Asia Fields

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  “Alya and Gael have to trust each other. As acrobats in Cirque Du Soleil they sometimes literally put their lives in someone else’s hands. Trust is a confusing thing. It seems so simple but you when you try to pin it down it can be elusive. I think of the way my body sits on a surface that’s new to me, unknown. On my how my muscles remain tight, anticipating anything and I’m constantly aware of that surface.

  Over time with familiarity, I can relax and start to lean back. For many of us that initial tension exists so much of the time. We expend so much energy time watching and calculating, trying to predict, reading signals in people. Ready for anything to change suddenly. Preparing to be disappointed.

  So much energy spent. We talk about trust as something you build. As if it’s a structure or a thing. But in that building there seems to be something about letting go. And what it affords us is a luxury that allows us to stop thinking, to stop worrying that someone won’t catch us if we fall, to stop constantly scanning for inconsistencies, to stop wondering how people act when they’re not in our presence. It allows us to relax a part of our minds so that we can focus on what’s in front of us. And that’s why it’s such a tragedy when it’s broken.

  A betrayal can make you think about all the other betrayals that are waiting for you. And things that you haven’t thought of and people that you rely on. And you can feel yourself tightening up, bracing. And in the worst cases you might resolve to trust no one. But that doesn’t really work. Trust is your relationship to the unknown. What you can’t control and you can’t control everything. And it’s not all or none. It’s a slow and steady practice of learning about the capacity of the world. And it’s worth it to keep trying and it’s not easy.

  Alya says that trust is like a fork. Not one way but many ways. Physical, emotional, and maybe something else. I almost imagine trust as these invisible hands that we stretch out into the world, looking for someone to hold on to as we walk into the unknown future. Alya and Gael began practicing together as friends and now they are a couple. It took time. So who do you trust and how can you grow it?” - Ze Frank

29 notes

I’m feeling thankful, today, for the motivation that you give me to think about things and put them into words. So, there’s a rough side to my heart — the side closest to the center of my chest, just below the end of my throat — a small patch on my heart that’s rough like a tongue. It’s covered with little tastebuds, or heartbuds, that crave a certain sweetness.

You know that sweetness? You know that craving?

It’s a particular and powerful heart flavor, a pinpoint flash of something like hope that spreads out slowly with a warmth. Maybe that warmth is sadness… and I can almost taste the Sweetness.

There’re times when I’m more vulnerable to it — when I’m down, or I’m afraid, or I’m experiencing being separate from something. When I’m like this I imagine that I can see the Sweetness in other people just out of my reach. I see it in people that I dont even know. In their smiles or in the crinkling of their eyes. I see it in the hand that’s casually placed on a shoulder, or a hand that drops down around a waist. I imagine the Sweetness following them into rooms that are closed to me. I imagine it surrounding them as they talk quietly… alone.

I often experience this when I feel like something or someone has been taken from me. When I’ve move, or have left a job, or a relationship has ended. And the strange thing is I’ve known the day-to-day of those relationships — what’s it’s like to be in the presence of those things or people. The difficulties, the sudden pleasures and comforts, the disappointments … the realness of it. But the moment that they’re absent or over I imagine them bathed in the Sweetness.

Like they’ve possessed something they hadn’t shared with me yet.

Yet. Always yet.

That something hadn’t been unlocked for me, or I hadn’t unlocked it, but suddenly it was available to the world for the taking. And my heartbuds start craving a flavor they’ve never tasted, and I’m grieving something that I’ve never had to begin with. The fantasy of that sweetness, it seems so real, but at the same time it’s cast in the vapors of half-images.

Half images of being plucked out of this life, by someone or something and being cared for completely — being utterly adored. Hugged. Surrounded. Protected. With some unending, slightly neutered, innocent sexuality thrown in. Images of being at peace, on a porch maybe fixing something. Solid. Confident. Purposeful. And being purely loved, no pain, no complexity no difficulty — just surrounded by warmth. Innocent warmth. The Sweetness.

It’s old, I know that. A desire for something I’d wanted a long time ago. When I was a little kid I experience it as a yearning for movie-love. The movie-love I saw in Cinderella or any other Disney movie, or in Elizabeth Shoo’s character in the original “Karate Kid”. I thought I saw it in Kara Slateries smile as I walk her home in the fifth grade. And it extended out into my friends’s home. I felt like I saw it their too in the privacy of their families. I’ve imagined it existing in steady jobs I didn’t take and paths I didn’t choose. Always existing in something else, or someone else.

