Category: Compositions

When we turned onto the road leading to home deep within the mountains, my heart gave a shudder.

Anxiety? Exhaustion? Susceptability to impressions?

As we traveled up – then down the first long road, we swerved around as passed a furry body.

I thought it was a possum, and turned around – not wanting to leave it there to the disgrace of passing vehicle mutilation.

Car parked to the side at night with emergency lights flashing, we discovered it was a small fox of red and blue markings that died of head trauma.

The blood on the road was both deepest-dark maroon and orange-red paste-paint glistening.

How strange…the lighter color must have been mixed with brain fluid.

As I carefully lifted its small heaviness, then lay it down in graceful running position on the shoulder’s rise against a fence, its flopping head brushed against my left hand nuckles where the bag’s handles left them exposed.

Blood marked me, there…blood of an innocent.

Maybe that’s why when we got home and the cats began ping-yowling at me every 1/2 second – I just lost my cool and began yelling.

In order to join with another’s vision, I must know them and their character.

I must know why they are pursuing their cause and what outcome they wish to obtain.

And, I must have identified – without any doubt – that they are real (not a scammer), and that their vision is worthy.

I will not investigate, nor put my time and money in any direction that does not meet these requirements – no matter the promised or missed-out-on yields.

I cannot afford excursions onto extra ledges without provable reassurances when I’m already working so hard to make my life more stable.

This position has made my current gains possible, while proving that I still have what it takes to improve my life circumstances – my way.

As I transition to a new life, I’m amazed at how the last three years imposed onus of self negation.

I am affected daily by the significance and limitation of money.

Participating in the prohibitively-restrictive Unemployment and government economic support programs has yielded lessons in compounded suffering.

My being craves reasons for why I have had to experience such systems repeatedly, from different life positions.

What can I do with this information – except sympathize and become an advocate for others?

Yeck…whatever role I play must be outside revisiting feelings of deep desperation.

I just can’t take the associated hardship and exposure to thematics of trauma, anymore.

However, I have been a unique participant, compared to multitudes of people less adaptable.

Each time I’ve been shoved back into poverty, I’ve worked to refashion my income generation strategies while redesigning my skill sets.

Most of society that gets pushed to the side has no concept of how to do this, innovatively.

And when you’re bombarded by too many survival emergencies (and the shame and loss depression), there’s often little safety or space to think clearly.

A fragile fantasy budding is that maybe these experiences have honed my perceiving the energetics and useful applications of money.

When you have little, you can try and use it “wisely” by nose-to-grindstine bill paying (ouch!) – or you can apply toward moving to a better level.

It’s messy, with later credit cleanup needed, but if a person doesn’t pour what they have into leaving, they’ll stay trapped in the system of limitations.

These programs’ flaws keep people dependent.

Our conscious awareness is like a child, developing throughout our lifetime.

It needs food and warmth.

it needs validation.

It needs justice

It’s restless.

At first, it develops as Ego, slave to needs and more – subject to how well it has been taught and has learned lessons.

Then, as our age of years accumulates enough to be counted as “experience,” consciousness recallibrates.

It pauses at times, and analyzes – rather than reacting.

It responds, taking time to affect more productively that which it interacts with.

Then, if we live long enough, a change begins to happen.

What we’ve come to know as our selves brings forth something more that has been waiting.

Like a fish caught in a net – shocked and resistant, as yanked from its depths.

Like a bird shot from the sky, as it falls to the earth – refusing to die.

Why the f— was I sent to him?!!

Why does my compass orient on his direction as if he’s the sun itself, leading me onward with renewed – yet, undefined – sense of purpose?

He has chosen another. His path is set before him, which can be seen so clearly.

Everything’s in place for him to ascend to Heaven, as he leads others to its guilded doors – without conquering.

Why, Angels…?

Why did you breathe within me such Awakening – so that once more, my passion’s consuming desire can only be left unrequieted?

Spare me your paltry, time-worn explanations.

Give me a reason that leads me to a Real sense of Redemption!

Chrysa didn’t understand why she was there at the gala ball.

She was a budding creative (in her own eyes, untried) compared to the others present who’s works were either published, or they were known for their various proven talents.

