(no subject)
I feel like I should give this place a chance again. It does seem to be my current best hope of finding new interests and the people who like them.
I've become lazy. Why take the time to carefully craft an interesting well-written dissertation with a smart pithy end cap that sums up the learned life lesson, when it is so much easier to spew my isolation anxiety and ire in terse crude language and get half a dozen "yea, sister, i hear you" and then converse with me non-judgmentally about the hows and whys? The best is when they unload their shit, and i get to be the listener/cheerleader/helper. It feels like friendship, and that can't be beat.
But i do long for the flowing eloquence that comes not from the immediacy of the emotional storm, but the long view from the top of the hill, watching the fog roll in and the march of the rain, and knowing all the seeds being turned and the bounty that will one day come later down the road.
I fear sometimes in living waist-deep in my psyche I'm missing where it is that I am standing. I forget their is a sky above, and miles to go, miles I haven't seen yet, miles I'll never reach if I start thinking this muck hole is my existence.
There is much to be said for being a member of a club that welcomes you, it becomes addicting to dance around the fire surrounded by eager faces, watching my self circle and howl with them, dressing burned legs, meaning disagreements, and holding hands as another cries. This is community living. But I am an observer. I'm not equipped to be in the center, or at least I don't think it's where I should be. I like being outside the heat, on the edge of the glow, feeling the laughter and tears, coming when asked, but tending to my own hut, reverent of all I've seen. Still. Silently. Cultivating peace the only way I know how, making a of my lessons
to drink and dream on. I have not performed this ritual in far too long.
I'm thinking that meditation is the only way out that doesn't involve self-deception or dragging comforts down into the cold to make my stay there more palatable. In my heart I know I've been ready to move on, not necessarily from my new online haunt, but away from this level of experience, time to take what i know and read it. Take what I came with and reclaim it. Declare to my closest allies my leaving, hopefully to get their understanding and bits of sustenance to take on my journey. i don't think i need more than i hug; a bit of respect and love can last a lifetime.
Right now, in this moment, I am lucid enough to construct these comforting castles of metaphor and the imagined treasures that await me. Maybe this is how all quests and travels begin -- with an idea that sparks a joy not found where one is, a certainty that bags are indeed packed with provisions and that the hardest part is saying good bye to the little hovel, the one that floods in the winter and bakes in the summer, surrounded by webs of concern. leaving the familiar muck hole, finding those feet, standing, and finally moving with no backward glances, but a pack full of the knowledge that everything that matters is with me.
I've become lazy. Why take the time to carefully craft an interesting well-written dissertation with a smart pithy end cap that sums up the learned life lesson, when it is so much easier to spew my isolation anxiety and ire in terse crude language and get half a dozen "yea, sister, i hear you" and then converse with me non-judgmentally about the hows and whys? The best is when they unload their shit, and i get to be the listener/cheerleader/helper. It feels like friendship, and that can't be beat.
But i do long for the flowing eloquence that comes not from the immediacy of the emotional storm, but the long view from the top of the hill, watching the fog roll in and the march of the rain, and knowing all the seeds being turned and the bounty that will one day come later down the road.
I fear sometimes in living waist-deep in my psyche I'm missing where it is that I am standing. I forget their is a sky above, and miles to go, miles I haven't seen yet, miles I'll never reach if I start thinking this muck hole is my existence.
There is much to be said for being a member of a club that welcomes you, it becomes addicting to dance around the fire surrounded by eager faces, watching my self circle and howl with them, dressing burned legs, meaning disagreements, and holding hands as another cries. This is community living. But I am an observer. I'm not equipped to be in the center, or at least I don't think it's where I should be. I like being outside the heat, on the edge of the glow, feeling the laughter and tears, coming when asked, but tending to my own hut, reverent of all I've seen. Still. Silently. Cultivating peace the only way I know how, making a of my lessons
to drink and dream on. I have not performed this ritual in far too long.
I'm thinking that meditation is the only way out that doesn't involve self-deception or dragging comforts down into the cold to make my stay there more palatable. In my heart I know I've been ready to move on, not necessarily from my new online haunt, but away from this level of experience, time to take what i know and read it. Take what I came with and reclaim it. Declare to my closest allies my leaving, hopefully to get their understanding and bits of sustenance to take on my journey. i don't think i need more than i hug; a bit of respect and love can last a lifetime.
Right now, in this moment, I am lucid enough to construct these comforting castles of metaphor and the imagined treasures that await me. Maybe this is how all quests and travels begin -- with an idea that sparks a joy not found where one is, a certainty that bags are indeed packed with provisions and that the hardest part is saying good bye to the little hovel, the one that floods in the winter and bakes in the summer, surrounded by webs of concern. leaving the familiar muck hole, finding those feet, standing, and finally moving with no backward glances, but a pack full of the knowledge that everything that matters is with me.