He does not like it if you speak clearly with intelligent inquiry and mirthful savvy.
He does not like it if you share your opinion and request upfront legitimate identification verification.
He leaves immediately after imparting a punitive barb of how he would have given you all you desired, if only you had given him your number – and easy compliance.
He abandoned me in my time of need (after I’d been there supporting years of his) so that I would watch first-hand all that I had striven for and built for our family and me, personally, burn and tumble as charred rubble to the ground and realize I had overstepped myself in thinking I could depend upon his reciprocation – so that I would never trust another man, again, and would forevrr more rely on myself, solely.
And unfirtunately, today’s modern “man” agrees with this so that he can avoid personal accountability.
Back when I had AAA supreme towing coverage and my car broke down and needed to be towed to our new location, AAA refused to tow it because it was not yet registered in Oregon. Thus, I had to leave my car 200 miles away from where we live now.
I was told this evening that since they denied me back then, to currently have it towed by them is not an option because my car’s undriveable status is now considered a “preexisting condition” since they did not tow it when it broke down.
Additionally, they will not except a 21-day legal registration as proper coverage. DMV will not give me full registration only when DMV representatives can see the car on their lot in person to verify its VIN; they cannot see the car until it is fixed and driven to them; and, it cannot be fixed and driven to them until it is towed here.
I have been advised by a family member that I ought to just get the car towed to a scrap yard at this point – but, I am not sure that a scrap yard will accept a 21 day registration proof of ownership, either.
I view this car as a precious resource and feel that it is easier for an outsider to say “scrap it” when they have several houses and vehicles at their disposal.
In my world, my resources are very few – and dwindling.
Women are told they should “doll themselves up” – basically alter how they look with artifice, reshaping, and color.
Men are told to strengthen and enhance what they already have – and to unapologetically expose it from cover.
I actually have excellent self esteem.
It’s just that in current society, I know that it isn’t considered attractive to not promote an already acceptible thematic.
So, I guess when I see natural pictures of myself, my mind layers on the criticism from what it thinks other people would think of what I can see.
Is this a leftover survival coping mechanism geared toward outmaneuvering abusive adults too quick to react with displeasure at me when I was a child?
Or is it because I dared to love a man younger than me, and once I turned 50, all this prebiased societal messaging began bombarding my psychology environmentally?
It is difficult for me to establish new ground to stand upon becsuse I do not see anyone around quite like me facing my realities.
The pressure to conform feels daunting, and I am unique in my own proclivities.
Still, ageism may yield hidden benefits.
A red ray light, floor-to-ceiling body capsule with a vibrational base plate reminds me that I still have a few new tricks up my sleeve.
Although, contrary to common belief, it may not actually be good to use it these last two days in a row – so my brazed skin and heavily vibrated organs report back to me.
I am planning to take an acting class in the next couple of weeks, but only plan to audit it because I want the live exposure-to-concepts put into application, but currently cannot take on any more home workload.
We are in a place we had hoped to find upon moving to this state over three years ago, and yet, I am struggling to muster any sense of internal excitement.
It is like arriving back to the party venue long after the joyous event is over, carrying the fatigue of having been everyone’s safe driver for the evening.
Performance actors have been told that they belong to the public, their fans, etc.
Perhaps the works they have created might affect attachment and “brand” allegiance
However, the artists themselves deserve their claims to privacy and personal choice expressions – just like the rest of us.
Noticing the cider pub was still open due to recently extended hours, I stopped in for my rare treat, favorite pineapple blend and two snifter tasters of cider slushy.
The one with the rose added was 5% and blended smoothly (my pick of the eve), while the one with 8% and hibiscus had a flavorful bite-kick to it.
Hip hop romance music with the guy singing about his girl crew, etc., and stunt bicycling on the big screen while chatting with the low-key evening bartender who remembered me was relaxing.
No pressure to socialize or being hit upon by easy players and/or desperados, nor overt competition from the latest gaggle of hussies.