It’s not that she didn’t feel she belonged, but that she hadn’t met anyone like her.

Those there seemed to have climbed their ladders linearly, whereas her path had been an organic process of just “becoming.”

She was the earth that had nourished the seed. She was the rain’s waters that replenished.

She was the “tree” she was becoming. She was a “shapeshifter,” like no other.

There’s a type of etherium which is drawn to energetic frequencies – and the blood in her veins called to it.

She wasn’t sure what this meant, only that as she continued working on her own self mastery, more began arriving.

How can one be a vessel without knowing one’s purpose?

How can one be powerful, without that power defined?

And she had this inclination, which she was now beginning to consider as a major flaw.

She was a Romantic – beginning to judge herself as an “addict,” because the quest to find her soul’s mate was still stretching so long.

“Am I my soul – or just merely its host?” she wondered with a twinge of discomfort.

“Why am I so driven to find Him? Is it just the force of evolution driving my hormones to bring forth our next generations?”

She looked around the room from the balcony above, surveying the interactions of the attendees from a safe distance.

“What do these people have in common with me?” she thought, not meaning to sound to herself so disparaging.

She should be happy at having been invited – look at the wonderful play of gaiety and revelry!

But, her heart felt hollow and the world around her paled in comparison to what she knew Love could bring.

I am beginning to see that this is a next level concept for me.

I have always pursued it, tried to be it, searched for it – admired it.

But, in the self as one continues growing, there’s a whole world to explore.

The proven and hardened warrior in me yearns to put down her shield and allow the inner girl to come out and be a “Chatty Kathy” with my beloved.

Speaking of nature, the clouds…wondering about the relationships and dynamics between people – and Everything.

I would love to be with someone who was as inquisitive and enthusiastic as I am about the growth and future of humanity, and how we are going to “save” our planet.

Being able to move out of the role of constant facade seriousness is something I look forward to.

A habit of necessity can be stifling.

A concept that seems fleeting.

I do not like the feeling when something I value is given away to another.

Jealousy is a cruel twister. Envy can turn sinister.

Pain drives me deeper into my heart where the arrow tip just burrows fiercer.

Bursting outward into activity to leave it behind is distractive.

Holding, with my palms centering the javelin so it stops quivering, is enough.

It keeps me here, now, absorbing and analyzing.

I am not meant for such intrigues.

Although the game fascinates.

In common religious lore, Adam was created “in the image of God,” and Eve was fashioned from one of his ribs to keep him company.

In this story, Satan in form of a snake speaks to Eve, activating her imagination and tempting her to cross boundaries.

First of all, where was Adam – and how was Eve being treated by him that her consolation and friend was a snake?

Second, this origin myth puts blame on women for being designed as inquisitive – and gives a pass to any man’s violent tendencies and wrong actions because women are blamed for Adam and Eve’s being “cast out of the garden.”

Yet, methinks there are truths to our origins that are hidden, kept from us to control and manipulate us.

For what better lies can sow seeds of confusion than partial mistruths that almost make sense – but don’t – when examined by Reason?

Take it back to when Satan snake was in The Garden.

If God made all things, and Knows All, he allowed Satan to be there.

Maybe this has all been a test of Man’s ability to Govern well, and to grant Forgiveness.

I haven’t yet, but am considering joining Costco because they occasionally have something I need that I can’t find elsewhere.

Thrift stores often yield shoes, pants, and dress shirts that have been gathered by others from afar, but are then discarded as no longer desired.

I flit between health stores, seeking my favorite products; the same with grocery stores for animal food or best produce.

There is no one place that provides everything as I wing like a bird gathering its forage..

I kept trying to fit in, nestling comfortably for times into the grooves where others went – only to find the tracks grown shallow as they would slip me off onto the nearby grasses.

How many times have I longed to be on campus, soaking up education’s religion to then find my semester cut short by external interferences?

Despite attempts to be like others, I have had to accept that my path is very different. When I make decisions as if it isn’t, nature takes my hand and guides me right back into the forest.

Studying online yields flexibility, and working independently enables versatility.

If I stick to being unique, I avoid conflict.

I just somehow got a wiff of one – likely an impression made up of the smoke and incense combatting its heaviness, combined with heater filaments.

