Candid Corvid Productions

Nice, green hanging pots found free aplenty, yet needed medication tied up dragging in the system.

Where am I?

Who am I?

What do I believe?

What do I want to achieve?

(Title play with words)

“The Field Is The Soul Governing Agency Of The Particle.”

And I thought my phrasings were expansionist!

(The sentence got some good laughter out of me.)

https://subconscioushustle.com/angel-number-1055-powerful-meaning/

All seasons have their cycles.

I just wish the more difficult ones would back off every once in a while.

It just wants comfort, love, compassion, and time to play again.

I can no longer afford late night burning-of-the-candle-at-both-ends ventures. I must first focus upon sleep and patches of time off around work to assist in my health’s recovery.

How I used to operate has reached its limits.

It is difficult knowing what to do with the tangle of past wiring and impulses still hard-pinging.

I must close my eyes, calm my senses, and feel for the right directions.

Then, I am startled by how easy the solutions are as presented.

I will be getting help soon to access old hard drive data which contains past musings and script bitlets.

Mayhap this will also lead into upgrading systems for video editing, storyboarding, and music composition.

The leading in to one door, and exiting out from another.

I am supposed to be focusing on work billing, but I just need time for my being to process.

Yesterday, in a “cutting the Gordian Knot” gesture, my ex called for our past family car to be towed away.

The complicated tangle of paperwork, fees, loopholes, and legalities required to get it fixed and running again on the street were just something neither of us had the time nor money to invest toward its recovery.

Instinct calls me to respond to save it. It has been a good vehicle with 5-speed high-response driving and an excellent stereo system.

Our Matriarch had helped set it up for us to where I managed the payments, and it was our family’s main car providing comfort, fun, and safety while we raised our children.

I know that it must be best to let it go because it is time to release “old baggage” and no longer be tied to outdated associations.

But it is like loosing a beloved family member – and not doing anything further to prevent this from happening causes my gut to churn into panic.

When my ex had his accident, his bike met its end in a similar way: impounded, forgotten about, and left for someone else to salvage or to be thrown away.

Tears of anguished sense of injustice well up, stopped and stuck in my throat, at the thought of our family vehicle – like our once family’s legacy – ending up the same way.

My body quivers from suppressed rage at the reminder that love’s once valiant efforts can so easily become rendered to nothing more than a pile of forgotten, rusting dust.

I have been wondering if it has been the compounded head traumas throughout my life that makes me withdraw overall from people after a time of exposure.

We all feel certain levels of anxiety and pressure when in public, and this can cause blood to pump faster through our systems with the addition of adrenaline.

If the cranium is restricted from being able to expand and contract naturally with its own biorhythms, increased blood flow through restricted channels could cause alarm signals.

This would cause the need for a system shut down reset to calm everything back to what “normalcy” usually is to be regulated.

I think this makes it hard for me to be sustainable exposed because once I am out on a limb, my brain is signaling “this is dangerous!”

Encoded within them had been patterns marching down from centuries of broken generations.

Instinctively, her being sought the ways of healing, determined to break the choke hold.

Then one day, she found a beloved who shared her father’s birthday, which was discovered after the partners bonded.

How random is that? Yet so perfect – as if predestined in such a way as to be recognized.

A current version of what her parents began with, though better and more improved.

Are we designed to make the same mistakes as our parents?

Does the gravity of broken lines keep drawing us back into preset grooves of tragedy?

“We come together to heal the past, turn its tide, and strive to win our children a better future,” had been her primary directive.

But when established players in family systems are resisting, their struggles forego emerging from dysfunction.

It is uncanny how patterns repeat, down to details in repeated actions – and further losses and grief incurred when consequence comes calling.

It turned out that both of them were “victims” of physical accidents.

I’m just trying to dig in deep through a haze of reconnoitering while rebuilding a baseline for a new paradigm.

I have never agreed with how so many people have applied it.

But for me, I think it’s about letting the heart breathe and beat again.

It had been coming since before the accident.

But the smack-down of the blow to my head with a force like God itself smiting me –

And the once-hidden fear that had been buried brought blaringly to the surface that he would never love me,

All of it had been building to create a perfect storm for years so that when we ended suddenly,

There was a snap-back effect which left me stuck upside down and in reverse, unable to right myself up again.

I was loved.

All this time, I could not overcome the trauma because my spine was pinched.

How I have worked, toiled, and endured – when all I needed was to literally be released from the pressure!

As the trauma begins to finally ease from occipital base release, alarmed nerves begin to calm and I remember times that things were still good between us.

He used to help me stretch-pop my back in a bear hug, for example.

And he would playfully tease me for and tolerate my affectionate pounce-snuggling.

Let the rain come down and wash my senses clean, replacing the bad with the much-needed good memories.

O blessed relief!

As my hindbrain begins to decompress after treatment, at last interpretations about the past begin to perceptably shift in the core of it.

For a moment, I could feel that what happened was never really about me.

I was just the golem in the scenery.

(Reference to the book, The Blue Adept.)

Gaslighting and subversive maneuvering could drive any reasonable person into reactivity.

She could feel the patterns of subversion and avoidance but could not stop what he was doing.

He was running away from trauma nightmares illuminated by THC which projected onto her.

I usually do not speak of the things that I write here in person.

They are on deeper processing levels than the average superficial politeness engaged between people allows room for.

To love me is to truly know and see me – to want that which is broken just as much as that which still retains its radiance.

But I have no idea how to break the silence to reach out, find, and bridge to someone prospectively designed for me.

On the surface, who I am presents a facade of intent direction and confused perplexion that hides behind an inclusive smile.

Not much of an ice breaker, and if pressured, I revert to autopilot.

My love, once spiraling outward, turns inward to explore and expand hidden dimensions.

As I pace throughout chambers attending to this or that at pressure’s or diversion’s whims, what slim silence and time on my own gathered here becomes a prized and guarded possession.

At last my lymphatic system begins to release fluid retention.

It has been both cranial and organ/abdominals that needed addressing.

The first to decompress hypervigilance; the second to restore drainage connections.

It seems better to be alone and crave love, than to be with a partner who refuses to give it.

It has been said that when your ideals shatter, so does the hold that the ego has over us.

Well, that’s all fine and dandy for those who are just beginning their learning.

But for a seasoned investor, it’s just discouragimg.

Is it reached when we give up hopes and dreams? Or when we cast aside outdated preconceptions?

Because I am swimming in the mire of internal emotional particals slurried together in a slew of stress-reactive chemicals, I am not sure that my life will ever get better in as far as I can extricate myself from viewing trauma retriggering negatively.

My sign if I ever got forced into an anti-war rally.

Warmed up, pre-cooked chicken and some canned, sodium-free peas from the store are nibbled upon and scooped into a delicate yet determined mouth, whereupon remnant bones are pushed through the straw-sized hole of an empty Starbucks cup – to be thown away later as a solution better than just being tossed straight onto the floor.

When the song “Sweet Dreams” first came out, it was breaking societal barriers where we had still been struggling under social conceptual repression.

80’s and 90’s, baby.

Now such liberating concepts are more mainstream accepted, but I remember how it felt to be one of the suppressed – unshackled.