Fragmented…Stirrings

What am I so frightened of? If I need something badly enough—I can need it so much and work for it so hard—that I can make it happen; almost always. It is a characteristic with which I am blessed.

It is evoking the strongest emotions: to focus on someone else’s pain and hurt, than our own. Could it be that we don’t feel that we matter as much as the next person? That our own pain can be self-magnified, but someone else’s worse yet?

Your anguish is more painful to me than my own headache.

To know that you mattered on this Earth, for a brief time, is more important than life itself. To live meaningless lives…is that living at all?

To love someone so completely….so tirelessly; from where does all of that emotion come ? Is it healthy? Should we love ourselves so fully? Does it come from within, or is it born of its own accord?

Self-actualization: Abraham Maslow’s highest level on his hierarchy of needs. What does that really mean? We are finally able to burrow do deep down into ourselves, be so naked without even our skin, to see our intricate mental mechanisms? Our Life Force?

I am alone, now. Not lonely, just alone. My biggest fear? Is going outside of this door into a long, dark, black corridor of locked doors. Kind of like encountering a handful of one’s acquaintances…with closed-off minds or hearts. The doors are grouped in two’s. Like closed eyes, as well as, closed minds. No banging of fists on those doors will magically open them. There is no one on the other side. But if they are ajar to begin with... that put s whole different spin on my perception.

Losing a grip: if one is carrying a lamp and loses a drip on it—what happens? It breaks. It doesn’t create light anymore. If a handy person glues the lamp back together, they will have a whole lamp, but it still will not light. If someone loses a grip on himself, and they fully believed that they had had it all “together” – not only will they not function now, they will not properly function until they get some new parts. The old parts were synthetics that melted under the friction of use.... thus "the meltdown."

Can you remember what it was like before you were born? Have you even hurt so much, felt so desolate and cried and cried and cried? Were you curled up in your bed feeling this way? This isn't how it was before you were born...it can be how it is as we experience Life's painful lessons.

You can get away with the games that you play with yourself and others. But once you begin to see a pattern of your dysfunctional behaviors, you now have a whole new set of rules….and you can never win at that game again.

The capability to love can be compared to the properties of a cactus plant. It continues to hold onto its water within, even when its source of water is depleted. People are the same way. They hold and hoard their own love inside of themselves, even when their object of their love is gone. They don’t give the love they hold away for a long while. But something happens to that love: it continues to grow, anyway, without a source, but with its own Force. When the time comes to give the love away, they are truly amazed at the amount of Love they really have to give. They just pray it is the right time to let it go. “Don’t give up, don’t let it get you down. Don’t give up, don’t think of leaving town. Don’t give up, don’t run away from it…Love will be yours in the end, my Friend.” [Petula Clark 1960’s]

I cannot love, not really. I can only feel love feelings through my current painful thoughts. When the pain begins to get my emotions stirring, I then have the power to turn the hurt into a warm, loving feeling. Or is it only through wishful thinking that I fool myself into believing this?

The mental anguish has been with me a long time. All functions connected with love and loving have shut down. The love mechanism is rusted now. From my tears---of terror---or my tears of joy that loving feelings can still flow freely?

Am I too selfish, that I cannot give my love away to anyone? Why do I keep it all to myself? Because I don’t want anyone to mistreat it. But I myself mistreat my own love, by not giving it the opportunity to lodge itself in someone else’s heart.

The realization of our own mortality can destroy us; but only if there is no immortality to follow us when we are gone: if creating your immortality in the advent of bearing children is an impossibility, then what? We must leave something for mankind’s future. Why is this such an overpowering need? We need to know that we mattered somewhere, to someone. Be it a deed, [discovering the principle of relativity], or a position [President of the United States], but more realistically, a written word, verse or book…that which may touch the lives of all people who choose to read the written word. To make a difference in their lives, and to be remembered for that. Maybe, just maybe, an inquisitive literary student who enjoys browsing the archives in the library, allowing a curious title to implore him or her to dust off the book beneath it, and delve into the mysteries of an old, forgotten and deceased writer. What delight? ...to discover that they are reading about a person’s innermost thoughts, desires, love, anguish and demise.

Is it God’s fault that I am who I am today? As if it were a curse. “We are what we make of ourselves”. We can mold ourselves into just about anything we want. But where does the clay come from? What color, how much, what texture? I really don’t think it’s God’s fault, but a “chance” that God took with me. There…I like that idea better.

