Backlight

I fell for you, and that's when I knew

The vision of your loveliness

I hope and I pray

That maybe someday

I'll be the vision of your happiness

This isn't how I wanted this to end, but I know this is the right thing. I'm so torn. And I could be talking about any one of quite a few things right now, but I think it applies to all of them. Tonight made me realize something, and it's that I shouldn't ever hastily assume I am done with something.

I thought I was done with the neck craning and coy laughing and flicking my eyes to and from you. Or the rise and fall in my chest. I had assumed I was all level-headed and hearted but I was quite wrong indeed... So wrong that I think I'm going to be sad tonight. No complaints either way, I'll just get a good sleep.

Wow, I am quite sad. I'm not too surprised. I don't think I should continue typing while this is bubbling up... I'll end up sounding frightfully melodramatic, and this is just a phase.

Bombarded

Everyone's growing up so fast
Use your big boy words, or you won't be heard
Noone pays any mind to the child of you in my memories.

Now you sport a rugged goatee
But I remember when you just loved to play frisbee
In that orange sweater of yours, in the park.
Do we lose the time for such frivolous games?
Or do our interests change?

I can't say I miss the insensitivity of a teenage boy, exploring his influence on girls
But you don't talk to me anymore and I wonder why
You weren't so careful with your words
And affection

Maybe it's better this way,
This time, this change
However I can't help but remember that day
I wore your friends sweater...
The jealousy in your voice was exhilarating when you said the words,
"Why is she wearing that? It's yours, right?"
And the sneer you gave the both of us.

I had no interest in his teen-boy musk,
but I found what I was looking for
When you e-mailed me later that day.

"I think I like you", it said.

2 Cups of Coffee

You can't have me.
And I don't say this in a defensive way or as though I'm drawing away in fear - I am noone's to have. I won't give myself to you to change, to break, to paint. I am naked in this world and I will not hide behind the clothes you tell me to wear.

I will not objectify myself.
You make me feel like I owe you something, like you deserve to touch me and look at me with those hungry eyes. You are disrespectful to me as a woman and as a person - you understand not what I am. I am not a toy or a vessel for you to unleash yourself. I will tame you with my stern words of the back of my hand should you step too near. I will not hesitate to defend what is mine and what is sacred.

I will not give myself to you.
Many a time my mind plays games and wants to take part of you in - but this leads me to redirect your pain into my heart. It is not my place to feel what is yours to feel, and it does not belong to me. It helps noone, what I do. Compassion is different than sympathy, and sympathy is only harmful when the emotions of others bleed into mine. I have barriers, and they are strengthening with each day.

I will not be quieted or stilled;
Now, more than ever, I choose to flourish and pad lightly through the streets of this world. There is so much to see, and so much waiting for me to touch it. I want to be one with these things. I want to travel, I want to write, I want to love.

I'm about to leave the nest.

Conan

I feel like I'm mourning a loss.
I can say that I suppose I am, but it is a healthy one, and before anyone jumps to any assumptions, I suppose I should explain.

I've been feeling quite heavily bombarded by my memories and energetic baggage. Particularly with the males that have been in my life - memories and precise details of our encounters will resurface and painful echoes will sound through my chest. It is in these moments that I realize I am not through with them. Though most of them are out of my life, or pay no mind to me, or even miss me terribly - I mourn them. That doesn't have to be a sad thing, however, for it is not my duty to carry them with me. These last few days, I've been reiterating my own boundaries as a person, and not primarily as an empath. Not to sound as though I don't care about people; I can be compassionate to the point of harming my own self, which, in the end, is not an adequate or appropriate practice for anyone. How can I continually help people if I am depleted?

There is a fine balance in cultivation and compassion. Now, I am (as always, it may seem) going through another period of transition. We did some practices at the workshop I went to that focused on clearing out energies of past lovers (even though 'lover' meant 'sexual partner', I still gained something from the experience) and it felt nice. The difficult part of where I am now, though, is that my energies are expanding and desiring and searching... Not for a counterpart, but for more clarity in myself.

The other day I couldn't get out of bed. It was a brief spell of depression, nothing to worry about, but I realized I didn't know how to be happy. I started asking myself, "What is the point? How do I do anything if I don't know what brings me joy?"
And a friend of mine answered, "You have to find out!"

So maybe that's what I'll search for. I'm trying not to write for the audience I know I have, because I don't want any of my opinions or experiences to be misconstrued or taken out of context... I am at a place right now where I feel strong. My expectations of the future have no control over me, and I am still doing some deep emotional work.

