I M Perfect lady

Tag: path

  • An Artist with words.

    I have been going to writing classes, listening as Authors speak of their writing techniques and style, it seems they all know what their pattern is called and how it works, and I have yet to hear one who writes like me.

    My words come barreling out, pushing and shoving each other; they are not at all concerned about style and land on the page happy to be free from my tangled mine.

    They are driven by confusion and fear mostly, and feel much better on a clear white paper, all sorted out and explained.

    My writing starts usually with a thread or a nagging and often times a sinking feeling, and it matters not to me or the words how they look after we are done explaining.

    They are all bunched up in my head, running over each other, truths buried beneath the piles of fearful thoughts, overrun with uprooted beliefs and all are wanting the space to sort themselves out.

    A place where they can line up and be seen and felt, acknowledged and labeled correctly, room for separating truth from fiction.

    They are in a hurry and are reckless, heedless to watching where they land and how. Haphazardly flopped they care less about how they look as long as they are felt properly.

    As a writer I have failed in the eyes of the writing teachers, for I have not followed any proven path, but set out on my own and let my words land as they may, letting them be the creators not I.

    It truly puzzles me how they can know ahead what the words are going to need, how they can have in mind the structure that they will use to express themselves, like map writing, they seem to know where the words are going.

    My words are like vagabonds wandering around or riots of revolting feelings; it would be nearly impossible to know ahead of time where they are going, let alone draw a map ahead of time.

    Perhaps my words and self-expression have been tied up in the dark for too long; guarded, restrained and held in strict beliefs and ideas, that we are not willing to succumb to lying down nicely, instead we run wild in expressive freedom.

    Maybe I am not a writer at all, but an artist with words.

  • Peace Inside.

    It occurred to me yesterday, that I was like a ghost who refused to leave the scene of a tragedy, a tragedy that I died in, that I was not aware yet that I was dead, that I was lingering around waiting, not willing face it was over.

    Facebook allows me to have a portal into lives I am not a part of, and they in mine, without fully connecting in a real one on one, face to face, heart to heart, truth to truth, feelings to feelings, actions to actions, a real life body & soul connection.

    We are ghosts in each other’s lives.

    I am sure we can be haunted by these exchanges or we can be inspired.

    It occurred to me, what would happen if I did not have these portals what would I really know about my family, for in reality I don’t have body-to-body interactions?

    It is both a blessing and a curse to have this window into their worlds, I had thought that I was better off than Edna and Thelma, that I had this thread into their worlds, and now I am re-thinking that.

    What is it keeping alive?
    A relationship or the evidence that there isn’t one there?

    I am sure it is as hurtful to them as it is to me, the misunderstanding that cuts deeply each time we see their written words.

    Words online, the ghost connection, with great amounts of energy connected.

    It’s the energy I feel more than the words.

    The energy is alive and electric, cutting and decisive, very much a one-way street, no U-Turns here it screams.

    No one is willing to turn around and make a new choice, not me and not them.

    Our streets are running parallel but disconnected.

    A cement wall running between us broken now and again with facebook, a portal opens and we can see what the other is doing.

    Two roads.

    One road traveled by many, one road traveled by few.

    How can I know what it feels like to travel their road, I can’t. I can only write about mine.

    My road is leaving a family of dysfunction.
    Their road is traveling with family.

    Each of us took the road our hearts and souls directed.

    They say I chose this road, but the road chose me.

    A road that began as a very little girl…

    This road I am on was not an option then, but it was offered to me on December 4th.

    Something within me came alive, aware and alert; a voice of truth woke up.

    It spoke and I followed.

    The Universe and I walk this road, the road back to my true self.

    I am sorry we can’t agree, but it can’t be so, you can’t win the world and gain a soul.

    I know to the depth of my being you all can’t see and understand my walking, that what I say is hurtful and it is not intended to be, that my blog say things that don’t feel good, but guess what, the truth first hurt me.

    It hurt me to know what I had to know, to see what I had to see, to feel what I had to feel, yet in doing so it put me on the road to my soul.

    The soul of me, the spirit of my little girl is alive and well within me…even though this road is hard and misunderstood, it is the only road for me.

    I hope your road fills your soul, makes you dance and shine, gives you life and feeds your passion, that you are walking hand and hand with your truth. There is nothing more I can want for you is for you to be at Peace inside.