unequivocal

I chanced to look toward the sky on Sunday night; the world had taken on an icy cast because of the steadily dropping temperature. The moon was nearly full and quite breathtaking in its ethereal beauty, and sheer clouds moved with surprising speed past it. The result was like a piece of soft, well-worn cotton over a flashlight, and it was sensual in its brazenness.

Connection to nature is something I long for, but gluttony and sloth propensities keep me locked in LED screens and sinking couches.

I am off work for a week or two and I’m slowly slipping back into the World of Feelings, but it is soft, and slow-going, and a little hazy and surreal, like a dreamy state. I am sheltered by a gauzy fog, I guess like those sheer clouds. Is it my own protection against myself? My protection from the world? Or maybe I am afraid to love too much, like always. Vulnerability feels like ugly, raspy rags on my skin, though I’ve been told it’s enchanting…

I don’t want to be smoldering. I just want to be filled with light.

I have lost my connection to myself that was so tender in April, and that’s because children are like a desk lamp in your eyes; harsh and bright and real. Not soft and luminous like the moon. I don’t like loud; it makes my blood overheat and climb in pressure. That’s why I blare the music through my car speaker while in a rage.

And I am not in the mood for lewd humor or gaudy presences. I want the soft meat of inner worlds. Not the hard exterior shell of survival and mayhem. I usually shrug my shoulders instead of pining too hard.

Is there really a depth to me that others don’t understand? Of course there is. I think there is in any non-vapid person. Maybe that’s harsh.
My inner world is complicated and simple. I cannot name what I want, the complicated part says. Yes you can, says the simple part. They battle each other but the complicated part is the beautiful part of me. Is it because beauty is mystery? Maybe. Simple seems to be that bright and loud that makes me cower. I cower because it grates on me. My nerves. Because it isn’t what I like best. And my simple part is telling me, "That’s a toddler mindset". But I guess right now I don’t care.

I want to feel the steering wheel quivering beneath my fingers as I soak in all the vibrations of night. The dark and the night are serene. Serene, that same part of me that I want to expand and cultivate and nurture. I want to nurture. I mentally hug myself all the time because I need the nurture, the assurance. I am strong and surefooted, maybe, but even I need a gentle hand sometimes. A north star. A beautiful, messy mystery.

I’ve found that idleness brings discontent. And being always busy is an energy borne of unreleased emotional baggage. And singing to yourself in a grating voice is uplifting. And smelling, tasting, seeing, hearing, and feeling with great intensity is an open door to wonderment born out of simplicity. 

And matter of factly, I don’t know how to sweep it all up in my arms and bring it with me. The life lessons I’ve cultivated. I guess the answer is to pay more attention.

I always listening, but I’ve learned the art of silence. Words are not lost because they are not spoken, they still float on the same time canvas as everything else. I always have my little resentments, my little tender feelings. But my lips are firm now.

Love