Look

There is a great adventure in every bit of life.


Notice that when someone moves, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a new life enters the world, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a person is murdered, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when there is a new found sum of money, it changes the life of everyone involved.

Notice that when something of value goes missing, it become the most important thing of all.


I wanted something new and exciting, and at first the Foam Cabinet didn't seem to hear my desires. I walk up to the Foam Cabinet, and the Foam Cabinet opens easily enough. Inside I see my reflection. I remember seeing my reflection in the Foam Cabinet a long while ago, but this time it was unaltered and crystal clear. Behind me in the reflection was exactly what was behind me in reality: a couple good friends, a few half-read books, a cat, a disassembled drum set, an old acoustic guitar, a collection of past artwork, empty pens, crumpled papers, gum wrappers, and that ever-looming Xbox.

My discontent sparked at the dull familiarity of these objects, and I closed the Foam Cabinet.















A few hours go by.















I feel the urge to do things.

















I feel like playing Xbox first. I gather the necessary components of my normal gaming experience. I sit down, get comfortable, and reach for the controller. My groping is in vain. I cannot find the controller. In a disgruntled sigh, I head up to my room to read one of my books.

I turn on the reading lamp, and its glow resonates in a high pitched buzz in my ears. Again I settle down in a comfortable position. I pick up the nearest book, grateful for its existence, and turn to my bookmarked page. The page is blank. Confusion becomes the only feeling I can register, and this feeling pulsates faster and greater throughout my body as each new page I turn is the same amount of nothing.

The flooding of mixed emotion started to make my skin tingle, and I reach for a piece of paper. Words and images stream through my mind with such force that my eyes can see nothing else. Pen in hand, I record what fills my sight. After half an hour, the images settle down; instead of rushing to get out into the world, they seep tantalizingly over each other as glaciers roam the mountains. As soon as the last character disappears, I can see the paper again. The paper is scratched up, torn, and dented. But, it, too, is terribly vacant of anything other than paper.

I look at my right hand, and the pen is just as it was before: dry.
















I turn to the guitar, hopeful that I can get her to sing along to my frustration and soothe my nerves. Distraught is all that comes to me, though. My guitar is broken.















Late is the night, and only a few friendly souls remain awake. In a few touches I send out cheerful messages to a handful of my friends in my phone. I fall asleep waiting for a response.






I wake up and see that no message sent in the first place.





I pray to God that my morning at school starts off right, and I leave the Foam Cabinet behind without a second look. The bell rings just as I enter my classroom. The teacher starts us on a silent assignment, allowing no other options.

The whole day goes by.

Not a thing sparks my interest.

My spirit is weighed down by dullness.

The world becomes clouded and grey.

Once I get home, the only thing I can think of is the Foam Cabinet. My irritation of the hours before has foamed over into a puddle of sizzling anger. I open the Foam Cabinet.































I see...

























A reflection of myself. The background is the same as before; the only changes are that my expression is more worn, and behind me is less order. I feel enraged at the audacity of my own Foam Cabinet.







This goes on for five weeks before I check the Foam Cabinet again.























The same thing.


























Five more weeks, and I am so tired of the same old nothing that I take with me a paint brush the next time I open the Foam Cabinet. When I open the Foam Cabinet, I am not surprised to see myself staring back at me staring at myself. Staring at me.

I take my brush, and somehow have materialized a bit of paint on its tip.

I circle my face.

My face remains blank with boredom.

A few seconds later, my brain registered the poorly-drawn black circle on the reflection screen.

My brain enjoyed the newness of a lame little circle.

Then the reflection split directly across the upper left and lower right corners of the screen.

Now my black circle has a diagonal slash straight through it.

My face is broken.

But the background...






Becomes more exciting.





I leave the Foam Cabinet open and explore the return of the familiar objects of months ago. The Xbox has a controller, the paper is covered in inspiration, and my books are restored. I rejoice. I look. I look back at the Foam Cabinet. The inside changed! Now the Foam Cabinet displayed a reflection absent of myself. Everything else was there. Everything else was so bright and intriguing and colorful. I was practically transparent. Yet I felt so happy.


For the rest of the day, I enjoyed looking at everything as if it were a new found treasure. I appreciated what each object and friendship was worth. My schoolwork in that class expanded my curiosity. My friends invited me to events that I no longer found boring. I had so much fun. I felt reborn.


And I didn't even notice when everything disappeared again the next week.
I was still content.
It was a great feeling.

Bear and Brain Fur

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.

And you know the rest.

What do you do when the Foam Cabinet lets loose a hairless bear?

Yeah, I don't know, either.

So I have this thing called a brain. (I bet you have one, too.) The brain is the most complex thing we can hold in our hands. (Besides a person with a brain inside it.) Hold a brick, and you've got some fired clay. Hold a computer, and you've got some bits of electronically stimulated metal. Hold a brain, and you've got someone's entire universe.

Or do you?

The brain's primary function is to store and convey information. You get kicked in the elbow, and your elbow starts hurting. You see a familiar person, and you either smile, or kick them in the elbow. 

Did you know that if the brain wasn't suspended in gooey gel stuff called "cerebral fluid" inside our skull, it would crush itself under its own weight?

