I have an affinity for the things that remind me of my soul.
Potent love in me glows. My soul seen from the stars. Sweet mercy dawns. The intimate silence bellows, when you’re gone.
The truth in me… is so cold and sterile. I don’t know… how to relate to it. I’m afraid… I’d be frozen if I attempt to reconnect what trauma decimated. I thought avoidance would… soften the edges of the terrifying memories. But they only festered and grew taunting shadows. Shadow puppetry, Plato’s concentration camp. Release my focus, have it all just let me dissociate. Let me dream until death overtakes..
CPTSD (complex ptsd) corrodes the very core that creates meaning and the desire to connect. It burns down any attempts at relating because everything has been usurped by a volcano eruption that took over all mental concepts that helped me orient myself in the world and find stability. My soul is Pompeii and I’m petrified. I’m at ground zero and I can’t find any reason to start from square one.
The good is formless. It’s born in every breath, every heart beat, every moment. Miracles are always unexpected and unpredictable. Make space in your heart through faith and invite miracles.
The soul is a threat to commercial interests.
My life has been usurped, split down the middle. Can soul loss get me a tax deduction?
Oh Allaah, make this pain bloom.