msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- which way is up I feel consistently simultaneously wired and exhausted. Am I coming or going, stalling or growing - I feel structurally splintered, shattered, stagnant but kinetic, perpetual, forever in motion, even sleep isn't still, it is a battle zone of theory and practice, knowledge and hope, worry and truth - undeniable and absolute truth. i am obsessed with the way that things are things, forever, until they aren't. i dreamt of a devil and a god fighting over me, tug-of-war-ing over me - can you imagine? i woke up inside of this dream, i was in pain but not that same previous dream pain, this was something new. i woke up into this battle in agony, knowing i was dreaming, watching this thing happen, happening inside of and to me. i struggled with it, hoped desperately to wake up, i think i prayed, i think i started sending light, thinking of light and prayer, and my eyes opened and i was front flat against the mattress, my eyes wide open before the rest of me was and as soon as my body came just the slightest bit back to me i threw myself over, flung over to my back. i was short of breath, and my sides still hurt. usually when i have these pain dreams i wake up and feel fine, physically. but this time it took a while to get my breath back, and my sides felt tender, bruised. i looked it up tonight and found in a muslim forum someone, who from just their brief description of themselves in their post could not be very much more different to the type of person that i am, had posted about such a similar dream. they were worried it was because they are in a terrible country full of sex and alcohol and drugs, and they have not been praying enough. In between so many "Inshallah"'s and they spoke about prayer as a means of protection over sleep and death. when i have these dark dreams, often i turn to a form of prayer, by which i mean i focus on and give solemn gratitude for my many blessings, i focus on and surround myself with white light, as well as those that i love, those around me, those that i struggle to love, the things i struggle to accept these deepest of personal moments, the most solemn and internal and truest of times i think, when we are scared but we turn to light, hand over control, surrender. god, i struggle with it, often. i forget it. forget the power of it. forget the infinite PERFECTION of the tapestry of everything, of every single thread, every String being in exactly the right place to form the incomprehensible picture. i forget to trust, and i forget that worrying, obsessing, being fearful, hateful, regretful do not change outcomes. they do not protect, even though i try to use them as armour, it is a false shield, a momentary one, truth and acceptance will always come. BUT (i say, with a smile on my face in spite of myself) it is with the worrying and the obsessing that i learn. i suppose some of you may say, that is the devil talking, those with a need to personify it. it is a dark force, dark energy that feeds off confusion and chaos - and i do, oh i so do sometimes too, more so than i do of light and truth and trust - my world is built of darkness and confusion, i rarely know anything but it. i see these things as the path to a truth, those moment, glistening moments of *enlightenment* i suppose can only come from searching and hardness. the middle road sees no satisfaction. a person of extremes. - i have my mothers hands. i have her nervous hands, the left that folds in on itself when thinking, and also when anxious - although not necessarily both at the same time. the thumb nail scraping along the pad of the three resting ring to index fingers, the hand upturned like that looking kind of stupid, helpless, injured, suffocated - at least hers does, now, ridden with arthritis, rings imprisoned on swollen stagnant.... what else do i call fingers. some part of me said soldiers. for me they are freedom fighters, when i thought i was losing my left hand i spoke often of how they are one of my biggest outlets to the world, i rely so much on touch and typing. i don't know if i've always moved my hand like that. i remember since i was young a deep fear and uncertainty, a much too strong awareness of how to hold my hands, especially my left. there is so much i don't understand. so much i feel if i did understand, i would not be able to keep my place in society. already it feels that.... i need to trade one for another, in a way. that's so terrible. i feel that i can't fully explore all of the messages life gives me when i am so distracted by keeping up with the routine of.... work, progression for the sake of progression and then retirement, being a cog in the machine. is that mental illness? or is that.... healthy? i feel there is a real and true music to life, that we are provided for in a deep way. I also believe that the time we are given is short and it is ours to do with what we choose, i don't want to spend too much time choosing shitty things that don't fulfill me. I believe deeply there is more here for me than craving heroin and fearing the inevitable. How do I find it? How do I notice it, how do i take what i'm given and turn it into everything it has the possibility to be? I need to hold surrender in my heart. But it's not that easy. I need to fight. I need to figure out what to fight for - this, this is always where I get stuck. Maybe I need to surrender to finding it. Something still isn't sitting right in my heart, like it has at moments while writing this, but still I feel this is progress 11:40 p.m. - 2016-06-14 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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