accomplishments
Today:
(1) Activated a Tensor panel in the building where they were constructed. Where their creator died. Where delicate negotiations were needed to recover them from afterwards. Where one had not shone bright in over eight years.
(2) Moved the most psychically stuck object in my life: My grandmother's blue velvet Victorian couch. Which had been stuck in the back corner of my storage area for at least eight years. And now sits halfway forward and not hard to remove from the space if I sell it.
These things are related; doing the first gave me the energy for the second.
As I cleaned the storage area, opening the empty boxes and sweeping up broken pieces of myself with the dust, I listed to the poetry of a depressed woman, reciting the litany of psychiatric medications and ridiculous suggestions by incompetent therapists she had gone through, and she ended by promising she would remain alive; I could hear the fire of life burning in her as it sang softly in me. I turned off the radio, and triumphantly sat on the century old couch, and brought inside my self the gorgeous silence of the deserted night-clad building, and I took out my phone and recorded to remind myself that I am creature of love.
It's tricky to feel love for others so much more easily than for myself. To treasure people who do not give me a second thought, but wind myself with phantoms and phantasms for trying to find peace. My mother tried so hard to fix this, but I did not even think it was a wound. The movement of that couch changes the course of the river of my life. How much is still to be seen; one of the riddles of being human is how we can remain ourselves and change completely at the same time.
(1) Activated a Tensor panel in the building where they were constructed. Where their creator died. Where delicate negotiations were needed to recover them from afterwards. Where one had not shone bright in over eight years.
(2) Moved the most psychically stuck object in my life: My grandmother's blue velvet Victorian couch. Which had been stuck in the back corner of my storage area for at least eight years. And now sits halfway forward and not hard to remove from the space if I sell it.
These things are related; doing the first gave me the energy for the second.
As I cleaned the storage area, opening the empty boxes and sweeping up broken pieces of myself with the dust, I listed to the poetry of a depressed woman, reciting the litany of psychiatric medications and ridiculous suggestions by incompetent therapists she had gone through, and she ended by promising she would remain alive; I could hear the fire of life burning in her as it sang softly in me. I turned off the radio, and triumphantly sat on the century old couch, and brought inside my self the gorgeous silence of the deserted night-clad building, and I took out my phone and recorded to remind myself that I am creature of love.
It's tricky to feel love for others so much more easily than for myself. To treasure people who do not give me a second thought, but wind myself with phantoms and phantasms for trying to find peace. My mother tried so hard to fix this, but I did not even think it was a wound. The movement of that couch changes the course of the river of my life. How much is still to be seen; one of the riddles of being human is how we can remain ourselves and change completely at the same time.