towards a door I yearn to open
turning away because I'm yet unsure
Cohesion. It's coming, but it's coming slowly. This break was monumental, spun me from my moorings, sent me sinking to the deeps in uncharted element and space. I could have pulled a quick patch job and been back on my feet in two weeks, but I wouldn't have been stable for long.
It had to be now. Else I would have broken again, and at likely some less convenient time.
spattered ink on crumpled pages
painstakingly smoothed time and again
spattered ink like arterial spray across linen
vivid and disorganized
I could have done that, though. I could have pretended, I could have tossed it off, no worries, no observed pain. I have a phenomenal social face. It works wonders.
But these days I'm trying to play by someone else's rules, learning the reasons for them, incorporating them into my own, and--I genuinely think--becoming a better person in the process. Does that mean this work is easier?
No. In many ways it's harder, simply because I'm having to check myself, time and time again, from shortchanging my own heart and mind. That would be far worse than anything else that's gone wrong.
wanting and yet wanting not
fearing change and needing it
wanting far more than I've got
turning away, turning towards, turning away
The last thing I needed was another fault line. And do not mistake me--I was given the choice, and I made it freely, as it was given to me, free and without restrictions, placed with all seriousness of mind and heart into my outstretched hands.
Fast or slow. And I did not choose to speed the process.
fingers, palm, hand curving around the knob
warm, almost alive in my hand
from how many times I've taken this step forward
curved my free hand against the broken frame
and turning away to consider again
So it's taking the time it takes, and I am relearning myself as I gather each shard of the last self close, aligning it with the previous repair work to the structure. And I am observing the changes as they come in, fresh and dripping from that moment's realization of their existence.
I'm not always liking what I see.
simple decisions should never be this hard
I turn towards and turn again
half-spinning, falling through glitter and rust
night after night and day after day
I am needier now, far more insecure. I despise it in myself. I treat it as weakness until I pull my concentration clear of such self-deprecation. Of all the ways my personality could choose to reform, this is the aspect I understand least.
I am far warier, now, as well. I mistrust friends and enemies alike, associates and loves. I weigh everything for hidden meaning, seek out the razors in the silk; I've gone so far as to log in over the past several days to the grid, only to set myself immediately Busy and never lift another finger to type out an answer to anyone. I speak only when I force myself to socialize in any social grouping, local or grid-spanning.
This one I despise as well, but of the two, this one I believe will pass, given time.
when will I reach one less decision than I need?
when will I need one more decision than I have?
It's all about time, now. How I'm spending my time. What I'm getting done. How effective I am in my own life. I've given up on the business being a successful alternate revenue stream, but in a sense, that has freed my hand to practice what I want to do, what surfaces to the top level of the dream, so that I am creating what I want to see, not what I think will sell.
Once my head is fully integrated with that idea, I can start throwing out all unsuccessful designs and further clear my inventory.
until then I'm frozen in this indecision
in this moment of turning away
and turning towards
Still. Something has to make way in me. Needing approval, and mistrusting any offered praise or understanding is just as much a recipe for future implosion as any thing else.
(But then, I reflect--perhaps it's a perfect illustration of my own understanding. Perhaps I'm clingy and needy only with one, and wary and mistrusting with the other. Then, it must needs come down to, at some point, the minds and hearts of the gentles in question.
(But oh, I am tired of anxieties in the dark. And I grow weary and wearier still of judging motives. Some nights, I just want to exist, not to second-guess, not to keep pace with the challenger of all my actions.
(Isn't that enough, after all? Isn't that what love's supposed to be? The phrase goes: Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in...but maybe that's part of the problem. I no longer trust home...)