Do I perceive things so differently. Really? Or merely look at things and express them in a different language. The Language of the Heart. Or even bother to express them at all? God’s curse. No, as I said earlier – God’s kiss and blessing.

The lonely people, let’s not forget them; they are so special. Better yet, the “alone” people. They are strong in their uniqueness, yet they shake when they are threatened by the masses who make it their right to undermine such odd characters. They are good people…if anyone bothers to get to know them. Really know them. Since these people have little social supports, they really don’t get the feedback they need. Like water, and food. They do matter, if only to myself, and other “alone” people on the road less-traveled. And if they matter to me, they do have the comfort of knowing that their existence matters. We do need each other; only we don’t realize it.

Remember the castle of ancient folklore? They all had moats around them? To keep the bad out, and the good people in? Or stockades around forts? Same thing. And the invisible walls we put around ourselves for protection? Are we so preoccupied with ourselves and our own (imagined) inherent goodness, that we feel that we must keep our good selves in away from the bad people outside?

As I pursued by own stirrings one bleak winter day [it was the new year’s first day] I was utterly amazed at one of my findings. I stopped, (there were no roses this time of year, to smell) and an obvious phenomenon struck me. Among all the greys, browns, dead foliage, muddy ruts and overcast skies, the Life of the People stood out in sharp contract to the dead and dormant around them. At this time of year, the Living were obviously ALIVE. The only color around were their clothes; as colorful as woolens and tweeds can be, that it. But in the cold wind, cheeks were very ruddy Sometimes, we need to see such shocking contracts to appreciate the dead…which makes the Living more alive. I know. I witnessed this myself.

Utter quietude! Total aloneness. It is a delicious feeling. It can be likened to my own physical stirrings within me at the age of eleven. Urges that I did not understand at all, but still…would understanding them have made any difference? But now, I am having another wonderful feeling: though in my attempt to describe this, it diminishes its power over me. So, I will stop. I’ve finally faced myself in my dilemma – stopped my own gyrations. This fork in the road is something that must be reckoned with. I am safe and warm; peaceful and unthreatened. My world with which I associate is many mils away. I am suspended in a limbo frame of mind. I hesitate to go back to my world, but I am terrified of the unknown which is somewhere in front of me. Like inertia. Like Purgatory.

My flight from Home (the Known) to my Refuge (a Known of years ago) has opened a whole new set of feelings. I am one of three persons inhabiting the floor that I am on. It is still—and quiet like Death itself. Peaceful? It would be, if my heart was not pounding with such a deafening sound—my terror at what I will find here eventually.

At times there is a love so strong in me, a need for complete acceptance, that I am overwhelmed. Could it be love I have for my own self? Or the maternal instinct in me to reach out and pull the terrified child close to me. To hold. And comfort. But I also know the child too well: as soon as caring tenderness reaches out to enfold her—she feels it will be withdrawn. Besides Terror, there is the threat of Abandonment, if only in her mind.

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Outside my safe Room there is an endless black corridor; each time I travel this corridor I calm my Fear with Prayer. Is Prayer my insurance policy against all the unknown and bad in my world. Once I reach the light (by the elevators), I feel safer, but is it not possible for some Evil to catch up with me out of that darkness before the elevator arrives and transports me to the safe, warm outside? Oh! I forgot! It is very cold outside. Where there is safety in numbers, anonymity…and no mirrors to remind me why I placed myself in this painful situation in the first place.

I choose to equate this corridor with Death itself. Death is merely a transition from Life to everlasting. It is only a movement through a limbo situation from our known to the Unknown. We choose to believe there is only Good, and love and Light once we get there. Belief is what gets us through that ominous corridor or passage.

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And what do I say about one of the most powerful forces known to us all? The need to reproduce ourselves, in the true physical sense…I cannot transcend my thoughts on this matter: it is too basic a need. For some reason, we have all fallen into the game of attaching more delicate linguistic terms for the basic functions know to Man. “Dining Out”, “Going to the Powder Room”, “Quenching One’s Thirst”, “Making Love” …there is not a need to be more graphic. Then what of “Auto-eroticism”? The unmentionable. Denied physical tension can push us to rape…or even insanity. It is okay to share basic human functions with others, though superficially, in eating and drinking, talking, hugging: these are above-board [above the waist?] But, below the waist? Areas we have shared only with Mothers and Lover...are taboo. Still. How these taboos must change in our minds.

