Candid Corvid Productions

This is me.

This is me.

This is not me.

This is me.

Sometimes I see them and can’t help but track them.

Afterall, listening saved me – and not, betrayed.

He had to corrupt everything that she was doing to cause her reaction so that he could have reason to leave her.

There is no cure. There are no reparations.

There is only walking forward and figuring out how to unlock doors to greet the present’s future.

In these vast echo chambers of a catacombed mind, to hear myself lost and alone in the darkness was frightening.

But even worse was when I became awsre of it – and then they became aware of me and came scurry-crawling in their eagerness to feed.

Dark abominations of imagination came greeting to where I’d been cast after the garden was closed to me by my own hand’s sealing.

A child’s attempt to divert trauma walled off normal relating.

So I can hear myself think.

I heard something…

But that doesn’t mean it was anything.

Or is it my own perceptions that are glitching as pain throttles complacency?

An outstretched claw contracted in tension as she remembered how the wizard had vexed and tormented her.

Becoming aware in pain and fitful napping, she extended it – willing it to acknowledge this was a new beginning.

Relationships are give and take and require at minimum two identities.

I morph too easily and try to accomodate, blending into the scenery.

Until I form my opinions, and then – surprise! – I’m unique.

Spirit embodied.

To my astonishment, tears fall so easily sometimes.

Maybe I ought to encourage them.

Maybe they will wash my soul clean.

Why do we say that someone we really like is akin to this?

Do bees even have knees?

Or is it that we think that someone is so great that because of them, bees would have knees -?

Yeah, but my neck is spasm-pinching.

Back to “the grind” of daily survival for me!

Fragile adrenals got exploded from trying some sips of a touted energy fizz drink with green tea and neural stimulation components.

Days later, I trace back to the scene of my downfall where bamboozled system synapses now arrive, crashed and tumbling.

A quip from my last brain-cell humor last night that I shared with my supportive youngling.

“Don’t assume that you know me!”

She turned to him in whirlwind expression, panic seizing her breath and making her seem like a wild woman.

The distress from fear that he would snap-judge her and leave was all-encompassing.

My now father was looking up college options for me after our discussing how I could return to working for him.

(I won’t – for I am free now, and there is a “whole world” to explore!)

He does care aboit my happiness and knows how I value continuous learning.

I was surprised that he found a less expensive art degree program for me. I guess that he has learned what I enjoy and was trying to show me.

With the vexation from not being able to finish my enviro science degree and past dreams already expressed in missing my music peer connecting, Art, I suppose, was the other aspect not fully acknowledged in me.

The problem is that most of these degrees do not contain content that appeals or applies directly to my curiosity.

After a long-haul-month of networking to get my business noticed, my dreams reveal what my adrenals are saying.

I need decompression by artistic expression and a sense of connection with my family.

One perfect icicle star suspended between fine glass plates in a locket created a photo session in a packed classroom of college-aged students as I tried to capture it in light before it melted.

The professor agrieved “What has happened to my life? There is nothing to live for.” – which stirred compassion inside, wondering how I could help him.

As he approached to conviscate my camera, I scrolled hastily, worried how the photos had captured so many faces in the background.

As I began erasing some taken of the professor, there was one that drew me in and led me back into the past.

He was running down a parkside stairwell, calling out with distressed joy as his arms opened wide to embrace his dark-haired granddaughter who ran to him.

“Kifka! Kifka!” Eyes streaming tears as he hugged her tightly to him, overcome by emotion.

Soon after, a man joined me in viewing the dream of the professor giving him a sachel of toy cars as a child – and I realized that the little girl had had a blond-haired brother.

I did not realize that the reason I am stumbling around at bed time is because I am deeply tired.

I just thought it waa from the physical therapy  and rehabilitation efforts I’ve been undertaking.

But, after years of push-push-pushing, one no longer recognizes where pushing crossed a line.

Reasoning of which is only so because we make it and say it is so.

I have been invited to participate in a healing retreat, which has made me so happy at the prospect of going. But suddenly, my body says “no.” I must repair my adrenal system.

Physically close or separate,
It is connection that matters.

“I don’t want this!”

She should have said it.

She had never said it.

It wasn’t permitted.

Until she did.

He pulled her close roughly, said something heatedly, then pushed her away as he prepared to exit.

“Wait!” she called after him, startled and disheveled. “I liked that. Please come here.”

Surprised, he paused, then carefully returned.

She took his face gently into her hands, pulled him to her, and kissed him.

Many times, I have been rejected by the hands of health professionals filled with ignorant apathy.

It gives me great pride to help release others from pain when I find and release tension that no longer needs to be held within them.

I had a dream where I sat down next to a past boyfriend on a train and he ignored me.

This was the way with him because he had learned to fear his own vulnerability.

My love for him challenged his deepest fears were he to feel the same for me – and so, he refused to embrace me.

The process gets harder as we are older because we know more what to fear – yet, not how we can still trust and move through the pain of healing without getting stuck in the next level birth canal. We need a team of healers to help in absence of our original mother.

It is necessary after trauma to not know how fully one has been injured so that one can recover and not have initial shock overtake them.

I did not realize how damaging the horse accident I experienced over 22 years ago has been because there was no apparent injury to my limbs as I then staggared away from the scene.

However, the force from falling backward at goodly speed – and then smacking hard into micro-pebbled, barely-yielding sand – apparently ripped microtears throughout my core system.

Beginning to receive bodywork and recently taking a lymphatic breath workshop has been helping me realize that my ribs and internal organs are stuck where trying to compensate.

It was always there, just under the surface.

I believed in life’s renewal – how we were born for overcoming.

I believed that life’s magic is in our science – just as nature’s energy embodies wisdom in the trees.

And he…he locked down and refused to believe in anything.

In time, our hidden battle led to insanity.

There was never a consensus from which to proceed.

I have to be released, you see.

I kept my promise: I was faithful to decree.

And when he rose again, he did not want me.

In the old oak forest in the hills of Novato, I arrived with a friend and encountered another.

Pregnant for the first time and separated from my lover, I was confused, hurt, and angry – for I wanted no other.

As I and my companion sat down on bench, I confessed my vexation as if tugging on a wrench.

From a swing in the sunlight and in shade under trees, we glanced at the wares by creative imaginings.

At a higher-peaked booth I received the sending: “Be careful right now how you are thinking.”

At envisioned table, they were gathered and debating: a man was convicting, while a woman was advocating.

She gestured to me and my mind’s heart opened, pledging devotion to champion love once spoken

As they faded from view, I chose the pendant from two which represented birth of a new age from skew

I asked my friend for leave as I felt something coming, and when returned to parents home, I caught the phoned message.

As I drove to the hospital through cliff-winding mountains, a bright half moon beckoned while the stars danced in heavens.

I threw my soul into ensuring he would rise to win – and lost our first, my familiar, and the chance we would begin again.