Just some college kids returning their sample trays with friendly politeness, and the rest of the scene openly inviting.
It is a strange phenomenon to meet people online and by texting who are willing to play a part to gain whatever it is that they want to gain, yet once they have “tried on” what they thought they wanted – or have led you down a wrong lane – they no longer play the part, yet still want to keep you clinging.
It must be about attention – both in the giving and receiving. The acting out and believing. The imagination creating scenarios to which someone is cleaving.
Perhaps there is a rush to it – much like in acting: from nothing now becomes something.
(Title reference to the animation series)
Though I have huge internal resistance and no more patience in my bone dry well of perseverance, it is by sheer determined will power that I must keep climbing out of the hell’s sinkhole which keeps collapsing again around me every time I make it to some “surface” and think I have acquired “solid ground” again.
Looking behind me, that is quite an impressive trench stretching into the past – and let me clarify that there seems to be no end to repeated heaps of internal vexation I am feeling.
I guess I can measure it now by wether or not I am actively cursing aloud – but that is pretty much the slim variance I keep facing.
Am I cursing aloud? Oh, I crossed the line.
Am I not cursing aloud? Oh, I am a marginal inch to the side.
I just have to deal with each poisonous vine and hack pieces away from tips, then turn away to hack the other ones reaching out to grab me as the previous ones regrow in their snits.
At some point, without progress, these vines have got to get weary of me and seek other nutrients.
Is there a spell caster about to return them to their once peaceful origins?
I am amzed by how much my Mazlow’s confidence is blown.
Logically, I work through the muddle of emotions and jumbled thoughts to realize and accept it has all been a matter of timing and displacement.
I pushed beyond resources to get us out of California to housing which I had hoped would give us new options and be stable.
When we arrived, I found that my past skill sets were not valued, though I was willing and able.
Struggling to find my new job niche while then eight months unemployed without benefits – and then Snowmaggedon forcing us into unknown survivalism on the mountain really set me back a bit.
Rebuilding and working toward recovery, the pandemic hit a week before I at last received my license to practice – and then everything was forced into lockdown.
When we were released to return to work June 2020, my then three year distance relationship was at direst brink, so all funding I could scrape away from bills went to traveling to Egypt end of September.
Two weeks later, I returned home overextended and bereft to prepare for my youngest needing to go into surgery while an agitated employer then began picking at me for his own worries and insecurities.
Both cars breaking down (which I managed with minimal impact) and my finally contracting COVID from a patient he let into the offuce when he shouldn’t have put an end to my attempts to fit it there.
Now, on our fourth year in this new country and looking back on destroyed credit, huge student loans from the past 25 year “marriage” and family I invested in – and dealing with meager funds due to me being mired in government systems while scammers actively wreck my Paypal account which could bleed the damage into my bank accounts…it all just seems obscene.
It is hard for me to not feel like a failure. My “get up and go” is exhausted, and though I work out, my core is being resistant. My digestion is off and I am carrying too much weight in my stomach region which drags at my posture.
It is no wonder that I withdraw even more deeply into myself. The negativity I have experienced seems to have taken on a life of its own, constantly evolving into some new form as it shifts and renews attacks to break down my natural resilience.
What gains are there in paying it further attention? How do I get out of these coils which keep entangling? How do I snip off these poisonous vines and leave such desperate scrabbling for mere existence behind me?
I am producing light in the darkness while the datkness seems to eagerly absorb my every attempt while attempting to swallow me.
I need to join forces with others like me to magnify our positive capacities and break free of these illusions constraining my abilities.
There must be a way to be one’s self naturally, yet have quips and fun spontaneously, which draw and cement attraction.
For me, my focus is on sharing authentically, and it does depend on the partner and how they are interacting with me, which decides what feels confident to emerge from me with them.