“Obscure Melancholia”: an old medical term for one form of mental illness. A movie in the early 1980’s depicted this illness. Fascination. I was drawn to see this movie repeatedly. I could really get deep into this movie—and it could burrow so deeply in me. It was a story within a story. Meryl Streep and Jeremy Irons. Yeah, that’s the one. If you’ve seen it, you’ll know to which one I am referring. A story within a story. My kind of story.

Thank God for the mundane tasks we much complete to make it through our daily lives. We can fool ourselves that we need to break away from the sameness…But. Routine. Pattern. Repetition. Litanies. Liturgies.

Mental illness is better than being Brain-Dead. I think.

Most of us are robots, wrapped up only in our mundane tasks. (Perceived) obligations. (Perceived) responsibilities. Should's. Have-to’s. Ought-to’s. Must-not’s. Cannot’s. Ought-not’s. These are all verbs concerning actions around other people, and their probable outcomes. But…what about “I want---I don’t want”? They are statement centered around ourselves. Only. Most people put others before themselves. Do they feel that they are worth more to others by abiding by their commands than they if they listen to the commands coming from Within? Are they not really cheating others by giving to others – half-heartedly – rather than giving to themselves, so that through self-discovery they can give more of themselves to others? People don’t usually see it that way. Giving unselfishly makes them more Pure. How noble. (I’m being facetious. Sorry.)

Eroticism. We can deal with that. We do – everyday. It is the promise of more (sex, sensuality) to be right at our fingertips. Gleaming smiles, shiny hair, well-manicured nails, bulging pectoral muscles, tanned skin, firm bodies, no wrinkles, no fat, up-lifted breasts –are all portrayed obviously to describe eroticism. To please others, we are pleasing ourselves. As long as we keep the “auto-“ out of “eroticism”, we are accepted in dealing with our own sexuality.

Reaching into one’s psyche, touching ourselves, stroking and manipulating our minds until we reach a breakthrough in our own understanding of who we are. Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and repeated your name over and over again? --as if to introduce yourself to the person in the mirror? People often live their lives, and never really know or get their thoughts around: who that person really is…looking back at them from the mirror. Pity.

As I look around, my field of vision stops and focuses on a paper container that reads: “Sani-fresh for your protection”. Did I ask for this glass to be placed here for my use…in this manner. No. If it wasn’t “sani-fresh”, I probably would have used it anyway. People offer to each other what they perceive as needed, in any given situation. Sometimes, they figure it all wrong, and busy themselves completing a task “for someone” and that “someone” doesn’t need (or sometimes doesn’t even want) that favor at all. Sad. That our preconceived notions are so far off target sometimes. And of this glass: If it was two years from now, and that glass was still sitting in this wrapper still unused, and still labeled “sani-fresh”, would it be? Often, some labeled “things” do not have expiration dates on them. But Time can alter the composition or properties of a Thing. Time can alter people…how they look, think and feel. Is this “sani-fresh” glass exempt from the alterations of Time? It kind of makes you think.

Our fears: they change over time. At sixteen, our big fear was having our face breakout before that Big Date. At twenty-two, our Fear was leaving the know confines and expectations of our Higher Learning and Life Preparation [either high school or college] and wondering, “can I cut it?” As Life moves along, we Fear for our unborn child, our rebellious children, losing our own youth, and dealing with the promise of growing old.

Sometimes there is one common fear that travels with us throughout our lives. I am sure it is different form some people’s, yet a fear that we have in common with some others. “We are born alone, and die alone”. To some, being alone is a real Fear. Being born and dying “alone” is one phenomena that is very real. We are truly “alone” during both events. It is a lifetime of loneliness that we control ourselves. We can break out of “loneliness” … if we choose. But remember: when we are born, we are born [usually] into a doctor’s steady hands; when we die, God’s hands are waiting for us to be delivered back to Him.

Are people going to remember me for my income-earning capabilities, that I perform to sustain my outer self? Or are they going to remember me for my reaching out to them through words –that which sustain my spirituality? I’ll never know until I ask them. And I will make it my mission to do so.

