Month: September 2021

A few days ago upon our return home, we smelled a clear change in the seasons after the rain passed and left summer’s slate washed clean. 

Before it was officially declared Fall, we could feel that Fall had suddenly arrived. Energies seemed to have been released that were trapped under summer’s heat, set free to work their mischief.

One evening as we went up the hill to tend to the livestock, my pup wove back and forth erratically and finally succeeded in accidentally tripping me.

I fell hard on my left side, catching myself on my left hip with left hand out, arm impacting up into left shoulder.

I yelled out my pup’s name in outrage and hurt, and she came instantly to kiss my face and reassure me that she was sorry and cared for me (so sweet and kind!).

Later, the muscles in my left palm and wrist were strained and inflamed, and my left shoulder tells me it has suffered some micro strains in muscle fiber attachments.

This impact’s event sent jarring alarm through my system, and I have since been jittery with my heart doing occasional quiver-flutters.

My body slamming onto the slanted ground detonated the state of fight or flight reaction, trapped struggling within muscle lockdown for protection’s “freeze.”

I have since felt in a state of alarm, and with my defensive muscles auto-countering any natural move I would normally make, getting anything physical accomplished has felt like a real fight.

I have been reacting angrily with unfettered frustration during home chores – and cussing.

Now, as we revisit the community we wish to move to, summer vacationers are returning and where we are staying is having more hard-luck warriors gathering to see what “fun” they can get into.

The energies seem to be flying all around me, as if everything has ingested at least a tiny piece of Flubber – like in the movie starring Robin Williams.

I feel as if everything is suddenly shifting around, and I am not sure where – if anywhere – there is safe grounding. 

Maybe I am tired and just need more sleep. It’s unnerving to no longer feel summer’s familiar patterns to identify with.

The process of rebuilding one’s paradigm is difficult when relying upon delayed resources and shifting allegiances.

It’s a much more brutal process than even Maslow’s Hierarchy score charts can encompass.

The stripping of self and ego, the pushing aside of insecurity…the muffling of doubts and tackling-to-pin-down and subdue fears is a bombardment to one’s reactive neurology.

It isn’t as “simple” as finding a new job and a new place to live. The effort required takes beyond what one is able to give.

The spirit is left naked and raggedly vulnerable, searching for where it may begin.

Where we stay is inundated by people living on the edge, those who are relegated to the “fringe” of society.

They are not our tribe – though nice enough, gratefully – and I do not like this constant exposure. However, we are in the city proper and the staff treats us well.

We have our own large room, where the window is above elevation, away from the walkway. The bathroom is large, and the rooms are fairly insulated.

The freezer melts ice cream, but if you buy a bag of ice and shove it alongside the carton, it only gets a bit mushy.

The amount we pay totals up to what we could pay for a rental. But the competition for housing in this area is fierce, and my credit is wonky due to separation and the pandemic disrupting reparation.

I have excellent character and work references, but rental references are cruddy due to either an addict landlord, or a string of them that ascribed to the policy of entitled delayed maintenance, claiming we owed money for repairs they didn’t do.

How do we begin over again without falling into a similar trap? In searching for an opening, we often find situations that could trend toward the unhealthy.

For now we are overextended, just barely keeping a foot in current and future realities – unsure if the gap between them will widen, or if we’ll find solid grip for our crossing over.

Though I won my case, the money due to me is still enmired within system processes. There seems to be no rush toward releasing it, despite our long-standing and pressing needs.

Would I use it to pay off old credit, or fix my tanked car? Would I use it to pay deposit and rent, or pay back my parents? Could it go as a down-payment on a house, if properly leveraged?

When dire straights continue to add up, promised-yet-delayed relief gets complicated as to what and how one would apply it with regards to the backlog of bills still unattended.

It feels like veiled illusion as to how much I would even get, and it being taken from me – then its return delayed – reinforces a type of apathy towards money.

My gamble’s long-haul endurance requirements take a toll on me, as I see where we could be, if only we were allowed to transcend barriers to entry.

Therefore, stop creating us in your image.

Nubile, blond or dark supra-enhanced luxuriousness – with eyes dilated and legs wide open, just waiting for you to take advantage.

I mean – come on! Are you still merely horny teenagers?

Grow up and learn what being a real man can mean to you and the rest of the world. Step up and take a real stand.

Learn to love us for the strength and creativity – the regenerative cabilities – that being mature women can offer, instead of diminishing our expansive natures to a Hustler ad!

A new process for me, different from disassociation.

Mainly, when someone sees me as expendable, I must withdraw affection back into myself, which once expanded.

It is not an easy or quick process becuse the rot they caused to viable vines must not be internalized.

It is a type of cauterizing of the receptors’ end nodules for healing, ensuring they are mending before retracting.

And in my speech, I am learning to abruptly summarize what previously held deep meaning.

I was given an investment opportunity this last year that I had to decline.

It was one of the most difficult decisions I had to make because it felt Golden, and I wanted to be there, on the team of someone worthy, supporting him.

He chided me that sometimes we must take large risks – huge leaps of faith in order to improve our life’s condition.