These dating advice videos are fun and interesting, and what they do offer is better communication strategy theory, but it doesn’t seem right to be self-altering for “ensnarement’s” entreaty.
Because she believed it could happen, she allowed it to happen. But, it turned out to be a lie – and with the wrong guy.
It is difficult to say what these characteristics ought to be, especially when society and the world around us are constantly changing.
Having a sense of humor, charm, devotion, and honest sincerity seem key. But, how and when may these come forth and openly be seen when we are given little opportunity to connect with a worthy partner?
Men have been taught to hide and degrade their own vulnerability. If they are lucky, they’ve had their virility encouraged to emerge as acceptable – although with a bit of tinge toward being destructive.
But, how does an authentic woman convince a good man to come down from his own pedestal and invest in creating genuine relationship, together?
When I was pregnant with first my eldest, and then my youngest, we lived on a hill elevated above a city at each time in different regions,
Like nesting high in a tree, the view over Santa Barbara, and then over Los Osos, California, afforded me with feeling as if I were watching over the world, sending my love and protection out to it.
Lifted high, I was granted grace of separation to grow my children inside of me closer to the stars so that they might more directly receive needed innate wisdom as their souls transferred to here from The Great Beyond.
I loved and appreciated these opportunities.
I do not speak with old friends very often. Perhaps it is because I am still shell-shocked. Perhaps it is because my life never returned to what I knew back then as “normal.”
I still care for them all, deeply. It is just that I am trying to build a new paradigm for myself, and there is a lot I am having to keep pushing at to make way for me.
Additionally, I am stretching farther beyond any efforts that I have already achieved to reach for important future endeavors. This takes a lot of focus and inner dialogue inside a place of deep listening where I must not be distracted.
At the risk of feeling like I am backtracking, I spent the money that one month’s of storage would have cost and rented a U-Haul to empty the unit.
I did two trips. One took the stored furniture leftovers to a thrift store that donates to an animal shelter, and the the other transported remaining boxes of miscellaneous acccrued back to our apartment to be stacked tight in the front room.
Contained within these boxes are papers and fragments of the past where I had been married and raising young children: their and my school papers; various legal, bill, bank, and school documents; swaths of fabric for costumes and luxurious sheer elvin-type curtains; cd’s, books, technology/tool bits – and more.
These things were kept for rainy days or when we might return to old or begin new projects. Each item has its own value – the kind that once you get rid of it, one day you might need it again.
But, youngling and I have agreed that if we are not using something currently or foresee a soon upcoming need, then we need to get rid of it because each item carries a type of energetic burden just by its inhabiting our space as clutter.
As it is, we will still have the boxes full of photos and creative momentos, but these matter more to our psychology than remnants of past functionality that no longer apply.
God has granted me rights of passage through Hell’s fires others would perish in.
Charred and chafed – my soul more than a little crisped and ragged – I have fought for the day to stand before you.
For all of my life, I have searched for someone to believe in, and though you are mortal and fallible, I believe in what you stand for.
Our ideals are congruent, though we pursue them in our own ways, and in your eyes shines the light of a Sun King – which inspires me.
I asked God about you.
Asked Him to set my feet on The Right Path, and that if to love you was wrong – for it seems I have often been the fool.
All I could feel was the ocean beneath me, deeper than any before, tethered to my heart and lifting.
I am a Wave Runner.
They say that Love is the 7th Wave.
All I know is that it rises, swells, and carries me toward you – for whatever purpose.
Perhaps, the answers for why this is are to be left up to you.
In the Foretelling, we were gifted with the knowledge of our destiny and granted sight to see into the futures of many so that we could direct each other in growing prosperously.
But, somewhere along the way an event happened which fragmented the minds of men, causing them to become violent in madness as they searched for power’s balm to fill the hole which burned like hell’s fire now within them.
Though they felt drawn to women healers, men’s insanity was so complex that they often turned against the women – burning them as witches and suppressing reclamation and further development of enlightened knowledge.
