scatterboy

I refuse to give up on a day, regardless of the number of angry, cold raindrops.

I’m frantic at times most of the time.  When I finally stop or slow down, I make such a point of doing it that I feel like I’ve lost all inertia. Even when I stop, I am now unsure if what I call slowing down or stopping is really happening?  I’m beginning to think that I’m just filling up with moments with the other things I don’t have time for.  I’ve started reading a novel again… no word on whether or not I can finish this one.  Start them, rarely finish them.

I’ve been asked to slow down.  I’ve been asked to take a look around and do less.  Do one thing at a time.  While I intuitively know this and accept it, it’s really damned hard to put it into practice.  I am blowing around so often… I don’t know how to anchor myself.

If I don’t slow down, though… I know, know, know… I’ll miss the important things.

The past has a funny way of clouding your present mindset. People rise up, seemingly from beyond the grave, to cast the bones of your joint memories on the ground. Sometimes we can step over them gracefully, other times they catch our gait and bring us crushing to the ground. Other moments arise when someone in our present, unrelated with a particular past, does or says something that calls forth a heartbreaking spectre. They can’t control the stories you tell yourself.  They have no idea what they’ve evoked, clearly.  The pained expression that darkens your face, however, will tell them volumes about right now.

How can you communicate the past in the midst of actively processing it?  We simply do not know when this will happen or how intense the revival of these pains will be.  Our job is to sense these emotions, grant ourselves space, and allow those sensations to run their course… hopefully without reenactment.

The goal is not to be unfeeling, but to be uncontrolled by our feelings.  We can be guided into action if we so wish.  The sensation of being uncontrollably compelled into action or feeling “forced” to react intensely is akin to being caught in a tailspin.  It’s deeply defeating as we know internally that we are at the source of this pain.  I can lie and say I feel nothing, or I can acknowledge and allow the sensation to teach me.

Perhaps I’ll know better next time how to deal with the way that I feel?  The past can only control me if I don’t learn from it.

I often wonder why this creeps into my life so readily.  I have hard nights, less sleep, more vivid dreams, a momentary lack of life clarity. Whatever the case may be… and it starts a bit of a lonely spiral.  Perhaps it has to do with my diet?  I could speculate like mad, or I could do what I normally do:  press it down, move on with the day, let it pass.  Sitting in quiet, making deliberate choices, taking my time through the days seems to help the most, but there’s the nagging hum of needing personal contact spinning in my mind and heart.  Time time time, I suppose.