Category: Stream of Thought

The greatest loss is when people turn away from love. We are designed to give and receive it.

There is no flexibility between
What a man wants and doesn’t.

Do you know how hard it is to find someone who can relate to you?

Who can understand, empathize with, and absolve the darkness that clings tenaciously, discoloring every bright moment you would claim that would be lost without their belief in you?

And how precious it is to spend what few moments we have in their presence – knowing that just by their very existence on this material plane with us that everything is going to be ok despite the hardships?

Where I feel “comfortable” may resonate with my identity easier, so I need to be more gentle with myself when I step out of my “normal” zones.

Having one ‘s self empowerent restored can make one happy in the world.

I do not have much closet space for clothing.

Since skirts may be hung from hangers and a rack may be hung over a door, I have decided to hang my skirts behind – yet “on” the door.

It feels weird to break the patterns of conformity.

I guess it’s like coloring outside of the lines.

I’m enjoying stepping beyond prior limits.

It’s a simple thing, really.

I just never had the time to wear them.

They were completely impractical to the lifestyle I was living.

Although for some reason, I began collecting them while on the mountain.

It wasn’t safe to wear one when there were snakes and the potential need to run from a cougar.

Then, I began wearing black all of the time – with work being a professional scrub outfit.

But once spring’s heat arrived, I was forced to create a new habit.

Now, I am wearing skirts frequently.

And their fabrics swishing around my legs feels divine.

As I experience healing trends in my psychology, I realize how much I have had to carry as I get to set down those burdens.

It elates me to be able to see this constellation from our driveway.

Before I colored my hair, I went at it to lighten the weight of it again with major relayering.

Longer hair is for those women with an agenda to look a way, specifically.

I just need less burden to swim through these emotional waters.

At last my biceps are again revealing their muscles to me.

My heart is heavy, filled with depression from losses of missed chances.

Not from my own inaction, but from the inaction of others.

The languished wasting.

My life is progressing on a better track now.

It is overwhelming to think of how long I have struggled to find a good current again.

I could just let it carry me where it will down an easy stream.

But, how do I offload this weight to keep from drowning?

“I don’t know how to be happy around you.

I am dependent, you see, on how happy you are feeling.

If you are down, it turns my smile into a frown.

I cannot help this because I feel empathy so strongly.

I need a partner who understands this about me and who will help us to relate dynamically.”

She walked into a favorite Mexican restaurant in Morro Bay, California, feeling emotionally drawn tight and frazzled.

The kids were with her in their tender teens, and their father had agreed to eat with them all for the first time in a while.

Her instinct kept pinging for a sense of any connection between herself and her ex, but there was only static, and her heart ached with every attempt as she would smile.

It was a fragile situation for her kids, and she was so exhausted from loss – but worked to keep up the stalwart veneer of capability forced upon her as the now primary single parent.

While her once nuclear family ordered their food, she sat down in a booth to look out of the windows facing the direction of the ocean which was hidden behind buildings.

Then she saw the man hunched over his plate of food, facing and trying to not look at her. She assessed him visibly before closing her eyes in strained pain over recent hardships.

He was a well-built, large-statured man of Mexican-American descent and had socks around his large sandled feet with shorts and shirt to compliment. She could tell that he wasn’t a local resident, and he exuded an amazing energy with intelligent animalism.

He looked like her Monster from what little she’d seen of an outdated photograph, but even better than she’d imagined. His power and strength were evident. The careful grace of his every move while he ate was glorious combined with his self composure.

She opened then closed her eyes again, emotions swirling at the desire to break free – to fly to her Monster wherever he was. She knew the situation with her ex had become toxic to her, but she was doing this dinner to help ensure his rebonding with their children.

When she opened her eyes again to look at the man, he had slipped away quietly – no trace left of him. It was exactly as her Monster would have done.

Had it been him?! She should have been brave and asked him if they had met before – but her fried brain had not realized the possibility until he vanished.

When the dinner was over, she rushed to her computer to contact him. “Monster, was it you? Did you come to see me?” She typed erratically, distressed at having possibly missed this unexpected opportunity to meet him in reality.

