Author Archives: t.dot

Finding Solace

Posted by t.dot on

I’ve been trying to decipher what is intentionally good in my life versus what is not. It’s not an easy thing to wade through. The waters are murky and deep and filled with emotional piranhas who could devour my peace of mind in seconds.

The constant movement of bile and bias, of old love and new love, of memory and reality, coat me in oil slick residue that feels thick and permanent and over time, has made me almost tear proof.

Almost.

My Sadness will always be there. Buried deep inside. Between the sheets, around the beats, beneath the heat of my valleys and peaks, and at the center of any happiness I may find along the way. It is the bluish blackish bruise of me and I have embraced it as such in its entirety.

I am neither happy nor sad, neither confused nor certain, neither hurting nor healed. I am simply here, living in the quiet storm of this crazy existence. Some days feel dangerously volatile and others deceptively calm. Yet through it all, I find solace in the shade and shadows of yesterday.

No longer frantic and filled with regret and the endless ache of wanting and wishing, the past has become a place of sweet memory and a gentle reminder that love remains in each and everything we have touched, are touching now, and will ever touch in the future.

Today I’m ok with that.

It brings me solace.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and life, as always, is full of possibility. And hey, I’m still here to tell the story.

I am grateful. 🙏🏽🌼❤️

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Fuck YOU

Posted by t.dot on

This is a note to the reader of my blog who feels it necessary to forward my posts to the attention of my partner.

Fuck YOU.

You, no doubt, want to stir up the muddy sediment of insecurity and fear in the hopes of what? I’m still not clear since you have nothing to gain, and a friendship to lose.

FUCK YOU.

I get that, sadly, you are one of those people who are never happy unless you are causing turmoil in the lives of others, and that your penchant for nosy-parking, gossiping, maligning and defaming character is on par with your lack of self-respect and ignorance, but honestly and with reverence I sincerely say again and again…

FUCK YOU!

You’re a coward.

And a cunt.

And a poor excuse for a decent human being.

You’re the puss of the infected thing that feeds on the pond scum.

Seriously, bitch.

Move on with your sad little pathetic life.

And leave mine alone.

Aaaah. I feel better now.

Every now and again you need a good rant!!!

Releasing and moving on.

Namaste. 🙏🏽🌼❤️

Have a nice day!

Time Lessons

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She promised she would never leave. But she did. I’m sure she’s forgotten and expects to be forgiven the breaking of her word.

She said she couldn’t imagine life without me in it. Clearly, she didn’t realize imagination is limitless.

She said we’d be friends. I see no evidence of that. She never calls, or writes or texts hello. No check-in. No “how are you?”. No interest.

Time is a valuable teacher. Often a harsh bearer of reality checks. But given enough of them, one can’t help but heed the lessons, desired or not.

The lens thru which I saw her, felt her, knew her and loved her, has fractured by the passage of time and the neglect in her deliberate silence.

My perception of what was is changing in the spectacularly enlightened kaleidoscope of spiritual growth and the slow rivers of acceptance that wash me clean of the shame and blame.

Life moves on with only a whispering reminder that our moments together are so thin and fragile and will never be here again. I only wish we all knew and understood and treasured them as such. Perhaps then, there would be nothing to forgive.

My lesson this time? Cuz there’s always a lesson.

Cherish all of my moments and remember, love is precious. Listen to the whispers of Life.

I get it now.

Wisdom in a forgotten birthday.

Battlefield

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I stand at the edge in despair. Dejected. Confused. Alone. A sullen spectator to the fading magnificence of my literary world. Ravaged and ruined by the conflict of rules contained within simple words of caution. A lone witness to the power in the invisible placement of intentional boundaries.

I move. I shift. I aimlessly drift. Wide-eyed and helpless, I circle the perimeter. Careful not to disturb the susceptible surface of this unforgiving ground. I know the explosive consequence of misstep. I want. I feel. I am bursting. But I have no syllabary with which to translate my anxiety.

I see them out there. In the field.

My words.

The soldiers of my thoughts. Deliverer of my emotions. Protectors of my heart. Of my soul. Dueling and jousting. Bleeding and crawling. Fighting their way through the stifling oppression of the unimagined mind. Racing to reach Me. Fierce in their determination to Be. Certain of their right to exist. Within. Me.

And they are correct.

The violent passion. The desperate brokenness. The blinding love. The debilitating hurt. The exultant joy. The immaculate, beautiful messiness. This is the stuff that fuels my muse. The responsive sensations that inspire me to write. And to write well I need their wild abandon to corse through my blood and stir the sensitive tremor in my hand.

I see them out there. In the field.

My words.

And they are correct.

I need them. Unequivocably.

And all the frenzied intensity that inspires them into life.

Writer. Artist. Lover.

I thrive in the emotional spaces. Between.

There is no other way.

❤

Loss

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It’s been a while. I know. Life has gotten simpler and yet much more complex. My priorities are changing, and mostly now, by my design. And I am finally beginning to fully embrace the intellection of loss.

A walk gently into the night is not exactly how I would describe this figuring out. This understanding. This learning to live with the acceptance of such a painful truth. But life has offered me no recourse. So here I am. Accepting.

People leave.

They leave. And it hurts. A lot.

By abandonment.

Or death.

And honestly, having experienced both on such fundamentally profound levels, I’m really not sure which is more painful.

There are so many things I don’t understand when it comes to love and loving. Perhaps I never will. But I do know that my heart is not the kind of heart that loves and forgets. Once touched by a sweet gentleness, a genuine kindness, or a passionate kiss that bruised my lips, the memory imprints and lingers. Forever.

Mine will always be a heart devastated by loss. Friends. Family. Lovers. Even gone, they still remain. Anchored to my soul, woven into the fabric of our connection, ever deep in my thoughts, always lingering, intricate to each beat and each breath of my life.

Yes. I love deep.

And it breaks me.

Often.

Yet still, my hope lives. Between the beats. And clings to the last breath of unspent love.

But people leave.

They leave. And it hurts. A lot.

By abandonment.

Or death.

And honestly, I’m really not sure which is more painful.

All I know is that each time it happens

It’s so heart-wrenchingly sad

To feel the lingering loss

In the goodbye.

Fellowship

Posted by t.dot on

Found this today…

Way too relate-able right now.

I feel lonely. Like 98% of the time, I feel like I’m missing some connection with someone. I shouldn’t feel this way. I have friends. I have family. I am online and have online friends. But I constantly feel alone. I feel like I’m not understood, and it’s not like I blame anyone, because I […]

via Why Do I Feel So Lonely…? — Acquiescent Soul

Acceptance

Posted by t.dot on

Simply beautiful. Love this woman ❤

ZenDoe

How deeply poignant, our struggle to “accept”.  How painfully overwhelming to wrestle with surges of agonizing grief, the black ocean of shame, the fear of what may come, or the steadfast desire to make things right.

We know beyond any doubt, and from our own experience, that some kind of acceptance would resolve, at least to a degree, the ferocity of the conflict within us.  And yet, the imperative to hang on to our idea of how things should be is so strong that it feels as though our very identity will die if we even imagine moving into harmony with our pain.

And, there is a measure of truth in that.

There is courage in the struggle for what is right.  There is an uplifting quality to our fervor when we plant the flag of outrage and refuse to move from it.  It makes us feel as though the ground beneath our feet has…

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