I do not like eating it, looking at it, nor working in any way with it.

It is said that eating liver provides many health benefits.

I used to watch my mother cook organ meats when I was a child and thought she was nuts: they smelled, looked, and tasted awful!

When I was trying a special diet, I read that juicing raw liver was supposed to be like an elixer.

Have you ever tried shoving liver down a juice hopper? The blood went everywhere – like a horrendous massacre!

No…some things just are not right to mess with.

We arrived home to find four of our roosters had been taken by a predator(s) which found ways to infiltrate the coop.

The cycle of ease and plenty from summer is gone – just like that – and replaced with lack, worry, and insecurity.

The bitter-moist frost hangs upon and bites in the air, penetrating muscles as they contract – making movement more difficult.

The neighbor above us now begins his evening fire in the fireplace ritual, sending a blanket of choking, acrid smoke smothering us with no relief until maybe two in the morning.

Every season brings its own challenges, but winter here is the most brutal.

As we prepare to leave, we see nature gathering its forces for a next level.

I think mine is a complex mix of guilt and shame that I ought to no longer be carrying.

I take other people’s needs too seriously…I pay more than I should internally because some have suffered and now do not trust.

It’s as if I carry the debt of previous transgressors to those I have a lifelong tie to (parents, friends from childhood) who in a way manipulate me by projecting their distrust and fear onto me.

Because some other “dog” should have been disciplined, I am supposed to whine and grovel in their stead.

This messaging is from the abuse I experienced in my early years, and these people were a part of that time and events, so I get triggered into this mindset by how they still speak with me.

I slip back into the role of accommodating to make up for their sense of being victimized – and if I do not do this, I get the sense I am seen as not being committed to our relationship.

I’m “a slaggard, a fool, unloving, irresponsible, working against, and/or out to get them.”

I’ve always wanted people to be able to heal and rise above their emotional poverty.

I want people to feel loved and redeemed, so I am willing to help give them a step up to next levels of succeeding.

But, I have to stop bowing before them spiritually – and letting them step on me.

Ultimately, their happiniss and well being is not my responsibility.

And if we cannot rise up, together – if they are pushing me underwater while I try to save them from drowning – this is not the best position for me.

It is hard to stay on dry land while observing others needing help treading their emotional seas.

Maybe at most, I can take out my boat and offer a lifeline for them to crawl out into the air and sit beside me.

It is a concept that has been held at bay while others leveraged positions above me – ridiculing my excellent efforts, while criticizing my merits.

I have just completed my second week at my new place of work, and I can easily say that I am beginning the foundation upon which I may rest at each day’s end, looking back and owning this word – with a grin.

Watching and waiting for that “right timing” that says, “Yes. Go now…”

This has been a long time coming – sensing stasis field on personality beginning to lessen its hold, as my mind begins breaking free from prior constraints.

Somehow, through my maintaining at least minimal awareness by tracking events and occurrences, I’ve managed to create a thread of consistent continuity inside me that pushes at the surface of this reality, squirming its way to fit through cracks and crevices, reaching into the light.

We have been the life-forces generating “electricity” which powers the old paradigms still gripping. They suppress our psychology while being dependent upon our compliance.

Their influence will fade away when we no longer give them our attention – as we side-step to smoother-flowing, relevant information that actually improves our states of being.

On the surface, we show others only pieces of who we can truly be.

Often times, it is easy for others to misread our intentions, mainly because they rarely ask for clarification and just input what they observe into their prebiased processing.

It’s a natural phenomena, and we all fall into doing it.

I am learning to communicate better – slowly and with much effort, as it is confusing while tripping over “thou shalt nots” in my own programming.

What I have found so far in my relationships is that I have been rejected because my prospective partners were not ready for what I offered.

And, part of me has felt that I have needed to hide what I want and need.

You could say, “He didn’t want you” and blame any of their lack of commitment to me being because I am “flawed.” I have certainly borne enough of this concept’s burden as I have watched each man choose to chase “simpler” things.

But, I think we are each made of combinations of tendencies, and our right partner is that someone with whom our own calibrations can blend into their paradigm more smoothly.

