRISTINA VARCHO:
Hey, I’ll write you back tonight but was there anything else that stood out that you had a question or comment or suggestion about? All the above is very helpful. It’s hard to see it objectively sometimes bc it’s my writing. Thank you for the help ;0)
MARISSA KRISTINA VARCHO:
Also, Jen said the same thing as you, loved working, made her feel good, like she had a lot of self-worth. I know she’s had a hard time since she’s stopped working and started staying home with Viv 100%. I gather you did too at some point? Well anyways, if so, maybe that’s something you guys could commiserate about. I’m sure she’d love to have another mom equally as independent, intelligent and soft-hearted to talk to. I hear they’re hard to come by, at least where she’s lived.
I thank you for the forewarning regarding my writing content.
I find your comments on the most recent post very interesting. I don’t know if you saw, I took it down for now, along with the previous one as well. I really do appreciate your input. As hard as I may try to think of everything on my own, sometimes the best thing I can do is to be open to others’ ideas and suggestions and other outside help. I am curious, though, as to whether you are confused about when the piece was written. I indicated at the very top that it was written back in March 2009, and then reiterated at the bottom. So the way I felt then is not necessarily the way that I feel now, of course. Maybe I need to make that more clear somehow.
In addition, I’m curious as to which part of that piece or any other post on the blog led you to the conclusion that I would “throw daggers into [my] friends achille’s tendons on [my] climb to success and happiness”. You’ll have to elaborate for me.
In all honesty Charity, you can say something if you have something to say. I won’t get mad. It beats speaking in subtext, and then there’s less chance for confusion as well.
I love you too.
Called and missed you. probably not a bad thing bc i have family over!
No, I saw the dates. It irritates me all the responses you get when people get confused over that part (dates). The post dates are a very interesting part of the story. The reader longs to reach the current mentality of the writer. Everyone loves a happy ending. I will tell you, more than you know will begin faithfully reading your work bc they’re in the same boat. They want to eventually hear a happy ending and how that happened. And, by the time you’re done, it will be a happy ending.
Now, with Andrew’s story. I loved the honesty, and the Achilles Tendon was just a loose figure of speech from a bad writer – but… I just meant you were hitting Andrew in a weak spot (that tendon – Troy). Even dated so long ago, it’s sad. To him, to me, to his friends. IF, he still doesn’t cry on the date of his dad’s death or his dad’s birthday, etc. then he’s come this far. You may re-open wounds that aren’t necessary. IDK – I am just saying, try not to re-open wounds at such a personal level, especially if there are so many more vague, yet impactful examples you would use to portray the same entries input (just edited a bit).
MARISSA KRISTINA VARCHO:
Well, I trust you, and I know even if you say something hurtful, it’s because there’s a soft-spot with meaning underneath. I don’t treat everyone with such care, it’s impossible to. But I do my best. But the best of the best is reserved for those who mean the most to me. Even after all the bullsh@# we’ve been through ;0)
So please take that seriously in knowing, what you say does make a different to me. Even if I haven’t seen you since 2009, it still does. And what I wanted to apologize for was an inappropriate, short-lived, meaningless relationship I had with Bobby sometime around 2008. It was inappropriate because you were one of my best friends, regardless of how close Bobby and I were at any prior given time, regardless of the fact that you had in many if not most ways moved on from your relationship with Bobby, and whew finally, regardless of the fact that I did so recklessly not intending to hurt you, but full well knowing that it could. Regardless of everything, I was in the wrong, and I think what I did hurt you deeply (assuming you found out, which I’m assuming you did – if not I’m very confused and might have start this over again).
As I’ve said, I was in a horribly dark awful place back during that whole span, and unfortunately kept making error after error in a plethora of ways until I met Adam. So not only was I in the wrong for the act, I was in the wrong for all subsequent moments that have passed by until now, for not making the time to apologize to you at the first moment you indicated a willingness to listen. (You’re not the only one who has trouble putting their pride aside.)
I am so sorry Charity. It was such a dumb mistake and so obviously such too. I can’t even tell you right here in a way that is meaningful enough, how sorry I am. But I will think of a way to make it up to you.
So, that’s the crescendo here tonight, I edited those two entries and reposted but have much thought to put in (and a libel attorney to talk to) before I post personal content again. People do very much so keep getting tripped up on the timing of the blog and I put the little stars and then the little stars at the bottom with explanation, but I just don’t know what to do short of tattooing it across the top of every post in shiny bold sparkling capital letters. And I don’t really want to do that either, hence the lots of thought to come…
So that you know, I want to be very clear, I value your suggestions and advice and input and any fears or concerns or whatever you may have, as it relates to me, me and you, my writing, you, you and my writing, anyone else and writing, etc. etc. I really just very much so do wish that we could be up front from now on with each other, because I really am not all that great at subtext as it were (henceforth and hitherto ;0), and I want to be able to be honest with you and I want you to feel as though you can be honest with me. I want to pay you that respect while I’ve got the chance.
And as for why people don’t like you, if that’s ever the case (i.e. they were able to escape your charming blue eyes), it’s because you pretend to be perfect and don’t show any flaws. People hate people who are perfect, because we all know that all people have flaws and ugly sides. That’s why the illusion irritates so very much. Just FYI.
I love you as a whole Charbear, not just your pretty side, and actually more so than anything else, because of your darkness. I found myself in there. Others will too. You just have to find a way to let them in.
With such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o’er the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy Isles and from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain—: triumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an afternoon, also, did I find them a second time: at the hour when all light becometh stiller.
For whatever happiness is still on its way ‘twixt heaven and earth, now seeketh for lodging a luminous soul: with happiness hath all light now become stiller.
O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the valley that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable souls.
O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!
Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of his hope: and lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should first create them.
Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from them returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect himself.
For in one’s heart one loveth only one’s child and one’s work; and where there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so have I found it.
Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil.
And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there are Happy Isles!
But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it may learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.
Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the mountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night watches, for his testing and recognition.
—So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra: such a one as writeth my will on my tables, for the fuller perfection of all things.
And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect myself: therefore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every misfortune—for my final testing and recognition.
And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest tedium and the stillest hour—have all said unto me: “It is the highest time!”
The word blew to me through the keyhole and said “Come!” The door sprang subtlety open unto me, and said “Go!”
But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this snare for me—the desire for love—that I should become the prey of my children, and lose myself in them.
But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed Zarathustra—then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up—: fully slept had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
So called everything unto me in signs: “It is time!” But I—heard not, until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
Ah, abysmal thought, which art my thought! When shall I find strength to hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?
To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing! Thy muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
As yet have I never ventured to call thee up; it hath been enough that I—have carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but one day shall I yet find the strength and the lion’s voice which will call thee up!
When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself also in that which is greater; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection!
Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me, smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze—, still see I no end.
As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me—or doth it come to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and life gaze upon me round about:
O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!
Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I, who distrusteth too sleek smiling.
As he pusheth the best-beloved before him—tender even in severity, the jealous one—, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
Away with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come to me an involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand: at the wrong time hast thou come!
Away with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there—with my children! Hasten! And bless them before eventide with my happiness!
There, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away—my happiness!
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and happiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning, however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly: “Happiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women. Happiness, however, is a woman.”
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
CHAPTER 47—INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
(0; Circa 1884 ;0)