I am waiting out a demon of ugliness, stationary like lead inside my heart today, that settled with a word, practically one word.

Dunno why I didn’t beam my pain and anger immediately, it gathers now at the back of my spine like a storm, growing on ignorance, as I pretend it doesnt exist, nothing changed, that I can go back to a state before explosion. But my spine knows, something has altered, something has congealed and become unalterable.

I must I should, have seen it come, realized some visions are always six by one, they take time expanding, time I do not have. And I know, I have been granted a key here, an opportunity has presented itself loud and demanding, grasping both its hands on the sides of my head, forcing focus.

But ive become, somewhere along the winding flower garden road, a myopic house cat, I dunno if I can go off the cream and start leaping the barriers again, dogged, ruthless and sharp. Extending hands grasp my head and force my hand, to see, comfort is a deadly thing, stationary and sure, sitting ducks come to mind. Our guardian angels like to keep us hungry in the pit.

Perhaps, this is why some blind dingbat takes on lifes mantle every now and then, to sweep us change. Ugh, but I hate this side of humanity, hate seeing it in action, hate understanding it, hate admitting to it, hate descending into it, a long dark angry pit of snakes, but it exists, it is needed, it must breathe every now and then, if not for long.

For now I am stationary, I cannot see beyond the word, my vision too has become six by one. I grieve, for life as it was, for a nice sunny ball of wool I was happy swat-tangling, I grieve because I cannot recapture my altered spine, I cannot fight for what has settled in lead, I grieve for the moment I gave up a path I had myself chosen to lead, I grieve because it was thrust on me, and I feel powerless and disillusioned.

Most painful to give up our own choices, since we know the blood we shed to make each one. Most painful to admit to a mistake, a big fat clawing misery of a mistake. Easier to go along with other hands holding us hostage to life, deciding our paths and making our beds, always someone to blame for our failures, our losses, our little broken flotsam boats.

Giving up beyond salvage is always a difficult thing, change is always rebirth, small or big, like regrowing an arm or a soul. Change is always slow and difficult, with constant regression into comfort.

The road flies like a pendulum snapped mid-swing. Right now, I have no idea where it will land.

2 Responses

  1. Seems this feeling is epidemic, perhaps contagious. I was just thinking about changing my fb name from cordie b peaceful to cordie b a bitch…as peaceful seems to not be working. I know in my heart that the answer lies in simply speaking and living our truths–no matter how the ball bounces. Happy New Year dear MM. So will you keep it misty this year, or will you become clear?

    ~Dont change your name Cordie, let it be who you want! I will be misty of course 😦 …and clear also :D, a wonderful, if slightly belated, NEW YEAR TO YOOOO!!

  2. Very powerful thoughts and words… life is indeed difficult and when change plays it only adds pressure… I can relate a great deal to you here… I too grieve for the self I gave up on along the way. Your words are strong… indeed to carry such a privileged piece…

    “Giving up beyond salvage is always a difficult thing, change is always rebirth, small or big, like regrowing an arm or a soul. Change is always slow and difficult, with constant regression into comfort.”


    ~Hey Enreal, how are you :)? While I tend to be dramatic about it, I am actually quite fond of change, its kinda my rush, but of course, all the grieving that comes from it is necessary to move on

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