This creative and conversational memoir style of blogging is embellished with photographs, sprightly texts, and gentle listening features. May these entries be as cathartic to read & to hear as they have been to conceive & to share. xo
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1/17/2019 To Remembering I feel you, you deflated swathe of snow. That sunken, d r a w n ,wrinkled bundle of flakes depicts the state of my heart over the previous week. sick, sagging; a c r a w l i n g lurch. I have been violated. I will not speak to what exactly, or how. I am still too embarrassed; too nauseated. Still completely enraged and in utter disbelief that conscious baring individuals may not own a conscious at all. Still devastated to have fallen victim to humans' capacity to reave absolute strangers of their processions, their dignity--and so, so much more. I am safe. I am healthy. And although the trauma is mild, the trauma now occupies the crevasses of where my confidence and self-trust once resided. My wounded pride will heal with time, but the initial devastation of this event, I anticipate, may be somewhat kindred to my soul being forcibly scraped from the walls of my body. Question marks have become further artillery to bruise my ego. How could I have allowed this to happen? Why did I not stop this at every chance I had? How did I become so detached from reality? . . . Such questions are futile and undue, and yet answers find a way. Fear is vexing. And to be honest, my spirit has felt listless for sometime. Recent years of academic conditioning in symphony with practicing the daily grind of adulthood held me hostage from my own intuition. As I take in the cool, flat, wintry haze, I witness the closest depiction of what my outlook on life has grown to be. Through this fog, the treasure to be found within this injustice emerges: By part of my humanity being robbed from me by another, I can now know the magnitude of my own humanity that I have been robbing from myself. Awakened by Patty Bryant My good friend--and partner's mother--has created for me a beautiful and indispensable gift. This painting is a representation of what she sees in me, & who she believes I am. She has entitled it, Awakened . For that I felt both undeserving, and challenged to embody the wakeful strength that Patty experiences of me-- that I believe has been burrowed in me somewhere. Beware of what you ask for from Life, my friends. Approaching 2019, I've meditated on embracing my personal power --my Awakened being-- and to that, Life retorted: "To grasp how powerful you are, you must acknowledge how impermissible you have allowed your power to become." This personal travesty has been a process of remembering my Self, my power, and to recognize to what degree I have forgotten them both. This is an opportunity to Awaken the sleeping spirit of mine. Tears of gratitude have far outweighed tears of grief, thankfully so! I feel the tingles of my sentience again. The shame, pain, outrage, & sorrow are ruthless animals that could only be contained by many a loved ones who have been present to hold me, uplift me, share with me, and fight for me in the fiery throws. Authentic acts of kindness and full-bodied conversations--
brimming with encouragement, grace, and generosity-- have filled my lungs with even richer breath than that which had been taken from me. And with reclaimed breath, I can again speak. It has been nearly four years since my last post--reluctantly, yet purposely so. With the nature of my work, I chose to refrain from airing my vulnerabilities on public platforms. This week (and this incident) has heralded to me that personal expression--with dear friends, new friends, and within my writing--was, and continues to be, a ritual that helps my world to seem less cool, less flat, less a haze. Expression as a ritual of remembering what I have left dormant within; a ritual of preventing the continuation of living with a hibernating soul & disheveled heart; a ritual of washing my worldview with more enthusiasm, more expansiveness, more clarity, so that the emotional gravity of tragic incidents might serve other purposes than these. May you live out the rituals that orient you back to yourselves. Be watchful, wakeful, & expressive, my darlings. Missed you all.
L
2/1/2019 07:18:01 am
This is beautiful. I love how you express yourself so elegantly. The message is clear and powerful - our dreamlike state can prohibit us from seeing the ledge we are about to step off and tumble to the ground. Only after we hit earth with a thud do we wake up, shake ourselves off and realize why we stepped off the ledge in the first place. Thank you for sharing the painful but liberating process of awakening. I can relate so much to this and I’ve gained clarity for my own remembering through reading yours. 11/26/2019 07:19:25 pm
I used to forget a lot of stuff in the past, but I was able to get better at remembering stuff. Well, I had classes that used mnemonic devices. Well, it took a while, but I was able to learn a lot how to get better at it. I think that there are lots of ways for us to get better at it, but it takes a lot of time. I am happily content with what I have right now, though. Comments are closed.
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This creative and conversational memoir style of blogging is embellished with photographs, sprightly texts, and gentle listening features. May these entries be as cathartic to read & to hear as they have been to conceive & to share. |
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