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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
   L'aura del campo 'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos' ♣ Federico García Lorca ♣  L'aura del campo. A breeze in the meadow. So it began the last day of Spring, 2005; on the 16th day of the month of Light of the year 162. This is a supplement to my daily journal written to a friend, my muse; notes I do not share. Here I will share what the breeze has whispered to me. PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS! I L  V COMMENTS!On a practical note, in answer to your questions: IN MEMORIUM VerySara  passed away November 12, 2005 Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings. More suggested links:  These pictures rotate.   Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
| Call me ... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ... Eeyore "Thanks for noticin' me." A famous quote from Eeyore himself. I need connections but hide behind walls. Thick walls. Gloomy walls. Not in your part of town, or country, or world. This is what I responded to a blog entry by Charlie: "Two years in a homeless shelter... wonder why I don't trust people? Hint: it wasn't the homeless shelter or the homeless people; it was the people who were part of my life before that. I left. I burnt bridges. I ended up homeless. Even now I feel disconnected. It's been a bad month. Even doing my blog is treacherous because I can't write to many of the prompts without triggering traumas. My struggles are mine and mine only; but, I've learned that there are people who have similar issues and sometimes... only sometimes... some... only some... understand. So I keep my walls thick and high and I seldom let anyone in." I have shared similar thoughts before. My anxiety went though the roof after 2003. Homelessness made it worse. This May? My old traumas were triggered by an event that most 'sane" folks would've handled okay. I didn't. Blogging and writing are ways in which I can keep myself from going bonkers... but the blog-prompts didn't help. I'm different. My life is different. And each attempt to try to explain fell flat. It usually does. How to explain to someone who's never fazed what it's like to be totally broken. They can barely understand what they've never experienced. So once the anxiety passes the self-doubts and depression sink in. I've barely left my room this last month. Yes, I look mostly fine to folks who don't know me. I'm not. But, once again, when my friends notice I'm sad and say "Be Happy!" I just feel invalidated. If my friends can't handle me when I'm down they sure as hell don't want to know why. So walls. They protect... and they kill me while I try to hide and breathe behind them. 102.596 |
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.