Never let a certainty of what will be a point no further, become another point you stand amidst your own hurt. for you may hurt all the same, but with time it becomes a memory and not a constant.
I have had much to say, to so many, on the matter of what I have been, when I was another Me.
It seems so strange a thing, to speak in earnest words of how I am not that which I once was, and have them look at me the same. I find, in these moments, a palor of fear and doubt washes over me.
I want to scream ” Cant you see what I am saying!” Take them and shake them, for how can they not know how profound a truth I speak..? Cant they understand.. what I have been through…?
They do not.
I , I must then accept that those who hear nothing of what I have said.. No matter Its eloquence.. It soul shaking honesty… For they have been blessed by the ignorance unstolen by suffering and loss.
I calm… and sigh… and speak anew.. They may never know.
For they themselves can only hear me iF they have first
I can say when I write here, or anywhere, two absolutes are woven onto every word. I write with absolute sincerity of belief that what I say is real to me, and that I give it freely to whoever may read it. My motto
“You can forget me, Just remember what I have said.” If ever this was true, it was when I wrote this.
Each one of us would like to think of ourselves fearless at some point, of something, in the course of lives. It could be something so utterly trivial, like losing to some novice in a game which me have mastered, or a matter of unquestioned certitude, such as the defense of ones child when grave peril shows its face.
These moments, if they have already come upon us, are often indelibly burned into a memory. A fixed point to forever reference so that we might, draw strength from, polish the shelf of it for the sake of nostalgic pride, or to remind us of what we are capable of when we face some great threat.
Then of course, there is the other side of this Boatman’s coin, one of which we will somberly collect through our days. That being those times, and those things in which we knew certain and palpable fear which forever changed our lives and we…
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As a Child, despite the hardships of Sleeplessness, reconstructive surgeries, and the all to frequent broken bone, I was seldom, if ever, unhappy. In fact, I recall with great fondness the joys of my own imagination. This of course never restrained or lessened in any way by my parents, who perhaps saw its purity as my means to ease what they may have seen as much more suffering than a child should bear.
As I spent more days than not, physically bound within the space of a hospital bed, bedroom, house, or a patch of dirt and grass scarcely beyond a front porch, with the endless sky held at bay a by a line of tall pines marking the not so distant other side of the street.
There is no greatness in the child of me that I will lay claim to that allowed for such wonderment that filled by days will flights of fantasy and kept the constraints of the world around me from closing in even further. That would belong to my parents, and on this for the sake of unapologetic pride, I will state as fact.
The point in all this, is that childhood distraction, so carefully nurtured for me, has become my most powerful of life tools now.
To realize any place, I am, no matter where I have let myself come to, where life has taken me, or where I might think I have found myself.. with no other place to go.. I can be.. any place I want, in an instant, and by that find myself right where I want or need to be. And that sometimes, well that can be just a good place to start.
Sometimes imagination isn’t about thinking very big at all. Its about being in that Smallest Space that we find.. and All the wonders we Let ourselves see.
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