Local Changes…

… or how I still love you.

So many words could fit to fill this space, but none of them would ever be big enough to tell the tale of you.

A Fool In The Rain…

…And the storms we weather.

I said earlier, when you break a bone later into adulthood, it becomes like a barometer.

But really, maybe it’s true of anytime we break the structure- perhaps in youth, it heals easily and we move past it. However, as time carries us forward, and seasons change, the past is ever present – even if it feels forgotten. Indelible in our memories, imprinted in our bones; we feel again.

Even the oldest hurts, especially if not properly healed, will smart and remind us of the sharpness they once possessed.

Maybe…

Angels, Again…

…And other demons we worship.

Angels, if biblically accurate, are terrifying yet we perceive them as beautiful.

We perceive them as cleansing and healing and sane and lovely.

However, to have the fire and fury of The Divine one isn’t likely to be all sweet and soft, are they?

We’ve painted angels with benevolence and beauty. It’s safer for our mere mortal minds to perceive.

But what if…

To Be Human…

… And all the complications there-in.

Human.
Today, at 7:04 am, I felt Human.
(…today having been April 11, 2022)

I just felt a very real and full emotion….
Maybe for the first time.

All The Noise…

…And that which we choose not to hear.

I’m having a moment…

I may seem bitchier than usual, but what’s new? But I am also in a moment of extreme gratitude. It is my gratitude which is sparking my bitchiness – ironically.

Why/how? Because ….

To Be Willfully Beautiful…

…and choosing the flower garden.

Time teaches you a lot.
I have been willfully marinating in my own personal endemic for 5 years and in a literal quarantine for nearly two years.

I’m not young, so I can’t pretend to be. What does that serve, except to invalidate my years of experience?

Time.
I don’t have the energy for anger.
Anger is momentary.

Looking In…

…But never seeing out again.

With me, everything is “Private” – Private to the point I don’t share when I am in serious need of outside help, understanding or advice. I don’t even share when I’m in pain, because… you guessed it… it’s “private”.

I don’t share readily – the one person I share the most with is my boyfriend and even he feels I’m closed up half the time. He doesn’t press me… He knows I’ll share, eventually… partly. I think he knows I never share completely, and I justify it as ‘reasons’, but really… “private”. He knows how I am. Clearly he’s accepted it. (We don’t share a household. I would have to be far more open in that circumstance because I would have to be.)

As I told him today, one of the reasons I am so ‘closed’ is, his is the only opinion that matters. I don’t want him to know when I have trouble because I don’t want it to alter his opinion of me. I should know better than to think it does, but that’s the way I feel about it.

That Thing Again…

…Or The Places Where We Come Back To.

 

I didn’t realize it hasn’t been as long as I thought since I last posted. Fact of the matter is, I forgot I even HAVE a blog and I last remember updating in June.

It’s really been a rough several of months. I seem to keep saying that, but perhaps it’s because it keeps being true.

I am finding my self in a condition, in a place, I never imagined I would be in. It’s terrifying to me. I feel that every little thing is final, and indicative of something much larger, however my logical brain knows that can not really be the truth.

I also find it really, universally, unfair – because I never took anything for granted, I never felt myself above anything or anyone else’s circumstances.

I know, also, I can not move forward with that mind set. It isn’t a matter of what is right or fair or even HOW it happened or laying blame; it’s a matter of realizing where you are and making a decision rather you want to be there or not and what you have to do to change it.

Period.

The Screams We Silence…

…And the ones we let go.
Laying here at 4am, I realized something about me. 

I am thinking of a pain, a pain I took from someone else and told him he didn’t have a right to it. I very selfishly made a shared pain my own, to no real end. 

I took that pain, and I opened the bin of feeling and I shoved it down, stuffed it way down to the bottom. 

I covered those feelings with life and escapism, alcohol and bad dreams. 

I figured I could always outrun it without really trying. 

Sometimes, sometimes it manifests as two and a half weeks driving around Ireland, solo, pretending I am escaping another, fresher pain. However, I know one is related to the other because I created it that way and never really denied it.

Or…

It’s running off to Iceland for two weeks…

…next up is Greenland. 

And I get why.

Because when it’s cold, with a chill that sometimes remembers to cut through you, you are numb. You don’t have to feel. You can scream out over a frozen tundra and it won’t echo back. Frozen, blue and silent too. 

You get used to it.

I did this once, with a different pain, to the mountains of Greece. Camping and adventuring. The problem, however, with mountains is…

…they echo back. They will tell your secrets. It’s as if your pain won’t let you escape. 

You can’t escape it anyway. 

It Is In The Silence….

…Or, the place we hear the screams the loudest…
…All the places we hear the screams.

People always say they care…

….And such a phrase is supposed to matter.

However, I’ve noticed the silence more than the shouting (especially when I am the one shouting).