But, no reply was given. He had never spoken to her again once he had withdrawn to envelop his public status in silence.

Twelve years later, she still thinks of him. After declaring her leaving a private blog two years ago that he had helped her create, she returned again yesterday to check on him and found his site no longer loaded.

She hates not knowing what has happened to him. Is he ok? Has he at last found happiness? Or has he given up completely on everything?

She had hoped her leaving would encourage him to reemerge into the light like she was doing. It keeps distressing her now that all traces of him are missing.

I cannot blame you for the choices that you have made, for it turns out that I was also hiding from myself.

Now look at me!

I had forgotten that I am a Healer!

I guess maybe that made us incompatible in your eyes, because you did not want what I can and yearn to give.

I did not like the band when a dearest friend was was getting a tatoo in her teens and teetering on the edge of suicide because Kurt’s lyrics were encouraging self downward spiraling.

I did not like them later in life because a lovely man I met used them as a crutch to support all of his reasons for giving up on his potentially having a wonderful life.

I champion Nine Inch Nails because Trent Reznor did NOT give up, and his music and lyrics have encouraged those of us once lost in the dark to creatively process our troubles – and FIGHT!

“Do not confuse ‘like’ with love:
‘Like’ can be simply just ‘like…'”

But, she was not the same as the others…
When he realized this, he hid from sight.

This morning looking into the mirror with my bright fire hair and my galaxy toes, I feel pretty good about myself because this is all different. I needed a change of my own self scenery.

The starburst mirror makes me want to fluff my hair and make cutesy-silly faces at myself.

I had already covered the full length mirror in my bedroom, and now that I have reduced the size of the one in my bathroom, I feel like a redeemed woman.

I do not think that it is healthy to be constantly contemplating one’s body in every room’s passing.

And, somehow, I feel like my privacy has been restored.

I have been trying to work out what is at the root of this heavyness.

I guess it is a sense of injustice.

Unfairness.

When a heart gives everything and more and this is not reciprocated, there is a major sense of being let down.

I have not been surrounded by stellar opportunities.

But, I have made the best of and have done more than my fair share of contributing.

And if there is no great reward for great efforts enacted, my “get up” just has no more “going.”

As I get smaller in my expansion,
I will only burn brighter.

Before the accident in 1994, I had dyed my hair a certain shade of fiery red that had not been easily reproduced since then.

Somehow, I have managed to produce this today by accident.

I think of how heavy I feel inside in comparison to back then when the world was still opening up before me.

What really has changed but what I have been through?

I must find another way to begin again.

Perhaps it is a state of being very, very tired.

Galaxy Toes

As the hair dye sets and nail polish layers, I wonder about this transformation.

Establishing my own niche with specific parameters.

I will not flirt nor pandor
By donning artificialities.

I have been asking friends about dating apps and listening to their failure-but-then-success stories.

I play with the idea that I would post a profile and embark upon this exploration with courage.

But, in truth, I have absolutely no interest in doing so.

I do not want to be jostled about in the search for love’s return.

I do not want to experience further distorted projections onto me as I am rejected.

I do not have a negative complex about myself, just years and years of negative feedback experiences.

The pool of humanity I would he fishing from in such a venue is not up to my standards.

I am not sure how to obtain and receive what I am looking for.

It is not easy showing up some place unannounced, yet beckoned by visions.

Do I have restraint?

Strength’s endurance?

Clearly, I am to be one.

Maybe ever alone.

To what purpose?

I guess it is time to combine two colors and temporarily dye my hair again.

Disgruntled

Those dreams and clear-messaged meaning were supposed to represent my own and love’s redemption.

They were not supposed to lead me to a front row, open-hearted seat of “here’s another guy choosing another woman over me.”

Who needs that?

What the f***, destiny?!

My hands do not need words, nor do my senses in interpretation need to validate what I find and help in muscles to aid their healing.

However, being able to speak the terminology proficiently raises my status immensely in the eyes of other professionals’ acknowledging.

I can no longer pressure myself directly, but must expand into learning organically.

