Purifying

I woke up today in a weird place, in time. A grey place where it wasn't dark anymore and it wasn't quite light - just grey and kind of cold.

Sometimes, I get really angry with myself for thinking so much about everything around me in such a negative way. I'm finally trying to get a better perspective about my life and a better handle on the things that shape it. I'm really trying to understand the whole concept of feeling human without skepticism anymore.

Yet, I'm living in a system that doesn't force people to risk anything. I'm breathing a life that is not in control, but won't lose control. I feel like I will never stop fighting, yet I don't fight. I think there's a beautiful thing about the Chinese Taoism teaching to embrace and endure, and I find it rather entertaining how the Western world optimistically believes that if you embrace, you will endure.

And what exactly was that moment of greyness this morning? I suppose just a tired sunset that I called a sunrise because I haven't a clue. Maybe I'm just a fatigued as the sun, anyway. I feel like it. I'm emaciated, detached, and I feel lately lacking in life. I have, over the last two months or so, discovered my desire for solitude, perhaps of habit, like a woman suffering leukemia, only mine is an illness of spirit.

This past weekend has been rainy, and I feel like everything is exactly the same on a rainy day, where I can rest outside for hours while it pours and pours on me. There's no comfort in water and no comfort in stars. There's no comfort in knowing that the sky will clear up to something beautiful - because there's no saying when.

I'm learning an awful lot about myself lately without the presence of other people. For example, I spend entirely too much time outside in my garden and I never actually do much in terms of horticulture. It's funny that way. I just think the whole time, and feel the rain which is steady and just enough to let me know I still feel something. I think about art and how foolish it really is to think that I can stop and capture something beautiful as it is while it naturally occurs. My eyes are cold and dull but there is truth in them. I think about everyone that I am not and how they're all alike yet different. How they're all addicted and insane and how I'm just the same, and different.

Perhaps it's time to do some purifying?

Us

She once said she never liked to be alone, and it's kind of funny the way she rarely is. She has this sort of magnetism that attracts people to her. She hates it.

I had a marvelous discussion the other day and I feel like I might be one person that understands loneliness better than a lot of other people do. I guess a girl can't quite understand that level of solitude until she's watching someone die. I'm battling the sky.

I feel sometimes like a tramp - like I use my own body for satisfaction and communitcation instead of harboring the suggested behaviours of health and well-being. But sexuality is more about the mind and body finding harmony that it is about the body and instant gratification.

There are days when I sit outside under the warmth of the sun holding my hands to my chest - holding my hands against the life I had. That part of me is now so far gone that I can only see it when it appears while I dream. I'm loyal and I'll remain this way until the day that I die, but after that, it's uncertain. Nobody knows what lies behind the day we die.

Sex is only a part of the quest to be beautiful. I miss that part of physically being with Lucas while we're on opposite sides of the country, but I know that in life and in love people are constantly promising but never really after a promise. Instead, searching for a guarantee that whatever it is that two people share won't ever slip away.

I feel sometimes like we're slipping.

The way I'd like it to go isn't always the way it ends up happening. I think sometimes that what we do is complicating our lives vicariously through blocking our emotions because they're ugly on the inside. We're bitter and irritate and we should probably sing songs while we sail through the sky instead. Besides I believe that I'll know what he means when he flies and also when he comes down. Maybe it should all just be simplified, instead of worrying about circumstance and anything else weighing us down.

I don't want to be together. I don't want to be apart.

I'm yours. You're mine. That's it.

She probably wouldn't hate being alone if she took the time to understand what it was really all about.

Poetry from the garden

Untitled.

What would it mean to she who passed
A single room with a lamp left on?
If two lovers wondered out into their garden
To live where twilight lives after dark
And sit among the leaves and flowers late to bloom
Where the wild rasberries grow
Like chords from the string
Only speaking of inconsequent things
Whe he writes, he'll think of her constantly
And she, understand what the writing means
All he may mark would be his own
Offset by what is hers alone.