The coin of positivity allows the situation of “relegated” to be flipped to the perception of “I get to,” thereby giving any thwarted desire or venture a new slant for accessing what is still given as “opportunity.”
However, the other side of the optimism coin is pessimism, and if it gets more and more difficult to have the kind of influence one needs to overturn that coin back to positive in their life, a third side of the coin appears, called bitterness.
This further complicates.
I can create something where before there was nothing.
How small we all once began: with awe and reverence.
By remaining distant, I retain my own authority.
Because they were creative and independent, I mistakenly assumed that they would be developed in emotional intelligence.
After receiving a massage, I need to workout in the gym to expand my muscles from within to better accept the changes and avoid curling up like a crab drawn into itself by tension – or like a chiton.
The “freeze” part of fight or flight can become so ingrained that attempting to move out if it becomes painful – like squeeze-sheering the body through sharded planes of granite.
Some of us were sent to bear witness – yet got dragged into the experience.
Molestation was so prevalent in my childhood that of course it would seem to be that the cure would be from a true kiss with real promises.
No amount of therapy has dissipated the dark energy plaguing me. It has only dusted off the skeletons in the closet still laughing grimly.
I think I will name them Joe and Ned – there are more, of course, but less is better said.
Perhaps I will invite them to tea and ask them what they must say to me because they keep just hanging around with no ground to stand upon.
Meanwhile, I am stuck in partial sleep walking.
Clattering stoneware breaks against shelves as she propels items into chaotic directions by reactive, wrathful force because what she needs to heal her latency seems to not be present in her apothecary – which leaves her dependent upon the kiss from a lover who may not even exist on this plane!
It was a joke on her. It had to be.
Why send dreams to attach her heart, causing her to ache to be with him?
Now every play of him reminds of his attachment to another.
It is suggested that a good way to “fill the void” while seeking one’s life companion is to have simple trysts.
Qua?
To engage in such absence of romance is the antithesis of my heart’s existence!
That’s the thing about curses. If you get tangled up in one (or two, or three), it skews perceptions and crosswires brainwaves – even if, like me, you are able to thwart programmed intentions.
Click-ticking clawed nails, dragging heavy grounded scales through chambers of mirror and bathing sanctity, I growl and grimace at visage and injuries, wondering when I will recover precious sanity.
I use up what I have left daily, giving it away to others while healing.
All that is left in the evening through morning is my wreckage cast ashore by the sea.
I hate it.
Oh, yes – I am impatient.
Unschooled. Undisciplined. Rash. Defiant – I’ll lash out just to hear the powerful crash.
It’s the opposite of an amicable nature, turned inward and thwarted by youth.
I cannot compete with the world.
There is so much untapped talent brimming, surging against wave gates once strong and oppressive – but now bending.
How is anyone to hear me in the storm now pressing, soon coming?
I will stay small in my might, encapsulated as a pearl, ever shining – yet hiding within it a star which, when the time is right, will burst alight – having been carried to its rightful destination by the high tide.
Cast upon her and cast in return: a ward of binding; a ward turned to shield.
When I looked, what did I find?
A once bright soul that declined:
Moments of truth from others’ mistakes
Were given hope to right and not forsake.
But like grains of sand in passing
Through fingers gripping at night
Fear penetrated hearts in weakness,
Turning love’s passion into blight.
“Everybody’s crazy ’bout a sharp dressed man,” sings ZZ Top to the accolades of listeners.
What stopped me from approaching the man on the motorcycle was my concern that there might only be his veneer.
In her mind, she was resilient and capable of transcending limitations.
But in her reality, she wondered if she had cognitive dissonance.
For she had no experience of her efforts being reflected positively in a partnership.
Turning inward to face it after trying to outpace it, I find that it is overwhelming to feel it all-encompassing.
When one has had it stripped from them, it is confusing as to whether or not one should seek to gain it back.
It is hilarious that I crave getting connected to a partner when I cannot afford basic necessities.
I think I need to shove the entire concept off of the table, sweep it onto a dust pan, and dump it!
I have begun looking for a kid cart or other trailer for my bicycle to tow my supplies to work.
It’s a likely inevitability that my blue dragon may break down before funds can gather to keep it flying.
A blend of tall, built, sensitive, and chiseled: I almost jumped out of my car and gave him my card as he helmeted to ride away on his black motorcycle.
Don’t call me “Maggie” and don’t project onto me.
The moment this happens, we’ve no place to start.
Taco Time tacos with sour cream minus tomatoes or two side orders combined equaling eight meatballs crowned by parmesian from Subway.
He: “A good relationship should be like a lucrative business transaction. It should have flow, poise, and synergy.”
She: “I don’t see why I should be learning this from you – if you are not going to be with me.”
Relief soaks in from songs my aspiring spirit can identify with on the airwaves.
I love how music has evolved with me as I keep growing.
Maybe the genres of music is one reason my being here has been right timing.
I can identify with so much of it.
I have always held myself to higher standards without false bravado.
I have always pushed for expanding my capabilities.
But now, it is enough to just exist.
And I can walk away when vexed.
By my own hands of faith, I have seeded new generations.
I weep for the waste of my efforts and energy.
I weep as there seems nothing left of me.
Sinking into the abyss of internal focus regardless of discomfort within this tired shell of a body, I wonder if the body-mind is truly more about psychology rather than physiology.
And I marvel that for all of these years I have been brightly optimistic no matter the dire circumstances encountered or thrown at me.
As I settle back into what sense of self I have currently and take stock of the damage to my confidence’s integrity, how did I manage to believe there is someone out there that can match me?
I have fought back lies, deceit, betrayal, and compromise in order the keep the light brighter inside than the suffocating encroachment of darkness.
But what am I left with in my core now that I have consumed will’s once seeming limitless energy?
I have just the shadows as company – and myself, worn as the wind sawing through limbs of old, bestraggled trees.
If I become as the crone and let the dark take me, perhaps she will pass through me and leave.
If I forget all that I have been, will I find myself reborn with the spring?
Sugar snap peas, mixed alyssum, and purple-white verbena to add to our garden.
It is wonderful to be in this small town and get connected with other creative artists and healers. Being able to more equally share the load now in my family vs. how most everything had been up to me previously takes getting used to – but I like and appreciate getting to redefine my priorities.
A flavor can be good, yet the texture is mooky.
I keep calling a song title as “The Hills Have A Thousand Eyes,” mixing the actual song title “The Night Has A Thousand Eyes” with the titled oldie cannibal movie The Hills Have Eyes. Somehow, the two became associated…
I guess it is good to be alive and free in a place and time where a woman can survive and thrive without a man’s sheltering.
I remember asking for my sight to be dimmed so that I would not see so clearly through to the heart of things to my own chagrin. But now, I want my sight back again.
Candid Corvid Productions 