Candid Corvid Productions

Being among the rich, but not rich.

Being among the poor – keep struggling for more.

I never fit in with a home; am set more apart without one.

Identity cannot afford to attach to anything…

Especially to the feeling of disassociation.

I did not relax when sick. I kept fighting it internally.

But, I did go to a couple of shows when I began recovery, and I walked alot downtown just window shopping.

I think that I got to catch up with myself.

They say that if you find yourself in similar situations over time that ultimately it comes down to the outcomes being “your fault.”

But, having been mindful along my journeying, I notice these patterns are actually from trends of other peoples’ lack of personal accountability.

Therefore, the messaging is something that I no longer need to head because, like so many other outdated belief systems, it no lonver pertains to my reality.

I suppose that I am supposed to be content with fighting the resistance to my success, no matter how much the resistance pushes me back.

Show up to the gym, on this day, in different pain at most to reach for maintain.

Show up to work where there is work – and work to get work when there is no work.

When the mind fails, lead with the heart.

And when the heart can no longer feel, keep walking onward.

We had a close chance this last week: we thought we had found our new place.

It is on a piece of land (another biome) but this time, nestled within a neighborhood instead of on the edge.

As soon as we set foot on the property, nature in the backyard welcomed us. There was space for everything we care for, and it had a creative “hobbit hole” feel to it.

The low ceilings and extremely sloping floors from over 100 years standing would need getting used to, and I was a little irritated by the prospect at first.

But, it had two refrigerators, a gas stove, and a gas-heating fireplace. Most importantly, the landlord was chill and would allow our pets.

But, it sounds like he will be giving it to a family friend in need, instead of to us.

It’s frustrating to feel what it is like to have a bird in one’s hand – only to have its magic fly away again.

“If you think that I am just going to keep holding out, waiting for you to come home – you are mad and delirious!”

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she had made a terrible mistake by going through the portal early.

Things just seem disjointed, and she was often experiencing major disruption to her life’s flow.

Alot of Start-Stop-Go’s made the meaning of her life’s purpose confusing.

And he was out there, ignoring their bond, still pursuing other women.

She began to doubt the validity of their original union, for certainly, she was not being shown its redemption.

We went back to the shop and found a string of rounded fluorite orbs of varied deep-hued, colored depths that I can use as prayer beads and/or just carry around to give me visual and tactile happiness.

Sometimes my life just has too much “grit” and “mossy bits” in it.

Normally, I am brave.

Normally, I will muster.

But, I expected a normal MRI.

Not an invasive procedure where they stick first the numbing needle – and then the needle with the dye into the front hip joints.

Joints.

Plural.

They would have done both.

Not having been warned, the moment they told me, I knew I had reached my limit.

“No.”

“I cannot let you go there where I am vulnerable.”

Hind brain’s declaration of truth – and rather binding.

I got so far as to the several swabs of preparation on the upper right thigh attachment and the first inserted, transgressing needle.

My body said, “WE CAN’T DO THIS.”

Nope.

Nope-Nope-Nope-Nope Nopety-Nope-Nope-Nope!

“Thank you for your time.”

“Sorry to have wasted it.”

“I have to leave, now.”

Exit, stage left – I mean right – up and out of the catacombs.

How many times must I tow the line which wishes only to be buried – yet, demonic torments keep reanimating?

It becomes apparent how dependent we are upon the continuity of certain patterns and life rhythms once any base to which we have clung to for solid footing has been taken from us – and its replacement continually eluding being found.

Replays of past stressors infiltrate one’s actions, in the present.

No,..I will not look back on these times with fondness, and a sparkle of mirth in my eyes.

And then, having checked for curbs around my parking spot – and seeing none – I proceed forward to find that where I had parked had the only one, as the car bumps up and lands onto the bottom engine plate.

Yeah.. whose looking out for me as I look out for others? I swear, the thematics I experience get ridiculous…but, I don’t see any oil leaking, yet.

I have been feeling melancholy.

I was so excited and – I cannot think of the word! – when the flourite beads on a string shined their light bright at me from a distance, beckoning me to come get them.

The child inside of me felt so blessed and loved to be singled out and to have crystals “talking” to me again, without my trying or seeking.

When I later learned that the little girl turned seven on this same day, I remembered when I had turned seven, and how it was a new chance for me. My mom was getting married, I was to have a new daddy, and he was into plays and everything.

My life didn’t turn out how it was presented for my buy-in, and the overwhelming disappointment and consequences I suffered became just more layers of negative messaging.

People did not love me and prize me for my efforts – nor for simply being just me.

I reflected on this as the shy one went onto the stage, trusting her mama’s coaxing, and I thought to myself, “Was I really so young and as vulnerable, then?”

I knew it was the right thing to give her the necklace brimming with overstuffed hearts, filled with shades of purple to green in clear colors – and likely bursting with rainbows in the sun.

I had so recently bought them that I had not yet gotten the chance to gaze into the stones and explore their delightful reveries.

Childhood is meant to be more than just a promise. It should be filled with wonder and Guarantees that everything good is coming.

Therefore, I presented them to her as a caring “elder,” telling her how brave she was and giving it to her so that the fluorites’ loving, playful, energetic generosity would impart to her proof that she deserves the best life has to offer her.

But, personally, why do I now have this ache inside? I had had it at the shop, not realizing until the beads had signalled me.

I saw her later that evening wearing the necklace around her neck as its weight swung jauntily over her upper chest, protecting and fascilitating heart to voice transferring – and this was rightly gratifying and satisfying.

But what about my own heartaches? What about my own needs for receiving loving, proud-of-my-efforts acknowledgements and gaurantees of a happy life’s future tailored for me?

If I can give to others, how can I give to me?