"She said my blog's not been making any sense. I realize that I guess. I may even talk about it a bit; how everything's going too fast for me to set down beauty on a page about it. I feel so much, I can't even come up with words to describe it. So I'm just putting what I can when I can so that when I get around to really writing about all this I won't have to start at the beginning." I told him last night.
"Yeah! Well...that's cos none of it makes any sense!" He replied. And later, this morning, he said it was like a little miracle.
I cried last night; a handful of deep sobs. I haven't been/wasn't/still am not sure exactly why the sobs came, but they came from a few days ago and there was no stopping them last night. In the middle of my little sobbing jag I got out of bed and did a half hour of yoga and brushed my teeth and wrote him some.
When I first started blogging the idea of readers was hard to grasp. I didn't know who would read this except friends I told, and even then I wasn't sure they would. I didn't know who I was writing for. I stopped thinking about it for a long time. I was mostly cataloging my stories of the day, my internal struggles, and my external successes or failures. Then I started thinking more about my readers when I thought maybe I should try making money for all this work I'm doing; putting so many words down here. Then that fell off my radar again because it was too much pressure to keep up with the pace one needs to keep if one wants to be gaining readers consistently and at higher levels.
I asked myself when I started this blog why I was doing it. I gave a few half-hearted, half sarcastic, half sincere answers and then wondered how three halves could make a whole. (No, actually, I just wondered that just now.) My answer has become clear for now at least. I write my blog because I have to write. Because I am a writer, whether or not I make money doing it. I write my blog so I can get practice putting words down in a pleasing manner that forms a whole with meaning. I like sharing too. Putting my thoughts into phrases helps me think too. I do not understand most things unless I can turn them into a little poem in my head that contains meaning and depth for me. I know everyone must rephrase things for themselves to help them remember it a certain way, I just happen to think that the way I go about doing that is beautiful and sometimes I want to share it.
He suggested I just write him instead: if I'm worried my readers aren't getting it, or if I'm concerned about privacy or any number of other things. He said he'll hold the letters for me and when I'm done "processing like you lesbians do" he'll give them back to me so I can weave my tale. I'll do some of each, and more, I think. I'm not terribly concerned that I make tons of sense to my readers all the time. Sometimes I think about you readers when I write and other times it's all about me baby. And you know what? This is my blog and that's ok.
With that being said, here's some stuff I wrote to Hadj last night ("him" being Hadj in all references here).
That discipline [just now] was hard for me to accept. My attitude adjustment was mandated and what can I do? I can do anything. What do I want to do? What is good for me, coincidentally (I think not) is what You told me to do.
A gripping, clenching, holding - rebellion - resistance - a "you can't tell me what to do" snot nosed defiance.
"But I have questions"
"But I have stories"
"But don't you want to hear me..." the embarrassment creeps in "...go on...?"
But why am I so emotional? Can I blame moon cycles?
"But my tears..."
Whine, whine, beg, plead, snuffle.
Rebel, rebel, push, hide, scowl.
A softening. It's what we agreed on - doing it right. Being healthy - doing our daily stretches and brushing our teeth and letting go of our fears or what's not useful or necessary.
Pulley asked me tonight if you do the stretching and teeth brushing, when I mentioned it in context of my interest in subtle mental alterations, and I laughed right away. "I have no idea. But, that's not what matters in the moment. I do it, and know that he would like me to, and feel proud of myself for doing it and good that I'm taking care of myself too."
A softening in yoga helps you go deeper into the stretch right where you need it. A slight bend in the elbows lets you bring your arms over your head to the ground. Fold, fold in.
My heart raced - wanted to begin racing - wanted to feel panicked, maybe cagey
"not being listened to"
"being pushed aside"
I don't know why they're triggers - what history set them tight - but a softening - a trust - an ability to see verity - I will become.
Glow. Heart. Glow.
I can feel myself melting, internally, in a divine way - like I'm in a warm inner tube on a comfortable and sparkling river floating where the tide runs between canyons in the sun.
Post Yoga/Little Sobs and Glowing
it's much better that i got out of bed and did that half hour stretching, breathing, meditating, folding, opening. i have a calm overlay and under the blanket i can see the parts of me that are prone to panic and terror and the parts of me that have not been present for days and days and days. presence. where have i been? the future, the past. the routine - i can go about it so half consciously. do i trick myself into feeling alive or am i so used to not feeling it that i can go stretches of days (weeks, months) and not notice. i didn't take my night off tonight - trying to maintain three nights a week where i fly solo. consciousness, presence. the wind. the scents in the air tonight. divinity. throat chakra. meridians. stuck or moving, i'm unsure. crying sounds good right now. in a release. a relief. mourning the moments i've missed by going around half or a quarter awake just to get by. awakening to the disconnect that happens so often. my egg, where is the shell, where is the light? i don't have to know, i just have to feel.