For the source of their angst was a parasite bent upon propagating its own species, as it had found the human body and intelligence quite comfortable and useful as its host parent – and it craved to corrupt The Infinite.
In this caverned home, she has retreated, grown accustomed to the solace of her nature retracting into itself upon repeatedly finding that interaction with the human world was less than comforting.
She had the minimum to survive, here, and each room had a purpose within which she could continue to focus and hone her talents – from domestic and family, to creative expression, to far-seeing scrying.
In this particular room with the natural-formed stone slab-like table, she stood with her back thighs against it and her hands clasped behind her, leaning back a little as her face turned up to the sunlight filterng in a bright shaft to bathe her upturned face with eyes closed in its glow.
She sent out a call with her body-mind’s spirit, asking for him to find her – aware of the distances involved and all of the barriers’ inclinations to keep them from igniting their purpose together, and instead, growing old.
Dozing between clients in my car with fhe waning day’s sunlight gently angling from my left into driver’s side venue, my spirit wandered slightly unattached to body.
And I realized that childhood bliss is when we let our hearts lead us without questioning, as we did when younger – just wanting to be out in the sun.
By Athena Stairs – February 23, 2022
Once, there was a Starseed who broke off from the mother cluster to go in search of love. The other Starseeds did not understand why she felt called to do this, when the universe was theirs for the claiming.
She was pure like the untarnished ice crystals after supernovas have formed, then discharged their chemical elements separated into isolates. Because of this, she had an unusually rare energetic frequency which was magnetized to hone in on other rare frequencies.
No other Starseeds were like her in the vast cluster and she could not relate to their interests. She felt alone and restless and she longed to find another like her.
She decided she must ask the elders, the ones the new Starseeds always avoided because new was the new wave, so old could have no future value. There, she learned of the past contraction and expansion of the universe and how that souls are born into human bodies through wormholes of reality transference, similar to how stars are born, then die, then are reborn again. Fluxes in the reality gridworks of space and time here intertwined soul into material matrix to be refashioned into human form on a place called Earth
Most souls when born were designed to experience consciousness of self evolving into their awareness as a normal form of process. Personality aspects and tendencies in ways of thinking were meant to begin in each isolated individual with certain key markers. Eventually as these human-encased souls would grow, their purpose was to connect with other souls of similar energetic frequencies and form bonds of relativity which could make possible the rest of the universe experiencing love into eternity.
It had been debated among the elders for millenia as to whether or not humans were a threat to the entirety of known existence because they kept disrupting their own flow of harmony which frequently resulted in species destruction. It was hypothesized that if humans left the planet at this unevolved state they would continue on as crazed parasites, ignorant of the damage they caused in all they affected. In effect, they kept proving their lower states to be a potential blight to the rest of existence. Maybe another comet was needed to start the planet over again, as was done when there once were dinosaurs.
But, something about the stories told about human evolution and humanity’s history of love rising then being crushed tugged at the Starseed’s compassion as the purity within her sparked awareness in her that love might be her answer. She asked the elders to pause on their decision and to let her travel down to earth and become one of the humans. Then, she could experience firsthand through their senses the nature of their true potential and perhaps learn why they kept failing to ascend beyond repeated patterns of self destruction.
Even though many elders disagreed as to the benefit of such an attempt she persuaded them that as it had not been tried before, surely her plan had merit and they could afford to wait a while longer before choosing to destroy earth. They could give her at least half of a human’s lifetime to gather needed information and begin formulating some knowledgeable conclusions.
They at last agreed and she chose two people to be born to who shared pure energy between them. She had felt assured she had chosen wisely, for her being born to them of even greater purity should draw their bond closer together, as like attracts like among the stars. She had no warning of the corruption all humans have been continually suffering under – of the neural-emotional viruses and “molds” that were infiltrating consciousness. The resultant violence and distortion in men’s thoughts was attracted to her purity and would repeatedly assault her in blind desperation to find healing.
