subjective subject

can a person be objective when discussing a subjective subject? if , for more time than you can place numbers to, you only remember being in a dark place.......sticky, moaning, flitting shadows, saturated with the unknown threats that hide in the cracks of silence.

finding happiness is our lifelong goal. but, in fact, this statement reverberates with untruth. each human is endowed with relative free will. what is it that we were created to accomplish. surely there’s a bottom line reason. gone. all are gone. we create them, randomly. then we attempt to direct them. then they grow, then they look around, and see what?
we live to what end? the confusion is so total. the veil is so complete. alone. we are all, in the end, alone.

a slamming door has meaning. a slamming door has no meaning. silence has meaning. we create silence. we create the chaos that invades silence. I am me. and who, I ask, is that? I’m thinking that maybe, with a little energy, with a little time, by the end of time, I may be close to an answer.. never the whole answer. how can we know. but a small answer. my tiny answer. life revolves. I think that without inventors humans would still be dressed in animal skins, and getting their water from ponds. some humans are endowed with abilities to cause change, most are not. tiny circles. most are tiny circles.


flush out the lines. clean. yes. clean. no pain. no breathing problems. no headaches. to understand to feel me. alive. alive. my own life. the part of my life that was given to others is over. free to choose my next move. no consultations. no considerations. experience this life. right

the website

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knNWGXLYrd4

Mistake

the mistake was so bad that it completely unmoored me... that before my conscious mind was aware of it, I was in the throes of a complete perfect storm of weeping.
What could do this?
My first born child, Jenine, is a singer and base player in a bluegrass band in New Zealand with her husband Nathan on banjo and father-in-law Barry on guitar.
This girl/woman has always had a voice that brought me to tears. But now, in the bluegrass band, she has changed the way her voice sounds to fit the genre. Not that her ability to hit and hold a note is compromised, it just sounds different.
So today I found that she had added some youtube video to her online presence, and thinking "Wow, it's been a while since I've heard her sing, so I'll turn it up loud and start my housecleaning."
uh huh, that's what did it, remember I said she lives in New Zealand? The bloody bottom of the planet, 20,000 miles away from me...the sound of her voice so filled my house that it resulted in an unexpected shock to my well hidden reservoir of sadness that I keep in a back room of my mind with the door locked. At the first note that damn door was flung open and out came a ton of sludge and sediment from the bottom of the reservoir. My heart spasmed, and I wept uncontrollably. I miss her more than i can accurately describe. The pain is so intense that it makes my eyes water, and my breathing to become labored.
Fine, call me crazy. Whatever. It's time to stitch. One tiny stitch at a time, slowly pushing back the flood...........go back in there......go back in there.....I don't want you here.....go back in there.

nope, I can't really say anymore because I miss her more than mere words can describe.

no sleep

I read til' 3 am last night, and only stopped becasue Teek was completely rolled over from his pillow onto mine and I was pulling long silky cat hairs off my lips. Now, I'm feeling a bit wonky and for some reason giggley. Go figure.

Thwarted!! lol

so.................
my great and forward thinking plan to leave this gorgeous small town and move lock, stock and barrel (and approximately 100 large plastic bins) to the big city has run into a bit of a stumbling block:
the apartments where I applied will not have anything avaialble for at least 9-12 months. I'm on the waiting list. Truth? I feel like I've been tossed out the window.
but, as those who know me well, know that I'm pretty good at plan B. In fact, plan B is the outline of my life story.
question: do you really want to move to a loud, busy, very big city? Will S. would say, "Take my word for it, I've been to the big city, and this is not it."
Time now to relax, sew, think, and watch Lost tonight.
Back to the proverbial and literal drawing board.

the dream state................

truth of the matter

sometimes you're the bug, and sometimes you're the windshield.
think about this................I don't think I want to be either.
I want to be the scene that sticks in your mind as you drive by............in the night, the solitary house, far back from the road, yellow light in the windows, moonglow fanning out across the landscape gilding silver the dark and solitary landscape....except the yellow light in the windows...........and when you remember the scene, you think, "Who lives in that house, so snug, safe from harm, cared for, protected?"

or look fleetingly down at the roadbed as you drive by..........and notice the tiny white flowers that are stubbornly growing at the edge of the hot asphalt, and the green of the grass, and the gold of the field, and think, "Who protects this land, who nurtures the flowers, and waters the grass?"

I wish to be the landscape bathed in the silvery glow of the Wolf Moon...I want to submerge in the yellow light in the window...I want to be the nurtured flower, and grass and field.

for some there is no yellow light in the window, for some no flowers, no grass; only the moonlight, leading us into the dark land. We shimmer, we disappear, and appear, in and out of light we walk, ever walking, no warm windows, no green grass, no white flowers.