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An enlightening and enriching afternoon. Walking the going-on-200-year-old grounds, I experienced many insightful “things”….epiphanies, if you will. A very beautiful environment….even in the dead of winter. I was searching for something; it was bitter cold—I couldn’t have picked a more chilling day. But no matter. The chapel and the burial grounds were my first encounter. It was as I remembered from my last visit sixteen years ago. Simple, seven pews on either side of the center aisle; void of any superfluous décor. At the altar was a little white-haired lady, who turned when she heard the creak of the massive chapel door. So massive for such a tiny chapel. ‘Is it alright that I come in here for awhile?’ I had asked. She beckoned to me….’Yes, come in young lady,’ she had answered me. [was I dreaming or watching an old, old movie?] Again she had spoken. ‘Whether you wish to sight-see, warm yourself, meditate or pray…..everyone is always welcome who wanders in here. There will be a wedding here in about an hour, only then will it be closed to the public.’

I continued my walk a few moments later. I would like to return to the chapel at dusk. The grounds were totally deserted. I walked down the footpath---everything was so brown, and barren. No life anywhere! I stopped as if I had run into an invisible sheet of glass. There was a leafless bush in front of me, but it was the vivid red ball that caught my eye. It was a cardinal! I thought that their presence meant rain was on the horizon….but not at 5⁰F. though!

I stopped and stared intently at this vivid, crimson bird. No, it was not important that I continue on this footpath. I backed away. The cardinal only blinked…in boredom, or relief? All was so still. But---my ears focused on yet another contradiction: in this bitter cold, the brook that wound throughout these meadow grounds was gurgling as if it was mid-May. Though, it was a very chilly sound.

The large, limestone classroom buildings were everywhere. Walking up closer to them, made them tower ominously above me. But what were they really? Walls of stone that separated psychology classes from the German classes, industrial engineering classes from the music classes. These building offered a whole curriculum of learning: they comprised the entire university as a whole. If every building was reduced down to a pile of blocks, and wire and plumbing…there would be a pile of all the raw materials. Once assembled, and add the students and the professors – we have an entity in which we have our loyalty entwined for a lifetime.

* * * * * * *

Again, we run into that Force: Life-force’s heartbeat. It is clearer to me. Now.

God is all around me. Up above, in front of me, around my neck on a chain, and beneath me….beneath me? I hope God doesn’t mind if I use a Gideon Bible to elevate me so that I may type more comfortably.

Why do I feel that everyone is wanting to hold onto me for the things that I can or already do for them? Doesn’t anyone accept me for what I can derive from myself? I’m becoming very stingy with myself, until I know the answer to that question.

There is someone [or something] causing feelings deep within myself to surface, but for what reason? The exciting part is that I don’t know why, but my anticipation of this discovery is very seductive. My secret is driving me to distraction.

I know that I need more out of life than I have been experiencing up until now. I know, as I drive through Needmore, IN (pop. 484).

There is comfort in finally reaching this “inner sanctum” – peace is everywhere---HERE. But will it be there at Home when I return? Or has all of this just been a real good dream?

Why do you hide behind God? He is a reason, without question, to not have to look closely at yourself. Monks and nuns…they give themselves totally to God. No excuses. But to use God as an excuse to avoid your fears. To use Him as an excuse to avoid risking---not only can He not help you—He will not help you to go on avoiding Him. You are only fooling yourself if you think He can. Oh, is it that He cannot hurt you like people can. But, in this you can hurt, and disappoint Him…but He will not turn His back on you. Who else can’t hurt you? A Child: too young to be practiced at the game of deception? Deceit? Maliciousness? Am I getting too close to the Truth? I will keep on and keep on….then what?

Mirrors. Did you even notice a person’s house that had mirrors all over it? Does that mean they are vain people? In love with their own image? Or is it that they continually need to be reassured that they are good people; with so many mirrors around: they are constantly searching their own images for some sign of their own beauty [or properness or “good”]. People with mirrors only in their bathrooms and above their dressers, use them only for functional purposes: to check to see if they look acceptable to the people in their world, nothing more. They don’t want to stop and look too long at their own images…for fear of seeing something that they wish did not really exist. Their evil side, or weak side, vulnerable side or dark side?

As for myself—I had this experience where I intermittently looked at my own reflection for forty-eight consecutive hours. What I saw, I’ll never forget for as long as I live.

Control---is powerful in itself. I control my weight, my hairstyles, my sharp tongue…and that is about it. But when I write: new avenues of control are open to me. I can control PEOPLE (the characters), their lives, their destinies. We always have the intention of portraying the truth about a person or event, but we almost always distort the truth to our own liking. “There is power in the written word.” We’ve all heard that a thousand times before.