In child form, she was at first clear of mind and intent in purpose, sure and omehow aware of her capabilities within her life’s mission. However, once the corruption from men’s abuses and degradations began assaulting her, conscious awareness of purpose retreated into deepest inner fortress to withstand the onslaught while she let time’s tidal currents carry her forward into maturity. It would only reemerge when she could reach out briefly from time to time to help hurt and lost souls along the way by giving them love’s sipport and hope’s validation while encouraging their spirits to continue seeking better horizons.
Confused in her own self protection, she was drawn to men who contained light within them – also encaged as hers had become – and thought her purpose was to help release them. She birthed children, bringing these new souls to welcome them to the future she had faith in and made sure to set their feet, hearts, and minds oriented in the direction of true liberation. She tried to reignite the hunger in her heart, the original quest she’d come here for – for clearly humans were injured and she could not expect to find another soul as pure as hers.
But, along her journey, she’d see occasional sparks in people. She learned to nurture these as a healer to help set people on their own paths to self actualization. She always knew she had no right to extend her need upon them, because this would confuse the message she was here to give to them.
She lived an internal life alone and filled with contemplation, observing and analyzing what and why things happened, having subconsciously buried her original mission of coming to Earth as a byproduct of having to psychologically survive in its societies.
One day in happening across a presentation, she saw a young man speaking animatedly. He was being interviewed while laughing easily and carefree, instead of stressing. His eyes were filled with a boy’s wonder without conflict with the innovative man he was becoming. Something in her burst alight and told her heart to pay attention as it began kicking off the crust of occluded corruption.
Her heart instantly began quaking to release the encasement and to set her back free to her life’s soul purpose. But she resisted, still partially asleep because she had obligations, although everything inside her was beginning to reawaken.
She resolved to continue her life’s path, determined to see it through despite darkness because she had vowed to save a man who had been struck down by Loki in Loki’s mirth’s retribution. She had made a promise to see this man to recovery to reclaim his shattered spirit again, but little did she know that his regaining freedom would be in return for giving her soul to the devil and betraying her.
She made the sacrifice and fought with the demons of hell over who would master her. She raved in halls of torment and fought her way out valiantly. No longer understanding rhyme or reason for anything good attempted which would meet continual resistance and deflection, she kept dragging herself forward in search of that promised new horizon.
Until many years later…
She saw the young man grown older before her, again in public – and he had become The Sun in Its Power.
Like a brazen bull in a delicate shop, he would boldly knock down any prefabricated construct displayed for me and all to see in order to rebuild his dynasty with me.
While the effects can feel shocking, it is a good thing that I am not overly attached to holding onto material things – and am more passionate about discovering our heart’s true desires.
“Tell me when I am close enough,”
He told her kindly as he sidled up.
A playful smile suddenly lit her face:
As he kept inching – she said nothing.
She would give her all to him –
He would never have to guess.
I think the reason I have hidden and why my wild magic usually only comes out when no one or a youngling is around is because it has not felt safe that I have truly had a partner’s unconditional love.
There has always been some sort of undercurrentsurface censorship requirement of my bubbling jubilation, discomfort at the fact I like embracing pure happiness just for the joy of it, and love was often withheld if I expressed my own voice.
Not that it made a difference if I didn’t speak and stifled my exuberance, because the threat was always there that they would leave me if I were truly myself – bold and dynamically proud.
I saw the family of crows winging over our parking lot to gather in a sequestered and broad-spaced tree.
I wondered what I had to give to them for eating, and if it was prudent. For crows, like humans, enjoy delectable things.
As I contemplated this further while muching on my favorite granola, a slight shift of the slippery box on angled car seat sent it open spilling under the parking break.
“Noooooo, I like this treeeeaaatt!” I wailed out quietly, trying to see if it was salvageable.