On top of all this, I am so grateful for all the love in my life. It's difficult, I find, to prune this plant. As much as it might be easier to let the plant grow wild and untamed, such growth cannot last. It is not sustainable. To trim here and there, and to tie it to a little stick, will cause the plant to grow healthy, and with a straight stem. My, I am so good at being vague... As the gardener in this metaphor of mine, I must accept the responsibility of cutting and clearing the parts that are out of control. As guilty as I may feel, I challenge myself to trust in my intuition. It has not misled me before. I know that I have the potential to be a graceful and loving groundskeeper, should I speak from my heart.

I wish love and light to anyone who reads this. Even in my darkest moments, I know there is light. This is the nature of duality and the paradox of life. It is sometimes from the muddiest ground that the most beautiful flowers blossom.

Ah, to be a petal on the wind.

Quasi-Chrystilline

"It's funny how the name can change, about the time you find you're sick of sayin' it."
-Eureka


Reality, whatever that world means to you, is unimaginible from inside these confines. I'm trying to speak of it in a way that will encompass it, envelope it. How is this possible? I find it difficult to swathe something in words as though I'm taking a step back to examine it. There is no space to step back into, while trying to describe infinity.

Everything and nothing matters. There is a hair tie to my left, and a phone to my right.
I am seemingly disconnected from them - they are not integral in my body and soul, and I do not require them to live out my divine trajectory on this plane.
Simultaneously, I am connected to them through potential.
I could easily reach to my left and interact with the hair tie - move my hand in a way that slides the object up, around my right wrist, so it is a part of what I choose to wear. If I were to select it, it could be a part of me, and I could use it to wind my hair up in a gathering on the back of my head. I would feel different. The tension on the roots of my hair would affect me physically.

I could reach to my right and grab the phone - punch the plastic buttons to access another person's words. Easily, I could connect with another soul in that way - verbally - through this tangible item.

So am I truly disconnected from them? One could argue that I am disconnected until I choose to integrate with them - I do not know for certain that this is the case. Is the potential a part of me, or is it a third party noun, entirely? I cannot say. I do not know.

Maybe I could argue, though, that this entire reality isn't made up of separate entities. That would mean that, if one dies off or ceases to exist, this reality is incomplete. Like a puzzle with a missing piece, this reality would be forever flawed.

Maybe it is only our bodies that cause us to label things, segregate things. If it were not for our cognitive processes, we would not decipher "hair tie" or "telephone". We would simply see shifting, fluid colours and shapes. We would not walk or talk or pick things up with our hands, but we, too, would exist as intangible. As solely spiritual, and not materialistic.

Though there are negative aspects to being such physical creatures, there is wisdom in us. Our bodies are vessels for tides of emotion and thought flow. We relate to each other with these bodies - they give us a solid home for all of our energies as we explore the world. It is a safe haven to protect our souls.

I'm a Wife in Watercolours

St. Vincent
Sondre Lerche
Johnny Stimson
Eddie Spaghetti
Davila 666
Boy & Bear
Architecture in Helsinki

NeoCitr-Ass

Just kidding, it's not that bad. Excuse my small injection of childishness.

My, I do have some issue relaxing, don't I? My brain constantly whirs, planning out the best and worst possible outcomes of a potential situation in which I might be in, possibly, some undetermined span of time. I try to keep the roots of my tree dug deep into the soil, I do, but the wind is strong and I am tempted by the shape shifters.

I know this feeling well - the "about to embark upon an adventure" thrill and fear. I feel this way about most parts of my life at the moment. It's hard, sometimes, to refrain from looking back, and I admit that I do steal a glimpse once in a while. I wonder if there's something wrong with the way my heart feels a tug at the memories I tried to forget.

ANGST

I cleaned the kitchen today. I was asked to, but I don't know if I was expected to do it. I wonder what it means. I wonder what it means that I put two tiny little braids in my hair and made an effort to dress myself in actual, presentable clothes (mind you they are all either men's and or second hand but fuck you it's a Zelda shirt). Something inside me is healthy. Something inside me is breathing and ready to wake up... After such a long incubation, there is only a thin film to break through. The timing, though, is important. I need to know I can fly.

It's exhilarating and frustrating at the same time, knowing that I am a bud, bursting to bloom, aching to flourish as the sun caresses my petals. It's such a sweet sensation when I've remained in the darkness for so long. Another rebirth is coming, I can feel it, and I pray I start to unfurl this very second.

I want to work. I want to make money and make people laugh. I want to write a book and write a play and write meaningful letters to leave on your porch as a nice, stalker-love-note.
I feel so much potential inside of me - I am struck by fear that this is projection, but I know that these possibilities are fluttering about my head in a crown of cosmic butterflies.

So. Much. Possibility.

I want to stay clear and clean so my inner intuitive and healer and warrior and all my different skins can breathe and speak to me when they need to. I want, I feel, I need, I hear.

Let's shine our shoes and get on with this wild ride.