He did not realize he was preaching to a tried warrior of such courses of action, and I do not know if he has since recognized this.

I instead worked a different kind of multi-layered investment, which ensured my family unit was safe, no matter the difficulties we were about to face – even though this went against my personal, individual desire to join his venture.

I invested in questing for solid ground that I could stand proud upon as a representation of my good values, so that someday he could look at me and know without doubt that I made good decisions.

Had I joined in the offer, I might be rich now – but I would owe it all to him, and have no credentials in his eyes: I would have fallen into the category of just another person (albeit interesting, maybe) whom he helped to save.

I regret not being able to join the gang, and I regret not having the money and luxury. I very much want these things, and I want to belong to a dynamic team.

But, I think I made the move I needed to after having been taken down by other people betraying and leaving me. I needed to rebuild my identity for me.

I wasn’t afraid to invest in another man and gamble for love and money. On the contrary, I needed to turn that energy into proving myself to both of us, and reaping the rewards of having good strategy.

I pray an investment like he offered again some day comes my way. For then, I will have so much more to recommend me.

Until that day – or if the day never arrives – may he know that instead of investing for money, I invested in our future’s relationship.

My gambles are never petty.

When I was a child, I used to have repeating nightmares of past lives in which I had died, brutally.

Then, I dreamed I was in a spired castle as they came again for me, choosing the body’s form I’d escape forward into this life to live within.

In waking consciousness, the world inside was gray like my eyes, compared to the bright life and blue skies around and above me.

Only nature could permeate my isolated sanctuary, coaxing me into bravery to feel all of this time’s pain and suffering for the promise of joy unforsaken.

I didn’t want to live like this, relegated to submitting – to diminishing the light my soul has all along carried.

How could I have been born so long ago, living and dying – yet, always aspiring – seeking for when the time of our conscious awarenesses are colliding?

Do you realize how far we’ve come in this round of re-ascending? How easy it could be to fall back down into that dark, black hole of ignorance’s oblivion?

In this life, we’ve trodded along, merely obeying – our only guarantee being that once born, we’re on our way to dying.

How precious these few moments where we might reveal and revel in our Understanding!

Water begins penetrating from around cracks in the ceiling.

Held within the box, two left from four in an ark of cats, dogs, and other small creatures.

The air cools and refreshes as moisture particles transform parch of smoke’s frequent visiting.

Fires raging every summer reissue warnings that this haven’s in the path of greed’s consumption.

Usually when there’s a threat, forest animals run from it, responding instantly to impetus of their instinct.

Were that I could be like them, instead of repressed shaking, fighting to remain human.

I know better than to abandon course: I must confront the thunder pounding at boundaries…

Picking up the battered sword, I strike until break through illusion’s encasement.

Water pours freely into the room, thirsty and drowning our sanctuary.

Feral winds rush to surround me as I emerge, filling my lungs – invigorating as they carress my face, welcoming.

The coming maelstrom shrieks its challenge, glowing eyes a rage-filled promise.

I must seek its heart for our safety. There, we’ll watch as what we’ve come to cherish is destroyed.

Ear plugs help to simulate the experience as I lay still snuggled under layered, thin blankets.

If I could quiet the terror and inner chatter warning we’re in danger, it would be easier to soak in the pleasure of solitude.

But my cells ready for battle, and muscles clamp down – anticipating maneuvers. There are just so many attacks, and few ways to counter them.

The key is to keep moving, to keep setting forth on our path, attempting to breach the other side and make contact, before it is too late.

The assault is beginning in earnest. My only consolation is that in the back of my mind, I’ve planned for this.

I don’t understand what it is about them that churns within, propagating their susceptibility to passive-aggressive malice in the guise of “good business.”

In times especially as these, my need for distance is reinforced. For how can the world be safe when family turns against you, without real provocation – just imagined, as their fears puppet them?

On this dark path I have traveled, I made sure to carve a swath where I could rest and reflect.

Even as my body has trembled to over-react, I have pushed aside the fear, in favor of what I could do.

May this time I gave to myself have been enough for what I am about to go through.

I dust off my shield, take a last look at the land that has grown to love me, and prepare for the worst – praying for a miracle to save me.

Just as the wind begins gathering under my wings, my parents sabotage me.

They will help me if they can control me – if I am dependent and in need.

But the moment I gain strength, they sense it, and disrupt me – so I have to leap and flee.

Their timing, as usual, is impeccable. My life is a series of evasions from other people’s greed.

To me, written scriptures can seem a bit stodgy – especially after having had people shove their pasty-stale versions of meaning down my gullet, force-feeding me.

However, Mathew 6:33 appeals to me in a new way, like a fresh bit of verdant scenery.

In my quest to find my “right path” and acquire my true life partner, I feel as if I keep getting thwarted.

I do not need to be lectured about how “God has plans for me.” I am the type to say, “Get your hands off of me!”

But, in this moment as I write, seeing the clock turn to 6:33pm and looking up possible meaning, happening upon this writing just when I was feeling a certain yearning is as if the message has spoken to me.

Perhaps God and I are becoming more congruent.