walking the labyrinth
I have so much to say, and I haven't been saying it. Am I afraid I won't be heard? Am I afraid it won't be good enough, it will come out wrong? Or perhaps I just don't have the energy? I have musical ideas, scholastic responses, artistic goals, letters to write, and personal issues to sort out, and all I can manage to do is my Hindi homework and make a livejournal post. I want to be changed; I want to go to India and have my Self stripped away, and return and discover everything anew. I feel I've matured and reached a plateau of understanding with myself, a place of forgiveness and nurturing. But then I make another turn in the labyrinth, and I'm doubting and comparing, hiding in little electronic devices, orchid pots, and festering dreams. Afraid of really doing something, so instead I try to do everything. I push myself to the limit (I've gotten really good at knowing my limit, and stopping right before it, sometimes right after) because I think that's the best way to challenge myself. But what if I didn't do that? Have you considered that, they say, and yes, of course I have. Yes, I've considered not driving myself crazy, it's just not a viable option right now.
heh. time to compose some new mantras for myself.
Also, I'm entering hibernation mode. just when i need to be working the hardest, all I want to do is stay home, take baths with honeysuckle jasmine bath salts, and read Narnia, or other fluffy books, and listen to jazz. and hold my sweetie, and maybe sing a little. that's pretty much it.
ah well. all this is overshadowed by my GOING TO INDIA in .... 16 days!!!!!!!! why am i whining about ANYthing??? I should be dancing every minute of the day, and making sure I get my visa in time. yeeeeeks
and now, one whose phrases flow more smoothly than mine;
...who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless
ocean of love within him -and freely poured
it forth,
who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his
dear friends, his lovers,
who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless
and dissatisfied at night,
who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one
he loved might secretly be indifferent to him,
...who oft as he sauntered the streets, curved with his
arm the shoulder of his friend-while the arm of
his friend rested upon him also.
-calamus, walt whitman
heh. time to compose some new mantras for myself.
Also, I'm entering hibernation mode. just when i need to be working the hardest, all I want to do is stay home, take baths with honeysuckle jasmine bath salts, and read Narnia, or other fluffy books, and listen to jazz. and hold my sweetie, and maybe sing a little. that's pretty much it.
ah well. all this is overshadowed by my GOING TO INDIA in .... 16 days!!!!!!!! why am i whining about ANYthing??? I should be dancing every minute of the day, and making sure I get my visa in time. yeeeeeks
and now, one whose phrases flow more smoothly than mine;
...who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless
ocean of love within him -and freely poured
it forth,
who often walked lonesome walks, thinking of his
dear friends, his lovers,
who pensive, away from one he loved, often lay sleepless
and dissatisfied at night,
who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one
he loved might secretly be indifferent to him,
...who oft as he sauntered the streets, curved with his
arm the shoulder of his friend-while the arm of
his friend rested upon him also.
-calamus, walt whitman