My youngest will be entering training which requires anatomy and physiology.

Now, there can be mutual reinforcement and play to lure me back into studying!

Of talents I would like to further develop, I am usually often singing.

I have found a teacher who would like my healing, so will set appts for us to begin exchanging.

I was sharing today with my youngest how I have been feeling too lonely lately.

They gave me a big, understanding hug and said, “It’s ok that you want to give and receive real connection with a partner, Mom. The people in our family’s lineage just love very deeply.”

Such thoughts are similar to soothings I used to give to my children, now gifted in their adulthood as advanced concepts for my own healing’s progressing.

I have eaten many fresh-baked this evening.

Sometimes, a person just needs to gorge.

Subscapularis, infra and supraspinatis – as well as teres – muscles join together to insert into the posterior shoulder.

When deactivated, the “cuff” union no longer helps stabilize the shoulder by counter-rotating the joint backward, and instead allows anterior attachments of other muscles to ratchet-up the forward torque.

This causes other muscles nearby to spasm, further exacerbating the problem – and even sometimes results in pinch-compressioning over nerve bundles, which causes nerve pain.

Hot flashes are the worst!

What is interesting is that they seem to be coming from my shoulder.

As nothing made sense around ne, I had to create my own paradigm where I became the spark which bridged – and thus linked – to better realities.

They told me that I was stupid and not worth their time.

What terrible things must have happened to them to require them to assert such claims at me?

For actually, I was quite the opposite.

I wonder when I will no longer feel so worn out and old.

I grew up being taken advantage of, misused, mistreated, oppressed, and beaten.

I was forced to suppress my emotions so that I would not be an easy target – although they somehow always found me.

It was because I was different. I refused to act ignorant and play the harmful games.

I did not want to jockey for position, stepping on my fellow human learners to obtain bloody gains.

I am not an animal. I am not a cannibal. I refused to propagate the inane.

I couldn’t stop those in power who crushed those under them because they, themselves, had also been hurt – but then rose to ascend to fame.

Everyone is injured here.

There is no quick-and-easy solution.

But, I could choose to give love and compassion.

I could choose to lend a helping hand.

Chomping,
Stewing on it

It is better to be alone –
So why don’t I like it?

Why not be narcistic and
Fall in love with myself?

Because I am not a clone
Or born a solitary isolate.

I’m a human with needs to
To be loved and cherished!

They are getting along – everything is easy:
She does not make waves nor express needs.

“Of course, I am upset and angry at you. I made an honest, worthwhile bid for your love – and you turned around and ran off with ‘some little girl!'”

I cannot care if you think you were not the one. I have no choice in the matter but to walk away.

This is the game that men play, calling out for love, then retracting. I am too strong for you.

My youthful charm lures you to find a woman’s truth. But, men these days don’t want this.

They want a girl who aspires to be a woman of the man’s own making. I could be this, too – in fact, tried to offer.

But, inevitably, time reveals a man’s inner weakness. Where there is growth to be won in the heart, he often turns away from it.

I thought you were different. And if you had been, then you would have been my only one.

As I moved into the checkout line at the grocery store, the young girl in front of me noticed my looking at the conveyor’s surface and began restacking her family’s food items to make room for my own.

I thanked her for her thoughtfulness with a warm, inclusive smile and then noted all their food was precooked and prepared, as one buys when they have no stove but maybe an ice chest or small refrigerator.

As her mother’s bill tallied up, there was a sudden glitch in their system. Confusion and pressured distress hid the inward panic as the young girl’s face blanched. They discussed and realized as they stood there frozen that there was no more cash or credit available on their card for foodstamps.

“We need to put it all back,” the mother fumbled, yet stood there unmoving. The two girls shuffled the food a bit, conflicted and dismayed, and on impulse I asked, “How much is the difference?” What was the bill remaining to be paid so they could leave with all of their considered efforts?

While I waited to hear a clear answer, worried if I was in a position to help without it hurting my own family, the older gent checker swiped his own credit card for them and sent them on their way. I could only feel deep compassion for this hardshipped family, having myself been in the same situation. I hoped that they would be ok.