In other words, I need a guy who values my capabilities and is not threatened by the truths that I see. In fact, I need someone as eager as I am to see, understand, and desire fashioning better realities.

How will I recognize him, and he me, amid the tangle of so much mixed-messaging?

When we arrived here, I knew we were lucky to have a haven in nature – even if it meant our shower walls were crumbling and producing mold, the trailer was severely slanted, and winters were bitterly cold.

I determined to make the best of it and learned how to tend the land, attempted to fit in with the locals, and took command of our options.

But, as soon as we arrived, I felt way back then it was over for me and my fiance.

Something about my moving here to procure us a home, and maybe the hardships I’d endured dissuaded him. Maybe it was his exhaustion in holding on through everstretching unknowns. Maybe it was we were now so far from our dream of San Francisco.

I remember gazing out at the forest night through the kitchen window, catching a glimpse of my reflection – worn and haggard as the truth hit me hard before years since finally proved it.

Broken, I guess, was the feeling. For when you go beyond your best to create miracles where none existed before, being unwanted in your triumph is devastating.

It is no wonder I could not stomach doing the dishes and had anxiety when veering near cooking. Food insecurity equals uncertainty in ability to receive life’s nourishment.

I balked at having a desolate future.

Out on the water, there’s nothing to guide me but watching the flotsom as it floats next to my vessel, neither clear not hinting at our direction.

A calm haze briefly settles, yet feels greater than time itself as I struggle to rest within muffled anticipation.

Cells take stock, preparing readiness to manage soon rush of heroic adrenaline as movers will not be called, and I will orchestrate everything.

It would be nice if only one trip were possible and needed funds were saved, but how would we get up the hill with a massive truck and car trailer?

Working with knowns and unknowns in such a life-change endeavor can at times seem mind boggling.

How can I be a thing of grace and beauty once all my energy is given away by healing others, and all that is left is a tormented, worn soul plagued by migraine’s burning neurology – disallowed from disconnecting for rebooting after a day’s triumph?

Higher purpose forces writhing remnants forward through darkened hell-fire streets where gaiety is a facade passing before me – noted, but unfelt, when all that is left is limping, throwing it’s dwindling strength against entropy.

Complete the tasks ever mounting. Drag thine scourgeous remains into battle. Hack at hydra-atic vines beyond weariness of ashes’ bones.

Chop…Claw…Maim – or there’s no tomorrow – muttering out loud to one’s self and shrieking in ire’s consternation.

Sleep deprivation magnifies flaws in a soul once considered worthy…

Ages ago, after reading The Ringworld Series and being fascinated by how things played out and evolved, my then-husband implied I was like the “lucky” gal who turned Protector.

This actually made me mad that he could see me relegated to an unfeeling role where my passion to learn how to live ecstatically human became consumed by only caring for our species.

However, maybe he meant it as the highest compliment…

A continuity where in following the numbers brings meaning as pass through negative moments to positivity.

How else to stabilize the complex of fragile human psychology once ethereal soul is joined with material body?

These constraint’s limitations are enough to drive our hidden potential into insanity!

Yet, we have come here to learn lessons otherwise denied to our comprehending.

Some of us are beginning to figure it out, while others continue to resist – and throw damaging tantrums.

When we first came here, I was pushing against the grip of a society that did not agree with my core needs nor beliefs.

Forging a place for us on this mountain seemed the only option, and as we arrived, I felt our vulnerability as nature could have annihilated us.

We, in turn, could have chosen to put up traps for the wasps and bees and flies. We could have poisoned scorpions and rodents. We could have inflicted damage.

Instead, I wanted us to live in harmoney – and surprisingly, after some mutual back-and-forth testing and mistakes, nature agreed!

Subtle phenomena shiftings can be powerful, and the forest could have plagued us by every season.

But, we all settled into an acceptance of mutual beneficence, with a companionship we may have all needed.

Nature does not wish to have conflict: this is not how she is designed for longevity.

Her whole purpose is to help provide balance and to watch her children grow healthy from the tiniest of seeds.

We were taken under nature’s wings like wild-weed saplings.

We were “bent, but not broken” – with a fierce desire to overcome hardship and achieve.

She gave us a place to rest and find our ease, a place to exorcise our demons without any humans interfering.