But, then I looked up and found crows love berries, nuts, and seeds – and I knew they would enjoy dismantling the crunchy, stuck-together clusters.
So, I gathered the spillage into a white paper towel, made sure the youngling crow still in the tree saw me to tell the others, and tossed it all around on the ground for them to investigate as they please.
For there were two once broken from one, destined to wander cast apart, desolate under circumstances once expanding, that at last conspired to reunite them.
There is a bridge that leads away from Hell to Heaven’s gateway – and only True Love may pass to within.
They had run out of excuses and could only at last say to each other, “Where the hell have you been for all of my life?!”
It was time they were together.
They’d been arguing for awhile, and things were said that should not have been – and were further misunderstood by each other.
He finally slammed his hands down hard onto the table, leaning forward, “Do you think love is a game?!” His voice thundered.
She was shocked out of defense mode and tried to calm herself, becoming philosophical.
“No, no I do not…but nearly everyone here on Earth believes it is – and so, doesn’t that make this our reality?”
He looked at her dumbfounded for a moment by her emotional logic.
She then said, “I’m just waiting for you to choose a better paradigm for us.”
The difference between what I needed our lives to be and what he was intent on pursuing hit me like an arrow to the heart, shattering my remade identity.
“ERROR…ERROR!
FIREWALL HAS BEEN BREACHED:
PROGRAM TAKEOVER NOW IMMANENT!”
It was hard to read him now from those days they had played as children in open fields: he, a gamboling calf with stars in his eyes, and she as a half-horse human learning to never compromise her integrity.
His keen spirit and mind, the warm-hearted desire for her in his eyes, tantalized her senses in ways that made her forget all propriety and just want to climb onto his strength, and ride him.
Excerpt from Coming Of Age, by Athena Stairs
This is a challenging topic to discuss for me because I am not sure if I can explain it well enough for others to understand where I am coming from.
To be straight forward, I think money and having money is wonderful. However, I will not trade my values and morals to get it.
I have always seen the greater worth behind someone’s giving me a gift, for example, yet frequently received projections of implied or direct shame and/or beratement in my upbringing for desiring anything – after I was led to believe I should.
Talk about mixed messaging!
And, I would witness “spoiled rotten” children being over-indulged and clucked and doted over whike given “everything” – yet, when it came to my turn, I was treated as if I was a beggar and unworthy.
This was my reward for being a good, warm-hearted, polite, and generous kid – and explains a bit behind why social media often shows bad behaviors.
To be popular, “desireable,” or successful has been taught as being given to those who walk all over everyone else in the name of claiming their prize.
No wonder society is barely hinged together and broken famiies and broken trust is all around us.
This backwards messaging caused me to have conflicted feelings about receiving gifts or money from anyone, as there also always seemed be tied to it some sort of heavy onus in expectation.
Worst of all is that I was taught that if I desired anything at all, I was greedy, corrupt, and had ill intentions.
These are not my traits, so why would I want to desire anything that tries to associate me with them?
Listen.
Gift giving should be from the heart – with nothing expected but the hope it will give the receiver happiness of joy’s pleasure, and/or render some comfort to lift their day.
If you have money and wish to spend it on someone, if they are receptive and you come to some sort of mutual agreement, there should be nothiing from society or anyone to stand in the way as long as transactions are of a “proper” nature.
Having lost my own family’s stability to divorce cutting everything apart and leaving me with nothing, I went through the hardship of recovering from homelessness while striving to keep my children’s heads above water so they could continue growing peoperly while having no financial stability.
My efforts are a mixed bag of failures and rare successes against great odds – but, honestly, I and my children should not have had to go through any of it.
At this point, I would be glad for the opportunity to be “lifted” and accepted onto “higher ground.”
I have “put in the efforts” and deserve my reward.
Before now, I had never considered choosing a partner based upon money, wealth, or status. I have always prioritized love over material gains.
However, if I were to remarry and have more children, my partner having financial security will be a requirement.