But never something I experienced directly.

Now I’m realizing that this old, confused Sweetness fantasy is interfered with my life from time to time. Like somewhere along the way I kind of became addicted to that old craving. It’s like a drug that hits so hard and feels so good with that weird, sweet pain that it makes reality seem blunted and grey.

But it has at times interferred with my ability to feel real hugs, and to have real moments of connection. Interfered with my ability to learn about what it looks like, and what it feels like to have a real relationship in this mystery we call adulthood.

To appreciate the subtleties of it, to take some responsibility for the hard work and discovery that goes into making connections and feeling contentment.

But again and again the call of that Sweetness has pulled me out. Pulled me out.

So, I’m trying to let go of it — the Sweetness. And there’s a sadness in giving it up. Kind of a grieving for a grieving. But it doesn’t belong.

I don’t know.

I don’t know if this makes sense, but… but I want to be here.

Ze Frank (“The Sweetness”)

(Source: tobegreatful)

63 notes

Stuff in your past is like a carving on the bark of a sapling. Over time, the scar— the carving— won’t go away. Because of the way trees grow, it won’t grow up or down more, either, it’ll just stay right where it began, it might even get darker. But it won’t get bigger. You, however, can. You can keep growing, doing more things; more branches; being more things. The wound won’t get smaller, but you can make it a smaller part of who you are.
Ze Frank talking to Michael Stevens (via the-one-and-only-trover)

400 notes

The things that make us feel the most alone have the greatest power to connect us.
Ze Frank, VidCon 2013 Saturday Afternoon Mainstage (via hermionejg)

24 notes

If God, for a second, forgot what I have become and granted me a little bit more of life, I would use it to the best of my ability. I wouldn’t, possibly, say everything that is in my mind, but I would be more thoughtful of all I say. I would give merit to things not for what they are worth, but for what they mean to express. I would sleep little, I would dream more, because I know that for every minute that we close our eyes, we waste sixty seconds of light. I would walk while others stop; I would awake while others sleep. If God would give me a little bit more of life, I would dress in a simple manner, I would place myself in front of the sun, leaving not only my body, but my soul naked at its mercy. To all men I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love. I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves. To old people I would say that death doesn’t arrive when they grow old, but with forgetfulness.

I have learned so much with you all, I have learned that everybody wants to live on top of the mountain, without knowing that true happiness is obtained in the journey taken and the form used to reach the top of the hill. I have learned that when a newborn baby holds, with its little hand, his father’s finger, it has trapped him for the rest of his life.

I have learned that a man has the right and obligation to look down at another man, only when that man needs help to get up from the ground. Say always what you feel, not what you think. If I knew that today is the last time that that I am going to see you asleep, I would hug you with all my strength and I would pray to the Lord to let me be the guardian angel of your soul. If I knew that these are the last moments to see you, I would say ‘I love you’. There is always tomorrow, and life gives us another opportunity to do things right, but in case I am wrong, and today is all that is left to me, I would love to tell you how much I love you and that I will never forget you.

Tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone, young or old. Today could be the last time to see your loved ones, which is why you mustn’t wait; do it today, in case tomorrow never arrives. I am sure you will be sorry you wasted the opportunity today to give a smile, a hug, a kiss, and that you were too busy to grant them their last wish.

Keep your loved ones near you; tell them in their ears and to their faces how much you need them and love them. Love them and treat them well; take your time to tell them ‘I am sorry’;’ forgive me’,’ please’ ‘thank you’, and all those loving words you know. Nobody will know you for your secret thought. Ask the Lord for wisdom and strength to express them. Show your friends and loved ones how important they are to you.

Send this letter to those you love. If you don’t do it today…tomorrow will be like yesterday, and if you never do it, it doesn’t matter, either, the moment to do it is now.

Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez (via mumeditation)

1,090 notes


Richard Avedon first photographed Gabriel García Márquez on a rainy day in 1976, but he felt that the portrait was a failure. Avedon finally had another chance to photograph the writer in 2004. This is the portrait that emerged from that second session:


Richard Avedon first photographed Gabriel García Márquez on a rainy day in 1976, but he felt that the portrait was a failure. Avedon finally had another chance to photograph the writer in 2004. This is the portrait that emerged from that second session:


2,263 notes

He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
~ Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (via lonequixote)

(via lonequixote)

7 notes


Does anyone else find it strange that in most to all futuristic movies the majority of the main characters are white? With globalization and the increase in intermarriage it is highly improbable that will be the case.