dry lipped musings

Trust...

Such a foundational aspect of our experience of the world around us, if you think about it.

Without trusting that gravity will keep us tied to the earth each morning, where would we be?

What if we were to awaken each day expecting nothing but chaos?

Is it possible for any soul to fully experience this on this plane?

[....Sociopaths?]


 Doesn't it then, make perfect sense, to need something to trust in?

It is no wonder we all love zombie flicks these days

And in that moment, I was awoken to the true nature of my flesh.

My body is like a shell that is rotting.

The opposites of what we usually perceive....

A living, beautiful soul trapped in a corpse.

We are, truly, undead, because in death comes the true life.

A life free from this sinful carcass, rotting on this earthly plane.


Separated from the truth, the way, the life,

We no longer perceive what is actual reality.

Instead, we spend all of our days hypnotized,

Our souls shrieking and shriveling in our rotten tombs,

Drunken and alone, sealed away from the Light


Like Plato's cave, our eyes see nothing but shadows

Dancing on the wall.

A sea of self-aggrandizing, small-minded little bodies,

Our zealousness overshadowed only by our fear.

A fear of what lies beyond the darkness;


Behind the shadows, and

Beyond the unknown.


 To embrace death means to embrace these truths,

And to put one's sights only on the aftermath

of this current plane, this entrapment,

and to seal our fates finally with

Love.

The truest of all Loves.

Our beautiful Source of all things.

Our Father.

Amen.


----

If you spend all of your time chasing the idol that is knowledge,

You will never know anything of any importance.

To God be the Glory, all pleasure in You

"The day you will no longer suffer is the day upon which you rejoice wholly in it. Is this not truly the endgame of all suffering?"

Neither Life Nor Death

Peppermint purRing....thoughts...

Purring and pounding in my head...

So numb now, perhaps with a little more time I will completely cease to feel alone... that would be nice... oh yes...

Of course no more feelings at all would mean it wouldn't matter if I were alone...

I hope it is possible.

I am trying so hard to keep going. I really am. Why am I failing so miserably at this? The answer is obvious, of course.

 I feel like the little plant sitting on our kitchen table, wilting and depleted. Deprived of the sun and water, its leaves' cracking and crumbling into dust. Oh, how piteous and loathsome I have become.

And yet.... moments here and there, I feel.....something new stirring....

Or at least,  I hope it is something... a tiny beam of sunshine on the horizon, poking through the dreary clouds and desolate shadowy peaks.

Is it that peace that passes all understanding? Oh, how I hope so... I must continue to fight this crushing weight I keep finding myself under....

There are so many moments where I feel myself swallowing a lump in my throat; holding back my loneliness and despair.... stopping the tears from welling in my eyes, so as not to disrupt something already so volatile and weak. Drawing away to prevent making matters worse. Sacrificing my feelings at the alter of his illness... it is necessary sometimes...oh yes...and it may be the loneliest feeling of all. I must stay strong... especially when its only me here...

Me, in charge of almost everything. I was never meant to be in charge of anything, I am so scatterbrained and clueless... And not that I necessarily deserve it all the time, but it would be so much easier if my attempts were met with love and gentleness... which they are, sometimes....but who can say when?

Every day, even every hour, or minute, is a gamble. I go about my work, flipping through one chaotic scene after another, to come home to.....a mystery. It may have a happy ending, or a very sad one, or anxious and unsettling.

It would be easier if it was just one thing all the time, good or bad, if I could only know what to expect....

Why can't I shake this feeling?  Why can't I just be numb?

...


And I can't even be mad about it, because it is no one's fault.

But there is also no way out.

Sometimes I wonder if that is truly why I feel alone, simply by knowing that I will always be alone. It is the life I have chosen. No one I know will be able to quite understand this, to feel precisely how I feel, and why I stay, despite how absolutely miserable it can be...

 And I'm NOT writing this to try and express some sense of nobility or high morals...

Its my choice. A good one, or a bad one, I do not know; I don't think it is for me or anyone else to say.



Am I such a delicate little flower that I must inevitably be crushed by this...? Is my response to this a sign of weakness or sensitivity or simply exhaustion?

drecker

The wilderness of her heart was beckoning once again...

She stood up suddenly from the little table, scattered pages rustling in her wake as she moved swiftly toward the door. Opening it, she looked outside and tasted the air. It was fresh with the smell of wet earth. A wind blew down from the mountains and caught the loose strands of hair that fell around her temples. A chill ran through her. She stuck out her arms as if to catch the invigorating rush of the wind in a delicate, hidden embrace.

Her eyes closed as her other senses were overwhelmed in a moment of sheer pleasure. Silent wishes escaped through the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She stood alone in the doorway. Alone but happy. Alone but fulfilled, if only for a few moments. 

A clipped sound of metal. Scuffling feet across gravel alerted her to the encroaching procession of a stranger. Her breath stopped, and her face fell down as she backed away and pushed the door gently closed.

She stood alone, breathless, by the door for a few moments longer before slowly turning herself back to the table. A small glowing screen and her papers, still rustling, awaited her.
With a trembling sigh, she resigned herself to her fate.

oranges

So interesting how often we deny the drives that rule over everything we do. How often we look for ways to escape the ever-looming truths that frame every fantasy and every deed...

And how we then deny our denial by fabricating even more layers of fantasy and meaningless actions. A distraction from our distractions, so to say. But surely, there is some level of truth that we simply cannot know...?

And so perhaps the biggest mistake of all is to deny everything because we cannot know for sure.

Why must we know for sure what is true and what is not?