Finding Fucking Zen!

Seriously having a hard time holding onto and keeping my Zen. Little tastes of serenity are not conducive to peace of mind. I’m learning to follow my spiritual path – exploring how to heal myself and walk tirelessly with my heart of compassion – listening closer to the voice within to guide my decision making process… but how the FUCK do I do that when the challenges keep surpassing the teachings! Enough with the tests pleeeeease! I’m really trying here, ya know. Do you HEAR me? I’m done!!!

Fuck!


To Come…

The past two days have been spent fixing my broken technology…grrr. The kid has moved in with me and had my computer locked into a music streaming website. Can you say virusssss? So after two formats, several reinstalls and a massive headache which no amount of Advil relieved, I am happy to announce my tek-muse is functioning again. I need my desktop for grounding when I write. This little message is coming from my Samsung phone but the whole process

feels

flimsy and weak and completely uninspiring so this just won’t do. Of course, a true writer could perform on any medium I suppose… Hmmm. But we all have preferences and I choose my desktop dammit!

Soooo…I’m off to spend some time away from my own company – a much needed break from this mind and it’s never ending chatter which can illuminate and bog down at the same time – and hopefully I come back refreshed and ready to write. I’ve been doing some research on character attributes of the Gemini human being and my synapses are in overload as the dots connect and the “ah ha!” moments collide. Man oh man! All I will say for the moment is I think I finally see how and why I tick as I do.

And…um…sorry?


Returning…

I’ve been struggling with coming back to this blog for months. At first it was because P was reading my most intimate thoughts and to be honest, most of it was about her and my feelings towards her – the love, the hate,  the want, the need, the desire, the confusion and most of all the hurt. A hurt so deep it crippled me to the point I couldn’t share it, release it or even begin to understand why it was happening.

So I shut it all off.
The pain was too unbearable.

I wanted to scream at her for causing me such heart break. I wanted to write horrible things that I knew would hurt her in the reading of the words. I wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt me. Deeply. Profoundly. Everlasting. A deep festering wound in her soul that would never truly heal. I wanted her to know the pain I felt when she left me to pursue her own happiness…something it killed me to understand that she couldn’t seem to do with me…

But I couldn’t be that cruel.

Never that cruel to someone I had once loved to the point of distraction unending. She had been my universe, my one great love,  my heart…my lobster.

So instead, for months I have been aching to write out my heart, needing emotional release, wanting to continue my story with all the pain and angst and soul destroying heartache but I have been shut up in a bubble of denial and half truths – none of which I wanted to bring to the surface and deal with honestly and openly.

But the long and short of it simply put?

I have a broken heart.

Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing never experienced by countless others.
Nothing a thousand poems, well meaning friends and self help books can’t address.

Yet because it is my heart, this breakage is like no other and the descent of sufferance has been nearly insurmountable.

And through it all my words have grown still and quiet. My muse silenced. Blocked by the pain. And this amputation of my greatest gift has withered my body and mind. I have missed the writing. Craved it like a starving cat. The free flowing thoughts from mind to fingertip. The release of expression no matter the content. No matter the cost. No matter the vulnerability and exposure. I need to fill that capacity like my lungs need air. There is no me, no life…no anything without my words.

So…
I have returned.


Searching

I keep looking for you
In the script of your heart
Even tho I’ve asked you erase the pages
Is it wrong of me
To want your words to me
To continue thru all of the ages?

I miss
I miss
I miss
What I felt with you

Deep in the quiet
I hear only your whispers
Of love and promises broken
I on my own
Am in saddened transition
From words I wish had been spoken

This life has tested
Every ounce of my being
Pushed into raw and naked places
I’m grateful for you
And the lessons I’ve learned
But I live now in the empty spaces

Still searching
Always searching
For…


Broken Woman

Broken Woman

Found this recently and loved it. Both for its artistic expression and its appropriateness. If she were brown-skinned and howling at the moon, she would be I. Didn’t name the photo, but knew a soul felt relate-ability. Props to the artist and thanks…she’s my wallpaper and will be for awhile. A reminder that I am fluid and strong, even when feeling weak.


Once More…

If you could see me now
Living in the hollowed out existence
Of my yesterdays with you
Clinging to the truest
Most complete sense
Of belonging to anyone
I have ever experienced
Aching to breathe in my air
And soak in my skin
The living scent of you
With all its beautiful layers
Of exquisite arousal
And peaceful contentment
Distinctly you
And only you
If you could live inside my life
For just a fraction
You would leave it
Never again in doubt
For you would know
That I would give anything
To be in that place
That heavenly place
Sharing in a love so…
Venezuela
Distinctly mine
Forever yours
Perfectly ours
Where we would fit intrinsically
Limbs entwined
Lips a breath away
Anticipating
Once more

I miss our love


Smiling Faces

So much has happened in the last 7 months that to try and fit it all in one post would discredit the whirling emotions and complicated people and extraordinary circumstances behind the monumentous and life changing events, so I won’t bother to try. Besides, I’ve moved yet again and am awaiting my Internet hookup. As smart as my phone is, I dislike blogging in this medium. It lacks the depth and breadth of my desktop screen and is missing the persona attached to my 1940’s writing desk. Short of hand written notes, I need correct environment for verbosity and my Samsung 4S Mini, as sexy and sleek as it is, is not my muse. I will say however, that life is not all I had hoped for in this 53rd year of my birth which was celebrated quietly on the 24 of May, with beloved daughter, best friend eX and new boi in my life… and tho the tapas was delicious and the gifts heartfelt, the day was flat and empty. And sad.

Someone was missing.

All is not well in my world for I’m learning once again that smiling faces can hide dark demons and that misery can quickly replace rapture. It’s a false world full of false people and in this moment I am appreciating the deep and sometimes brutal honesty of the damaged and broken. At least their truth is pure and the smile lighting their eyes is a peaceful and almost ethereal glow and not a reflection of the scorching hellfire brimming just below the surface.

Beware the smiling face spouting pretty platitudes for to swoon in the sweet serenade of the silver tongued mistress is to drown in the depth of convincing falsehoods that will corrupt your shining innocence…

If you let it.


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