I woke up with a heavy heart today. Hard to say why… but not really. Maybe something in the forgotten dream is lingering. Maybe it’s the last few weeks of the tumult and uncertainty of this personal transitional moment, or the never-ending string of such moments.
A brief check-in to the feed reminded me of walls between “countries” and senseless development and deforestation in my back yard. There was a scarred forearm of a young woman who had cut herself in the past. A memory of a voicemail my dad left last week telling me a friend of the family had hanged himself flashed in.
It’s pretty simple to see through all of it. The cycles and patterns are nothing new, original, nor terribly interesting. Disappointed. Maybe that’s the feeling.
I’ve been searching for a new home, and with it, a semblance of inspiration. I’ve proven to myself that moving ten or so times in the past three years never once allowed me to escape myself.
So, in we go, again, to root out the liars and, concurrently, to observe the truths I don’t want to own. Let’s tap that courage and see what’s possible. This reality can be a brutal place. Perhaps it doesn’t matter the reason. I’m here, still.
I’m going to keep playing with fire, because that’s what dragons do. I’m going to keep churning the waters, because that’s what fishes do. I’m going to ask you to attempt some genuine introspection, because that’s what awakeners do. I’m going to keep loving you, because that’s what I am here to do.