The Halloween shop called this a plague mask – but I call it a mask of the crow’s survival against human-induced adversity and will delight in dressing up for it. I bought a light-velvet black dress robe to go with it for simplicity, and am considering a crown of black, floofing feathers.
This foreign place where I was born is safest for my feet to tread. Other lands may await my grace, but it is the earth itself that claims my name.
I have been sobbing just now, as I just learned she passed away this August.
“Grease,” “Xanadu” – pick anything and I am sure you would find the sweetest soul singing to you.
She was there for me as a beacon of light, love, and goodness promising hope for tomorrows.
She made it safe for to nurture the purity inside me in a world crackled and gray by decay.
Having one’s heart revealed is not a popular thing. People don’t know what to think of it and can judge improperly.
It seems that authenticity is a rare and beautiful thing – but to hopes in expanding foundations, I must not cling to these finer things.
For having an intended outcome causes others worried to veer away, when all that I have wanted was the chance to sing and play.
Vexed, I seek ways to revamp purpose.
I had wanted to pursue a Masters and PhD because I LOVE the educated arts.
I love to wrap myself within knowledge and fashion it to next redefining.
However, the seemingly impentrable blockade that I keep encountering in the way of finishing the last 11 units to my Bachelor’s degree is just ridiculously tiring to keep hacking at.
Once I get grounded in housing again, there likely won’t be ease of time to pursue conventional studies due to the need to keep marketing for income flow, and then performing therapies.
Attending a university for degrees is a time and money expenditure luxury which diverts me from streamlining.
Yes, I WILL finish my Bachelor’s – this bane and most prized quest of completing the societally recognized standard prooving that “I know something.”
But once it is done, “get out of my way!” For the real investigation into play will begin!
“Me Man, You Jane…” 🤣
“Why show me him if he was not to be mine? Why send me to seek something I can’t find? Was it all a ruse to fit some plan? Is my time for wasting? I don’t understand…”
There must be a “Northern Star” for love to remember itself as real.
“What’s the point of loving someone if they’re attached to someone else?”
How long does it take to feel snug in one’s skin – to feel confident in anything before it begins?
If we keep on growing, I’m not sure there goes away the anxiety that happens before we set out to play.
Laying down the mantle of attachment to outcome is long overdue as weight is lifted.
It is wonderful to hear that my therapies are deemed among the best – if not THE best – that clients have experienced of similar modalities.
It is necessary for my heart’s breath that I have a man that I can love in my life.
It isn’t the road that wears souls down to their bones, but the questions left unanswered – until we realize that it’s the journey that keeps us company, not the destination.
My youngling’s photo capture on our night out together.
Seeking my truth.
That, I Am.
Stumbling, and inadvertently making a “fool” out of one’s self.
Down deep into the hidey-hole
The lines become transparent.
What better reason than to love, rather than to destroy?
Free as a bird that’s
No longer grounded,
Rising to sound of glory,
Pouring all into moments
Captured for eyes to wonder
With hope, optimism, and joy.
Once disruption has occurred so many times in one’s life, navigating it becomes the expectation.
A red-and-swollen faced, hanging beer-bellied, shirt-off-in-long-boxerlike-shorts man staggers around outside and then into our hall, hazedly staring at doors while muttering to himself on the verge of blackout unconsciosness as he attempts to find the room that he belongs to.
I dreamed that I was photographing a copse of trees blanketed by snow around their bases.
As I zoomed into a ground junction of trunks, a plump and large, light brown hawk walked right into my focus.
It kept looking at me through the lens as I struggled to make the camera capture images.
But the camera had moved to some advance mode, and I kept trying, scrambling backward, as the hawk began advancing.
I called out to my youngest to help get the camera working properly, desperate to record this strange and wonderful phenomena.
Surprisingly, the hawk did not fly away, and kept approaching – then turned into some form of lean wolf as I scrambled backward into human town territory.
Grubby people in a Dark Ages setting had their varied wild dog breeds tied next to them at multiple outdoor eating benches.
The wolf let came up to me and let me harness its muzzle – then turned into a hound to blend and protect me.
The groove turned smooth and shallow becomes comfortable after the grit and rubble are paved. But there is no stone left to turn over…all is known and worn.
An automatic remnant default response to the feeling of dejection.
Zoom around…see the bridge?
See the ducks gathered along the shore?