Money, status, and position are important – but not for reasons social media claims. It’s about what these qualifiers represent.
Financial stability ensures ability to weather liss or hardship’s storms. A good reputation of quality of character and the ability to navigate well in society ensures that a man can provide for his mate and loved ones.
Having these established attributes more ensures that a man who invests in marrying and raising children will be more likely to commit to this life path, take it seriously, and ensure uts prosperity.
Therefore, I am looking for a “Master Plan” – “A Man Who Can” – who will take our love to its limits, and Beyond.
My grandfather, the band leader and humanity proponent, refused to bridge into the coming age.
He grieved over loss of the musical movement days he’d come through, and worried that true performance art values and morals were being corrupted.
Though he would not help me become part of his living legacy, I was held up close to it all, snuggled warm for as long as I could be.
I absorbed nuance of the process of artistic adaptability as his music evolved and movies and musicals filled the big screen and TV.
And as my life suffered patterns of disruption time and again, I learned to instinctively identify patterns of continuity – no longer bound by rules of conformity because these precepts would not welcome me.
My grandfather’s presence was the scent of love, endless cocktail hours, and burned cigarettes left filling his closet of countless professional jackets and outfits.
I still remember the lingering smell of leather shoes after feet recently vacated where I would hide in his closet, and the adoration for each other in my grandparents’ eyes when they would dress up and go out for an evening together
I listened to his piano composing process and wondered why it could not easily transfer on to me when I would sit right there next to him on the bench (I was very, very young, then).
I used to think it was because of the trauma and my being closed off, held away from the world.
But now, as wild magic finally comes forward from me into making new songs all my own, I begin to understand.
What I am meant to be now was not reflected then.
I am meant to be a bridge between generations.
She wanted him like she’d wanted no one ever before. It wasn’t thoughts being eratic, but her body’s instinct affecting them. As if she’d always known him and had to get to him. She didn’t understand what was going on – just tried to manage the intensity of insides churning.
Tension knots from overexcitement’s pressure to push to new levels – added to by a heavy baking dish falling and breaking; a mirror in frame sliding and blocking the door/later falling hard against and into top of my right thigh; and a cat getting almost fatally ill from eating most of a thin, plastic food handling glove.
I begin to suspect that God is not dead, but that pieces of “Him” are trapped inside each and every one of us.
Like wild magic.
We must remanifest it into the world by good thoughts, action, and deeds – and as we do this, pain and suffering leave our bodies.
This life force grows inside of us and must be released. The tension we feel is our holding it in and stagnating.
Through how we are being – by how we cultivate nourishment and honor truth in what we are seeing – matters in everything.
God’s form and definition changes – “Living in the Light” is a way we are meant to be, in order to be “Free.”
“Free Will” = free the will to just “BE.”
Through love’s light and joy’s laughter given forth from us to one another, we renew sense of humanity’s purpose.
When I try to remember past history lessons learned, and times when my mind swam happily absorbed in knowledge, pressure builds in my head and begins aching.
I had to block myself away from this accessing because it was when I was experiencing abuse, in personal life, and from social society.
I dislike that I must allow this barrier to remain in order to retain conscious identity. I must continue growing creative expression so someday self confidence can reopen.
Not being able to physically vocalize my cultivated intelligence by didactic recitation makes me feel that others can easily judge me as vapid and stupid – when, in fact, it is due to a vital coping mechanism.
Show me anyone else whose gone through what I have to level of such absorptive experience, whose managed to come out intact from it!
Yeah…very few of us have made it – if any.
I have not found anyone like me.
There are tradeoffs for survival – and a “shit ton” of needed ingenuity.
People give up their selves to attain “belonging.”
I learned long ago that in the streets I walked, “belonging” meant sacrificing the soul: having this energy being used as a tool by others – and not even for a great cause.
Just Waste – no matter how you framed or labeled it.