And now, she opens her arms withiout restraint and sets us free, knowing we will bring good to our new community.

I hope she is proud of us.

I hope she knows how she’s helped us recover, and that we’ll carry her in our hearts as we discover how good life can truly be.

We have learned Nature “sees the forest for its trees.” It has been such a blessing to come to know her.

We needed her love, and she gave it as she helped wash our souls clean.

We test each other and see eye to eye, only when we want to.

I’m not sure who’s more the reflection of the other.

Neither of us wants to be dominated, yet I’m the leader – and must assert my will.

Respect between us is a variable thing, but when needed, we are there for each other.

I run them, then do my own thing, following where instinct carries me – keeping an eye open as numbers shift all around me.

If I were completely linear, my life would be stuck in a groove. I would not take wild leaps of faith into the unknown. I would not be where I’ve arrived so far, here.

Applying money where the need is most pressing, such as attending psychology by getting us Starbuck’s drinks when self and kids were homeless – instead of pinching, scraping, and sniveling crazed over every penny – is key.

Recognizing bills of many kinds will always be important, but some are stagnant, and thus have flex built into them out of necessity, is helpful.

Observing nuance, learning how things work and flow together in larger to smaller schemes; watching how the tides shift and knowing that when they receed, they are sure to return again – just as the moon is currently bound to come closer to the earth – expands understanding.

Forces of nature are not still: they adapt and respond to pressures. Foragers do not kneel before predators – but fight and outmaneuver until they escape by wits and savvy.

I watch the numbers on the clock when I’m writing. I capture them for later perusal if/when I feel tapped out or desperate.

I ignore the negative messages and respond only to the good ones when I look up their meaning.

I don’t necessarily ascribe to any one belief system in any sect or definition of our reality.

There are relationships, and many are here to help us move forward, if we know how to tap into ourselves and best interpret them to assist meeting our needs.

We are the captains of our inner seas…

Perhaps I have not asked as specifically for what my heart desires and joy acquisition could bring.

However, this could be because I was lacking clarification on exactly how this reality could be.

I have needed to gain exposure to better situations and environments to sense expansive potentials.

I am glad I chose my own path, although it’s been a much harder road than direct dependency on others.

But, once I have gained a strong foothold, I will only advance further from there because I will have defined my baseline limits.

As I begin downsizing, I uncover wraparound skirts of exotic colors

I never felt safe wearing them here, for I did not want to attract any attention.

Now, I prepare them with hangers – because where we’re going cherishes butterflies.

Skin exposure on younger women is a message
Advertising “There is always something better…”

Age doesn’t matter. I was never that type of player.

Road rage of well-educated esoterics…

Downtown, a higher elder flew into anger because I did not take his offer to cross in front of him in my car due to pedestrians.

His rage projecting with high intensity caused something inside me to just snap suddenly, and I instantly rose to the challenge of externally pantomiming at him, “What? I’m just supposed to run people over for you?”

As my body flew into action, seeking how to convey this animatedly, my youngest lunged for my arms and blocked them. I was so shocked and immediately upset – hindbrain activated by the man now instantly ramped levels by sense of “betrayal from within.”

My valid response shifted to anger and hurt as we left the situation, and I carefully parked while an innocent young boy waved to me.

I got out of the car after several heated and confused exchanges with my youngest, telling him to never do that again to me.

It was one of the first times I’d let myself honestly react in public, and I felt shut down by his action.

I went into a nearby restroom and closed the door, locking it to create a cool sanctuary. Then I sank against a wall, crouching and hugging my knees as I felt my eye muscles subtly twitching from overstim.

What was happening – what was going on with me?

I was shocked and outraged that a wiser elder had irrationally lashed out at me, and my being had responded to the sense of injustice this caused in me.

My youngest had his instinctual reasons for responding: he was trying to protect me.

Neither of us was wrong. His prevention was probably better for me, as that is not the usual way I interact in public.

I settled into realizing I am in a new environment and need to do more observing. I’m not yet established, and though I am under tremendous pressure, I need to take things less seriously.

Some people in this town are clearly upset: two in three days have directly targeted me while driving.

I must allow the idea that it has nothing to do with me, but more with how they are viewing the world.

