the only magic left in the world is that which we create.
study is only one component of correcting unfavorable behaviour(s) and life is an unfair proctor. the mind wants to protect itself so leaning on it for truth isn’t always ideal. likewise, leaning on another’s understanding of truth is misleading.
you have to adapt; eat, what’s available and fast when sickness overwhelms.
writing is part healing, part obsession and part destructive. with only so much time, i have to be honest with how much i invest in written expression; how much i consider reward versus penance. characters, you and they are all screens of distancing, of disowning the pain, confusion and inability to maintain an internal state of peace. effort and muses are oxymorons; neither are signposts, directions or expressions of what i’m hoping to achieve.
everyone seems to struggle with time and timing, past and presence. i don’t write about how ready i am to die, not because i fear judgment but because being faced with the idea that life isn’t worth the pain leaves me to face the abyss of hypocrisy i struggle against. it’s like quicksand, where i feel i must be the face of hope and possibility while simultaneously being pulled beneath earth. the exhaustion, the anxiety and inability to sleep are not only functions of mind but of dna, and the life i’ve leaned into and away from. the trinity of peace feels out of reach and there is no one to blame, no one to go to for help. any day of the week we can hire a contractor to do an inside job, but they can’t execute what some of us have been told our hands are equipped to master.
this ‘episode’ will pass. i will feel more positive, powerful and peaceful; but it won’t last, because it’s in large part a function of the energy i have to dance with my surroundings. my mom keeps telling me i need to go out; she doesn’t tell me with whom specifically – she says a friend, a date, a someone. but i disagree and always have. i told her i only have so much energy; and that to the extent i can, it must be first be divided between myself, my children, and those i’ve already invested my heart into. it includes her and few others, but that’s it. i explained that every relationship requires investment, energy investment, and that i had none left after using it on the handful of people already in my purview. she disagreed. i listened. i got off the phone and cried.
that’s the truth i don’t write about. because it’s largely emotional, so largely fleeting but it always returns. there are days i color with crayons, paint and colored pencils but just as many i paint in gray. that’s life and death in a nutshell. we can’t always smile, so we need people in our lives to accept us on those days we feel hopeless, helpless and generally discouraged. we need their energy, their touch and their words. so without looking back, i’d guess this blog is about 70/30.
70 percent perseverance, peace and love; 30 percent sorrow and vulnerability. then again, that’s just my mind picking out numbers that leave me to feel it’s not all that bad. sometimes illusion and fantasy are required to keep hope alive.