volatile subconscious contents..

what to say this morning? i feel very strange. not like my usual self…sort of. much pain coursing through human hearts. sunny and cloudy days. long hours at the cafe trying to write something that is not where i want to plant my focus. tired of assessing the self and going over these same points over and over in a structure that feels limiting. i want to write poem not a paper. i want to express with more richness. who cares. doesn’t matter much. what matters is this body i still have. some mornings i awake and cannot believe i am alive. it’s as if the default is death. like, i feel dead even though i am alive. it reminds me of something my niece said when she was a little girl. she said she felt already dead, looking at herself from above, from the outside. i feel like that too. so being alive feels like this magic trick. how did i get here? i want to cry many tears by a river. i want to toss my technological contraptions out the window. i am having a shamanic breakdown. feeling the earth rip apart during the time of pangea. i have been here before in the past. anxiety used to get the best of me. but today i know i just need to get more in my body…and i do. dreams continue to flood the subconscious in their usual way, as if the tone of this life never changes. i want more change. i want a breakthrough on a deeper level than the way the mind manipulates change. i cannot pin point what i mean. i am scared really. i am feeling insecure maybe. another stormy rising. it’s hard to be this way. no biggie. i will give. i will share. i will expand. i will feed everyone outside of me with this fire. i will create art. i will be this me that is apparently alive and stop throwing darts into a false center target. love, how can this old world me be here? love, how do i be eighteenth century girl in this modern world? love, how will i be held, and when will i feel normal and does this shamanic pain and swelling ever go away? no. i know. it’s scary to leave the east for the west, but it is my karma to do so. i must face my attachments and live through them, not avoid. there is no normal i know this too. pack animal me wants to get in on some experiences i don’t know in this body yet. a yeti is crying to the moon. she lost her love to bullets, to fear. there is nothing to comfort the wounds, only transformation. grief is eternal…and i accept this.

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