So, instead, I learned how to briefly phase in and out of roles and scenes so I could pass forward Good Will and outmaneuver targeting by others.
But, I have always been searching for where I belong – for a partner and “life” to call my own.
And when I find these, our lives will not be stagnant.
My youngest was forced to be around someone whose close friend turned up positive.
I won’t say where this was or who pushed this, but when I found out about it the second time he was exposed to this person that all of this was happening, I went right back to where I had taken him and gave him an immediate out.
My youngling is not negotiable – no matter other losses.
Now, I am responsible and having to cancel near everything I was trying to progress on because others were selfish and permissive, without care of how it could affect people around them.
I must choose to pause my own line’s progress to preserve public safety.
It would be nice if the courtesy was returned.
Perhaps then, COVID would no longer keep circulating.
In the short time we have been here, and in addition to a new shampoo/conditioner combo I have been using, suddenly all of this silver in my hair is appearing and entertwining with hues of red and gold.
I guess I would rather have this cascade through my hair than cast on my face, where the worry and stress has made me seem to myself prematurely old.
So go out that way, you old crone.
Leave me be – I will own my throne.
“Love of fate : the welcoming of all life’s experiences as good.”
https://www.merriam-webster.com
Well, you know…within reason!
Like when you go to warm up a butter cube because there is no butter in the butter tray…
And you plan to stop the microwave at 20 seconds but forget and it goes to 30…
Then, you pick up the wrapper still in cube form and briefly gain false confidence that it is still solid –
Whereupon, it bursts open as you pull it out and spurts molten liquid butter all over and down the refrigerator door, gushing out all over the floor to settle in pools of slickery goop…
Wiping it up with a towel merely ensures extra slippage, so you begin randomly squirting streams of dish soap at the mess to try to cut it before hastily damp mopping and drying because YOU NEEDED TO HAVE LEFT FOR YOUR APPOINTMENT 5 MINUTES AGO!
Don’t get mad or vexed…
Hey – Amor Fati!
This evening, a friend has been trying to help me identify my ideal partner type.
It is really quite confusing to me because I am a poetic visionary, romantically inclined.
This almost avoids being with anyone “solidly grounded” – lol.
I built a base upon concepts of world religions, sustainability, earth-based systems, philosophies of growing and evolving human consciousness.
Yet, I have so many other aspects, as well.
He said I need to find my “compliment” – but, what does that quantify as?
For example, I recently discovered Poets Of The Fall and am smitten by the lead singer’s capacity of creative expression, sharing, and visionary inclusivity lyrics.
He could be an example of my type, hypothetically.
But, jeez…none of this is simple for me.
I desire being with another visionary who also wants functionality and touch connection.
But, I have no idea what would compliment me that will allow me to flourish as my true self, instead of relegating me to another outdated and caged role.
I was joking with my friend that he found a partner who could speak his chemical equation language.
I want to be with someone who shares similar vision in world views, and I want us to share excitement and come up with our own “equations.”
Someone who can keep up with my thinking and feeling and take turns in the lead-follow while reaching for new heights, together.
I want to soar high – not just fly.
The love given to her must increase from her partner – not decrease – otherwise post-partum depression turns into a “wasting” condition of her soul for all that she has already given (and the child still needs), if she receives no external replenishment.
“This was a special bomb, one issued to each of us for this mission with instructions to use them if we found ways to make them effective. The squawking I heard as I threw it was the bomb shouting in skinny talk (free translation): ‘I’m a thirty second bomb! I’m a thirty second bomb! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight! Twenty-seven!…'”
From Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein.
Thicker than heroine,
Skin itched for a taste
While synapses raged –
Starved without trace.
Tossed adrift without ship
Like flotsom among twigs,
One struggles to remember
Soul has its own purpose.
A vessel is worthless without its being used.
He brought her to her knees to please him –
Then told her she was not wanted, anymore.
Candid Corvid Productions 