05.01.11
I often wonder if I am OK. If I am taking care of my body. If I am drinking or worrying too much or holding in too much past. Poisoning myself with old anger.
I wonder if I can shrink all this bitterness before it becomes Who I Am. If I can listen to my dreaming, because it is the truest truth I know.
I wonder if I will ever be able to speak kindly to my young self. If I will ever be exactly who I am, without excuses.
I wonder if I will ever whittle down all the voices to just one: my own.
06.01.11
It's astonishing, how these old fear animals still survive in my stomach cave, despite all the poison I've been throwing at them. They should be drowned by now, but they just continue to be.
I miss when not belonging was normal. I miss untetheredness, unsameness.
But here I go: being neither here nor there. My body is here, but my mind can't sit still. The problem with not being present is that all those lost moments build up inside me, all warped and cramped and wrinkled like old skin. I want to be with each moment while it is still newborn, clear.
But first I need to organize and open up my old moments, however ugly and soggy with fear they may have become. And sit still with them.
I often wonder if I am OK. If I am taking care of my body. If I am drinking or worrying too much or holding in too much past. Poisoning myself with old anger.
I wonder if I can shrink all this bitterness before it becomes Who I Am. If I can listen to my dreaming, because it is the truest truth I know.
I wonder if I will ever be able to speak kindly to my young self. If I will ever be exactly who I am, without excuses.
I wonder if I will ever whittle down all the voices to just one: my own.
06.01.11
It's astonishing, how these old fear animals still survive in my stomach cave, despite all the poison I've been throwing at them. They should be drowned by now, but they just continue to be.
I miss when not belonging was normal. I miss untetheredness, unsameness.
But here I go: being neither here nor there. My body is here, but my mind can't sit still. The problem with not being present is that all those lost moments build up inside me, all warped and cramped and wrinkled like old skin. I want to be with each moment while it is still newborn, clear.
But first I need to organize and open up my old moments, however ugly and soggy with fear they may have become. And sit still with them.