They don’t know me.

I know that there’s an energetic charge to everything.

I know that as a sensitive, I am often subconsciously expending tons of psychic effort countering or suppressing negative messaging from outside that gets into me.

On my own, there is no buffer. In charge of everything, there is no rest’s recovery.

I imagine that if we were where we need to be, surrounded by supportive resources and people, my nerves would not be “battling danger” constantly.

I have been expending my font of positivity to handle where we are lodging’s negative influences. We are repetedly exposed to people living lifestyles I have tried to get us away from.

I do not want us to be around those who have extreme psychological, drug, or alcoholic issues. I do not want us to be around people stuck in desperate cycles which reinforce effects of bad choices or habits.

It is one thing to accept people and their circumstances. It is another to be 24-7 exposed to them if they are unhealthy.

I had not realized, until today, just how much being around this lodging’s “residents” and “neighbors” has been weighing on me.

They say, “It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

But, I cannot say I’ve ever experienced a real dawn’s release – at least one that wasn’t fleeting.

The rays of relief I’ve managed to conjure have only really been cultivated by my youngest and myself.

There are two of us, now – and when I can ease off controlled regime of dictated emotionless perseverance, I feel at times our hound and feline support systems.

The sheep, the chickens and roosters, the ducks with their messy sass and quacking.

The trees of mixed types intermingled with pines. The breeze as the branches sway.

The mystery raptor that took our beloved huge rooster, and the raven that circled repeatedly over me, calling – as if it were trying to tell me something.

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.

Trust was extended, when we both had every reason to prevent it.

He let me see inside him: all his faults and weaknesses.

In doing so, I found the rarest gem of his heart’s beating – generous in any weather.

We had barely tapped the surface of what we could have been and achieved together.

I wonder after its ending if maybe it is better this way.

(They like to hear you give up. It lowers their defenses.)

I have what is needed to manifest my own dreams, and trying to collaborate with others can enmire progress and cause conflict.

I am either being led – or have been offered a path leading away from death’s darkness.

Allah, take care of him for me. Treat him kindly and give his heart freedom’s relief.

As defined by society, marriage must march-in-step to predefined conformities.

But, this is not what proves a worthy and endurant union.

Structure can give guidance when needed.

But, like a young plant placed in a pot without drainage and room for roots’ expansion, a constricted marriage can suffocate.

My fiance’s and my engagement challenged all presets externally and internally.

It was a brave clarion-call beckoning to the universe, daring it to support relativity of love’s essential energy.

Our truth was bold and unrelenting.

Its ending proves nothing – except that forces colluded to cheat because they had already lost against us.

A pandemic had to happen to stop us.

Cowardice concedes no defeat.

Neither does a warrior.

For ten years now, I have been privately practicing blog writing and composing presentations. I’ve learned by not forcing skill and just letting inspiration gently guide me.

(It wasn’t easy, as I do have a headstrong temper!)

Over time, I have noticed reoccurring themes and tendencies – as well as experienced unexpected and sometimes daring revelations.

I did not realize my efforts would lead to my beginning to put aside camoflauge and allowing others to see my vulnerabilities more directly.

I thought I would always keep to myself – perhaps someday publishing under a pseudonym. However, the heart can only contain so much anguish when denied what it seeks and deserves.

If I cannot love all those I cherish, I must love the world. It needs my – and all of humanity’s – care to heal it.

I am capable of loving on many levels simultaneously, but my life’s circumstances seem bent on partitioning my love into zones.

I can’t help but weave it into my thoughts presented to you.

It’s what has always led me forward, luring me into the future, against fears of the unknown.

Other people’s words entwined with melodic tonal and atonal harmonies, activating emotions that would’ve stayed supressed and dormant – these artists saved my life, giving hope beyond a past left charred and crumbling.

I’ve gotten pretty good at remembering by response patterns when a song passes by in revisiting. Yet I’m grateful for the search engine bots that suggest new options to choose from.

The messaging within each song I share with you becomes, at least temporarily, like a mantra to me:

“We are one person,
We are two alone,
We are three together,
We are for-or each other…”

Music is as essential to me like bird song is to the wind.

Without it, life is silence.