we all exist in our small, sac-like spaces, trying to find a way to fight the pain, embrace the pain, allow for love (both giving and receiving), allow meaning to enter us, give meaning to the world. And sometimes we try to touch another person. And sometimes we do. And really, it always ends too soon, whether it is 8 months, 8 years, or 80. If the connection matters, if it is deep and sweet and strong, then the severing sucks.
I fight with so many internal voices it is, at times, overwhelming...confusing...one is always scared I will become the jaded, closed, bitter vision of my mother and grandmother. Another screams for nothing but love. Another is much more quiet...she wants hope and a place to do things that matter, that help, that connect...Yet another wears the glasses of a bookworm and would like to understand and, more, ABSORB, everything. The biggest problem with all the voices, as far as I can tell, is impatience.
I get dizzy when I think of what I had and lost. I get sick when I think of ways that I tried to make connections. And no, I'm not willing to explain that here. Imagine. You should be good at that.
Like passion and fire in your veins, like sensuality and electric in moments will save you...I learned that lesson the deep hard dirty way. But like an addict, no one can tell you...and like an addict, no matter how much you know, sometimes you are swept away. Into caverns of cool places where choices don't matter and meaning comes from electricity and copper wire veins leading to conducting hearts...
I need a map, a way, guidance, and there is no Sherpa for this ascent. I am my own Sacajawea. The issue is not that I am alone in this; the issue is I am in unfamiliar territory. And the only landmarks are ones I do not like.
I wanted to say mean things today. I had the right to. I had a place to send them. I didn't. And a few moments after that choice, I realized why I wanted them...why the words called to me: Anger is not a primary emotion. It stems from either fear, or hurt. And I am both. I am deeply afraid of every step I have to take from here forward, in every aspect of my life. And I am hurt...hurt that he is gone, hurt that he ended before we really began...hurt that I am blinded by love and by hope and by the naivete which I have fought to keep alive....a Secret taught be to believe I am beautiful. My Knight showed me I am loveable. And now, there is me...standing alone, caring for so many small things that matter. And I have to dig deep...so deep...maybe deeper than I am...into the earth. I have to find a way to stand and move and grow and love....
Goddess help me. That is a LOT.