Cold is shocking

October has been so painful. Ayeeyo, detox/withdrawal, readjustment, feeling all my numbed trauma that my meds helped keep at bay… Whenever I go out I find myself having to make an effort not to burst out in tears in the middle of the street. And every step feels like the last step before I collapse.

It’s one thing to dissociate from pain, to create distractions. But to have it rain down on you while you sit there, with no where to hide or run..

I was the primary caretaker of ayeeyo for the past 3 years bc I shared room with her and that gave me structure and something to do. And now everything is a void. Absolutely everything. And yet it’s not? I feel a fullness that I’m trying to ground, for the first time ever in my life. As if I’m coming home with a newborn baby without having prepared anything for it. No crib or nothing.

I feel like my legs are lined with embers. I know it passes and I’m grateful for all the wisdom I’ve gained from my healing bc it’s the only thing keeping me calm and collected. I know it’s an ugly storm but I know its function and I know it’s benevolent and I know it’ll get better.

But gosh. Having to create new neural pathways when the old, trauma-laden ones threaten you with a repeat of the past 14 years…

You know what I hate the most? I’ve had to figure this shit out completely on my own all through my late teens and all of my 20s, battling it secretly, patiently. And when people get a whiff of it, they’re quick to throw words like smothering a fire with a blanket. I know those words are borne from restlessness and a knee-jerk reaction to seeing others in pain. But those words, had I taken them in, would have smothered ME, for I was the fire and I needed to burn down. I did.

Anyway, I count the weeks. This is 6.

¿Hablas love?

I wonder if the people I loved who no longer are in my life felt that love and the sincerity or did they throw out the baby with the bathwater (i.e. me)? I wonder if the random acts of love to strangers has set root in anyone? I wonder if any of those strangers still think about me from time to time?

I always feel invisible under the baggage of humanity that dismisses my love as a parasitic hallucination or mirage. I always felt like a ghost. Love is how I connect and touch another’s soul. The texture shows me my soul isn’t alone, that there are others who feel and need what I feel and need. It’s not so much about them but how my soul speaks. I wonder if I’m just speaking in tongues, to others, or if there’s a primordial recognition, even if they can’t speak back?

I’ve been dying to have another soul to speak about God with, and this odd and bewildering existence we share.

Thank God words are free

I counted the posts I’ve written on my (WordPress) blog and it’s 1003! By contrast, last year I wrote 187 (including December).

This year I’ve written more than I have in the 3 years prior, combined. The sum total of posts is 1990. Been writing since March 2014.

This year has been extremely intense and full of personal revelation. Writing was my way of keeping grounded in the prevailing darkness as well as saving the nuggets of wisdom and epiphanies that’d come to me through intuitive downloads. It’s extremely fleeting so I rush to pen it down. It gives my otherwise very otherworldly and vague journey some sort of dimension. It’s so easy to think you’re stuck in these initiation processes that are deeply archetypal and transformative, and yet feel so stagnant. Writing kept me afloat and kept obsessive thoughts at bay as I had to focus my all on inner listening and receiving these mighty truths and revelations.

Not to mention that before the precipitation of the wave of revelations, I’d gestate dark rain clouds in me, heavy and angry and with menacing thunder looming around me. But I had to hold it together and resist the overwhelming urge to just bolt, to just break up the continuity and run for cover. I couldn’t because I’ve learnt that there’s nowhere to run but to Allaah. It’s been a game of elimination that led me to this year. I had to live through the dissolution of my mental constructs of the world and life, and go deeper and deeper into my soul for every time.

Everything I know is a deep inner knowing, not an intellectual property. Thoughts are feeble. They really are. Anyway, writing has enabled me to interject the truth in these hollow words that people have forgotten once meant something, once were vessels for an inner experience. Most people’s psyche are ancient ruins, or worse. Dilapidated constructs with no life. I’ve always hated that about society so much so that I rarely ask people questions anymore because I know they either will cover the truth or they’re covered from the truth. Words mean nothing and conveys nothing.

Path of abundance

I realize, the people who demanded to understand me but when I picked myself apart they never ceased their cynicism – they never wanted to know me, they wanted to control me. They felt threatened by the unknown encapsulated in my idiosyncrasies and peculiar way of being that wasn’t like anything they had ever encountered – and conquered. I see now that they wanted to disarm me as if I was a bomb. I understand now, in hindsight, why they grew increasingly frustrated and distrustful of me the more I revealed of myself. Goodness. And here I’ve spent years steeped in my internalizations that I’m incredibly and exceedingly confusing and my enigma is frustrating. I really did feel guilty all these years. I kept to my shallows for fear of drowning people, all the while being bewildered by what was so confounding about me. I never hide anything, I’m absolutely consistent all the way through on a cellular level, and I have no interpersonal problems.

Sigh. Double and triple sigh. I’m done explaining anything. If you get me you get me, if you don’t, hey can’t catch em all.

No more posts.