A crushed brain does you no good. 

I also have this thing called a heart. (I'm pretty sure you have one of those.) This muscly little powerhouse is possibly as equally complicated as the brain is. If not for the rib cage and spinal cord, a simple little jab could destroy the bloody pump. Not only does the heart supply blood flow throughout the body, but it stores the most powerful emotional memory of any body part; even more than the brain. People who've had heart transplants sometimes "remember" things that happened to the person who previously owned the heart. 

It's almost as if the soul is stored there...

Both of these organs make up the basis of who we are inside. That, plus whatever a soul and spirit is. I haven't quite figured that all out yet. Anyway, these organs are heavily guarded. To damage them would be to damage your entire life. 

How do you know if your heart or brain is damaged?

How can you tell when you're truly hurt inside?

For one, you can usually feel the pain.

If someone offends you, your chest hurts. That's your heart. Your heart is telling you that you have been unloved by another living soul. Some people just ignore it. Some people develop anger or hatred. Some people turn it back around and become stronger. And some people break completely. 

If you fail at something, your head hurts. That's your brain. Your brain is telling you that, although you may have tried, and believed that your methods of action would work, a calculation had gone wrong, which resulted in failure. Some people develop a strong sense of frustration, which starts to hurt the heart as well. You can't focus. Some people just ignore the failure as if it never happened. Some people simply try again, developing a sense of perseverance. And some people just cannot get over it, and become stressed. 

What would it be like if you could strip away all your bear-fur and see what the essence of your heart and brain were? Imagine if you could look at your heart, and know exactly what was wrong with it. You could see exactly what causes it pain. Then you could figure out how to make it better, right? Imagine if you could look at your brain. You could see the broken problem clearly, and find out how to fix it in the blink of an eye. 

If you were to be able to see these things, would you do anything about it? Would you become a better person? Would you be a strong, fierce bear, or a quivering little skeleton? 

What if I told you that you CAN see your own heart?

What if I told you that you CAN see your own brain?

You see, these two organs are connected. Your brain tells your heart to pump blood, and your heart pumps blood essential to the brain. It's a cycle. 

If you think about it, and look at your life, you can probably find the plank in your eye; see who kicked your elbow.

If you can't see the problem, I'm sure someone else can tell you for you. 

I'm saying all of this because it has happened to me: the realization that my heart (and brain) were/are kind of REALLY messed up. Usually it only takes an hour in the shower to figure it out, but sometimes... sometimes it takes an army of brave, courageous people to shave the little bear that I am.

The Foam Cabinet gives me strange analogies, doesn't it?

Storytime

There's a time for everything, and the Foam Cabinet revealed that now is the time for stories. I have a ton of 'em, because I've lived for over 16 years. That's more than 180 months. And over 5,800 days! Each day has multiple stories, and they all compile to form my life story.




I'm not the only one.


You.

You have probably lived well over 3,000 days, which means you have well over 10,000 experiences. In those experiences you have hundreds of thoughts, some larger than others. 




You're not the only one!




There are over 7,000,000,000 people currently living in the world. The average life expectancy for this world is  about 65 years of age. That's about 455,000,000,000 years of unique stories in the brains of people living today. 5,460,000,000,000 months. 166,075,000,000,000 days. Trillions, if not quadrillions of thoughts and opinions. TODAY. What about all the people from all of time's existence? You'd probably reach the quintillions, sextillions, or septillions of unique little bits of information. If you want an original story, there are plenty out there. You just have to ask the right questions.

With all that said and done, why don't I share a story with you? I wasn't even alive when this little thought-process took place, but it pertains to me.






Once upon a time, my mother was a child.


In her youthful days, she often visited her grandmother.


Her grandmother lived primarily in Colorado, and this is where my mother went one day.


After a while of chatting and gamboling and frolicking and stuff, my mother needed to go to the restroom.


Upon the finishing of her business, my mother always washed her hands.


Her grandmother never failed to keep her bathroom stocked with a bar of rose-scented soap.


This scent of rosy bubbles set my mother up with a permanent sense of sweet nostalgia.


Fast forwarding to the semi-eventful day of my birth, my dear mother and father wanted to name me.


They gave me the name Carolyn, for my mother loved the ring of the name.


When she wanted to choose my middle name, she was reminded of the days a good while ago.


As she remembered her favorite smell of soap, she named me Carolyn Rose.


Therefore I am named after a hundred-year-old bar of rose scented soap from Colorado.


The end.

It's simple stories like this that can make great conversation enhancers. Perhaps after telling an excerpt of your life's makeup, a good friend of yours might share an interesting, entertaining, or touching little tale of their own. Thus culture is continued, and life is a little more filled with substance. 




Go tell a story! 




I dare you.

An Update to Prepare for an Update.

The Foam Cabinet appeared to me today in a new format: it was slightly larger, and was a slightly different shade of grey. 

I don't know if this means something symbolically, but it happened.

Curious as to why this Foam Cabinet of mine had changed, I decided to open the Foam Cabinet. 

Inside, I saw this:

I think an update is in store, but I'm not sure what it is. You can interpret the images however you'd like... 

But I see CHANGE on the horizon!

Be prepared.

Be very prepared.