In the meantime...
Morning comes slow today
Memories push through from yesterday
Where will I be tomorrow?
What do I have to show?
I still don't know. Each step I've taken to lead me here has moved me, and sometimes I leave flowers in my wake, sometimes burning wreckage. Sometimes I don't know until the blooming, or the feeling of good soil going dead beneath my feet.
From my life...
There's no life without pain, because pain is the easiest of lessons. Don't do this, it hurts. As children we grasp this instinctively, but many of us still push, wanting to know why, when the point of the lesson is not why it hurts, but that it hurts at all.
Stay, I need you here for a new day to break
Stay, I want you near, like a shadow in my wake
So I stand on another precipice, looking down, down, down. If I jump, will I fall, or fly? It disturbs me that I don't know. And I'm examining everything for meaning, for where it fits, or if it doesn't, and maybe that's part of the problem. One love told me tonight that I'm spending too much time analyzing the life I'm living, and not enough time living it. Is that true? If that is true, how do I stop doing it?
Flow with life down the drain
Memories and force of will sustain
Where will I be tomorrow?
What will be left to show?
Maybe, yet again, it's too many unshared thoughts, not too many thoughts, period. I live largely in my head, and it's always been difficult to let others in, to let them see who I am, where I am. A lot of the recent changes in my life on the grid are designed to push me past my comfort zones, break me out of the old, dysfunctional patterning I've managed to create. And to a certain extent, it is working, but is it causing instability in other areas?
From my life...
Overthinking, also, is just part of my core makeup. I'm not saying it's inevitable, and I'm not saying it can't be changed, but it's been an ingrained thing since I was old enough to think, so changing that is akin to a Philosopher's Stone that works.
Stay..
And there is still part of me reaching out, yet again. After November, after the main push of writing was done, everything I'd reread and reacted to was still echoing, frozen in those moments of transition. This, too, I need to come to terms with, yet again...and, yet again, stop reaching out for the hand that will never again be there.
It's the little things, little things, little things, that make the world
The little things, little things, little things that make the world
So perhaps it's a case of small movements. I am allowing winter to seep in, but I am not going dormant, I am not waiting for spring. Perhaps I need to. After all, seasons change, people change, and who we are now is not always who we will remain. I've been treating it as the winter that sears through me, but perhaps I should instead see it as the winter that brings sleep, surcease and healing, and stillness.
It's the little things, little things, little things, that make the world
It’s the little things, little things, little things
Spring will come. There is a small part of me that believes that now. At some point the snow will leave, and the refuge I've made will go away, no longer needed. I will create a new space, a new home, and bring the things that matter from the heart of winter. Everything else can stay there; if it will not help with the thaw, I have no need to carry it further.
Stay…
And when the thaw comes, I may finally be ready to stop asking the question, and waiting for the answer which will not come. Or perhaps, I will finally be ready to acknowledge that the question no longer needs to be asked at all.
(Lyrics are taken from Poets of the Fall's song, Stay.)
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