When what is needed is for you to not be what made you what who you are.

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Identity.

Is there anything more consuming of our time, painful in our search of, or malevolently stolen from us by those who would prey upon us than the complete an utter singularity of being that is our very reason to be.

Who are we.

It is a melancholy cloud for some… a bitter fugue state of suffocation for others, Yet for a precious few it is an effervescent rambling of wanderlust to enjoy.

Then.. for many of the rest, it is an anchor of truth, affixing us to a spot we will never move from. Others it is a brand,  be it freshly scoured into the flesh, or a old and familiar scar, but its mark will never fade.

But the precious few….. to whom the knowing of oneself is a boon and sorrow all at once, for they see then the torrent of all about them.. and will learn that no matter what, they cannot change even for a moment what those around them know.. or don’t know about who they are… for they will never be ready to see anything and will choose to see nothing, but what they need to see in the moment to be that they are ready to be.

Because of this.

Love will bring sorrow.

Devotion will deliver Misery.

Sacrifice invites heartbreak.

Forgiveness is rewarded with Spite.

 

It isn’t that a person, even one in pain, does not want to know who they are, its just they rather do anything in this world, than have someone see  before they have a chance to see it and decide if they can stand what they have come to see, or worse who they have come to be.

 

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When Fear is all about you.

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Fear is part of being alive, some measure of it is factored in to nearly every aspect of our daily lives. It takes a myriad of forms. From the ambiguous, such as a random lighting strike(been there, done that), to the benign, (slipping and falling and breaking something… yep.. been there, done that too) To the dubiously required.(life, home, auto, flood, dental insurance). We live our lives in some way, evermore in its presence.

While some of us through life’s conditioning, or careful nurturing, or even genetic uniqueness, do not experience fear in the common fashion. They are the outliers, they typically come in two forms, though with the incredible diversity of division they may vary well beyond my simple characterizations, for the purpose of generalization I shall heap them in two groups.

For some.. Fear, is the great adventure that awaits them, or the looming challenge that will validate them. They are the trap waiting to be sprung; a fury begging to be unleashed. For these individuals.. Fear is the opportunity for hate, and rage and the satisfaction of redemption and validation that can be found.. in an instant unexpected.

For others… fear is the great unknown, and that is a terror that slithers its way into every thought and action. The darkness is a place of paralyzing terror, the light a place where everyone can see a flaw and failure in every pore. To do anything brings the terrible shadow of certain failure. To do nothing is to wait to be mocked and condemned.

Fear.. In either case , in every case, is nothing… but what we make it. It is no more a thought than as any other, it serves no one to any great reward, but does lead to the suffering of nearly all whom it becomes more that a mere thought to be considered.

See, When Fear is all about you, you have to realize, you cannot be All about fear.

Cause in the end Fear is really nothing, and you should never think that you should be to.

The pain that makes us Endure us, Saves no one.

 

20161209_081622Everyone experiences Pain, and at some point, should it not consume us, and in that consumption leave behind a husk of anger and bitter regret, we will most often sentimentalize what has become of us having staved off pain’s hungry efforts upon us.

The bizarre irony, that we seem almost euphoric, to proclaim as loudly as possible, we have been hurt, how much, by what and whom, and that we are still here , and we can now regale any and all with our stories of woe, our elaborate Tales of suffering.

All the while forgetting, what is most important, that those who are still hurting, whom pain is still slowly grinding into grist, or carving away at with some opulent blade as it feeds amidst royal splendor, while its victim abides in desperate squalor.

If you are hurting it can be hard to see the hurt of another, but if you are merely celebrating the memory of a wound, and paying no heed to another, you are likely to just create another wound someplace else in your revelry.

Help the hurting, even if your hurting, sometimes that’s the only way the everyone can heal. If you are lucky enough to have healed from any pain, you know then how precious a gift that can be.

 

Emotions that to Me Belong.

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To feel is the tie that binds us to the world. Mankind does not have exclusivity on Emotions, for the whole of the world that lives has feelings of one type or another. Yet it is only man that levies a value on it, and only man whom may labor to craft it and make it meaningless all at once.

We play with them like toys, twist them, for suffering and gain. We can also wield them like weapons, wear them like armor; cutting another to the soul in depth, or shielding us and others as a impenetrable force.

The truth is, Emotions are mans greatest asset.. and most devastating means.

Yet with each of us, there is fact that if embraced, we can live and be at peace with ourselves, and perhaps the world we share.

Our emotions belong to us.

Each and everyone of us.. all are the sole guardian and absolute master of how we feel.

Fear, Guilt, Happiness, Regret, Lust, Mercy, Vengeance, Humility, Shame, Pride, Joy, Hope…. Love………… the list is endless

Every emotion .. we may ever know.. ever feel.. was always ours to decide.

What power it gives us, we create… and when another wields them upon us, it is because we have surrendered their stewardship to them.

We decide what we feel, and what we will be made to feel.

And whatever it is you want to feel.. whenever you would feel it.. whomever you wish to feel it with.. can happen as we want when we truly realize who decides the feelings themselves

They are decided by whom to which they Belong.

Eventually, We all want to go home….

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There are so many  parables, expressions, anecdotes, and clever little phrases that we turned to about taking to some sort of journey.

In fact, most, if not all of us, have some sense of wanderlust within us, a baited sense of adventure, or unrequited childhood fantasy to visit some distant and wonderful land.

For many of us, even myself, much of those inklings, thankfully have been sated. For certain, there are many, oh so many of this worlds wonders, and its peoples I have yet to see and meet, but I have now done my fair share to be sure.

Yet there is really another type of journey, or I should say, another more poignant, more heartfelt part of one, that those of us that have seen and done sometimes lose sight of.

Those wayward, haunted and broken souls, simply trying to find their way home.

I have been on that final leg, So easy it is to forget.. It should be an easy location to mark on a map, the memory of it should as automatic as muscle memory, Yet for some, the Journey they have undertaken.. the terrible places they have gone, the horrible wrong turns, often doubling back, even getting lost .. breaking down.. Its all they can do just to hold on.. to one thought.

“I just want to go Home.”

In the end it is what we all want, what defines it, is something both time  and the journey will change, and in that so shall we. To this I can speak with certainty.

Eventually, We all want to go home.

No matter who, what, or where, that turns out to be.

 

 

When we seek the great Wonders of the smallest space we can find.

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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.