however, as a writer, i find more often than not that words come of their own accord. they're like the house-cats of domesticated pets-- they've a mind of their own & any coaxing you might try is absolutely futile.
so when i opened this particular blog (which hasn't been accessed in over a year), i was surprised to find many of the words i had felt plotting their escape were already here. if it were another night perhaps i would've felt like this fact screamed 'failure'. but instead there is a strange sense of comfort in knowing that my mentality, despite its ups & downs, has remained the same over time.
i desire change. growth. anything but stagnation. i now know i will even dive down to the bottom of the barrel if it means stirring the metaphorical pot of my soulfire. i cannot simply exist. it's no choice; i simply cannot. there's too much potential energy circulating in my subcutaneous tissue.
looking back over these last several entries, i see a strong & capable woman. i recall the pain & anguish i was feeling at that point in my life & i am utterly humbled by my seeming capacity for seeing silver linings.
maybe it wasn't that words wanted to escape tonight so much as they wanted to be heard.
i almost ended this with "time to get back on track," but thought better of myself. after all, just fourteen months ago it was I who wrote:
"i am forever reaching. being here now.. even accepting this whole thing as a journey, rather than a means to an end.. i nonetheless find myself grasping for a greater consciousness. even when i am up to my ears in my own bullshit, judgments, & apathy.. even when i can't see the forest for the trees, i am building my awareness. i am cultivating my energy even when i am wasting it, because there is no waste. there is only grist for the mill."
more like, "time to take my own advice." (;
in the meantime, i'll leave you with the rough draft of a little poem i wrote a few years ago. stay tuned for the fine-tuning.
postcard from purgatory.
find me clawing myself from inside out
a soul escaping an Ego enamored by
pre-packaged promises and adventures
fleeting, not freeing but instead escaping
self-production and drowning sorrow
secreted by hormones that only human
beings manufacture begetting madness
morose in their entreaties, devoted to
entities innumerable as the names of
gods given by the greeks and roman
empire before fire was set to their
teachings, sacrilege sanctified in a
flame fanned by pious priests whose
foremost belief is not so far off from
present collectively created thought--
the christ came and went while we
were sleeping off our sunday hangover.goodnight, y'all. xo