So, a frustrated writer asks himself: ‘What is the Truth?’ The Truth is whatever we make it to be on paper. Maybe, to some. But a writing on paper is merely a sketching, a portrayal of something or someone on paper from the author’s imagination. I have said it a thousand times: The Truth is Reality.

Why do I take such great pains to groom myself before I leave for work in the mornings? It is to create such an impeccable image of what side of myself I want the world to see on any given day. It is the graffiti on my walls. With so much graffiti, who really cares to look at the drab wall underneath the colorful scrawls that usually mean something to at least some of us? Am I so vain to dab on the cosmetics, or am I really trying to divert attention away from my fragile ego? Looking good on the surface will satisfy the needs of many. I’ve often wondered this about myself. I don’t feel so anxious now.

Today’s Prayer: Dear God, please don’t let the arthritis settle in my hands yet. How will I communicate with people? My brain powers my fingers to type my thoughts into tangible symbols: words. Because the written word has more power than the spoken word. Why Because the written word can be accurately reproduced by merely reading it again. The spoken word can be paraphrased, but often inaccurately. This can cause new meaning to ‘read into’ the original message. The written word lacks something that the spoken word does have: the emotion and inflection that are underneath the words themselves, reinforcing the meaning of the words, as they are spoken. But, anybody can be misquoted. No one, as far as I know, has ever been miswritten. God, please…I beg you….just leave my hands alone until I have made my contribution to this world. You can have them when I draw my last breath. But, please, keep them in working order. If a writer can’t write, what else is there for his or her to do? Amen.

Sing? You [or I should say “I”] almost took that away, a long time ago---to teach me a lesson. To love an infant and teach him about Life? To open your heart—you say you need a crowbar to do that? Remember: once a hard heart has been pried open, it will also take a lot longer to close. But, if it is forced to close too quickly, it could break. Just leave me intact, Lord.

As I earlier cited: Doors have strange properties. Doors and eyes serve a similar purpose or function. “Eyes are the windows to the soul” has been said for eons. Only eyes are a living organ, doors are merely inanimate objects. Through someone’s eyes, you can see into the mind and soul of that person; you can probably tell where a person’s emotions are. Through an open door—you can see the contents of a room: be it people, furniture or nothing at all. But in speaking about open doors that lead to expansive areas—long corridors, an empty auditorium…we then sometimes refer to the properties of doors as part of a mouth or lips…”once the door was opened, a huge black cavern yawned ahead of him….”.

Open doors/open eyes invite people to enter—whatever is behind them. Closed doors/closed eyes forbid entrance. To have both of these “things” closed—it is the wish of the person or people inside, hidden from view, as well as, to shut out the outside: so that the outside images cannot affect them, hurt them or need them. But in giving the matter more thought: it is more natural for a person’s eyes to be open (since they are awake two-thirds of their life). But, it is also safe to assume that a natural position for a door is closed. After all, if there wasn’t a need to have a closed door, there wouldn’t be a need for any door in the first place!

Oh! for the love of a child…they touch our hearts in so many ways… for reasons that we don’t understand. But, there usually isn’t any intent on little children’s part to reach us in this manner. It just happens. We know that they are safe in our hearts. They haven’t learned to play adult games. We listen to them with our full attention, and put meaning to their words spoken to us. Because children have no ulterior motives….for the most part. They can try to manipulate us for their own selfish reasons---but we can usually see that when that is occurring. But we don’t trust adults, because we can’t trust our feelings in dealing with them.

Open your heart…reach out with your heart. Two phrases from current rock music. All it is supposed to mean is: take love if it is offered freely to you. “Take” is a verb, a verb is an action, action is movement. In taking, motion is created. Even movement in an old, rusty, inactive piece of machinery can be activated with the introduction of a lubricant of some sort. In taking love, repeatedly, a person could discover that: while there is so much motion in one-way love “in”, a little love and compassion could be returned, and nothing be noticed about the change of direction that the love flowed. The “new receiver” could not be rejected, or embarrassed.

Any new behavior on our parts loses its strangeness when we become practiced at repeating actions, and perfecting them. It is when we find that our behavior has become automatic, mindless…it has become meaningless, and needless. Why do we do this?

I want to know people of interest to me - what makes them tick, what makes them laugh and what makes them cry. I have many questions to ask of you. If I am too direct (and that is not unlike me), I can put you on the defensive. If I am too indirect, you can dodge the question you know that I meant, and answer a question of your own. Maybe directing my questions at another person is not what is required of myself at all. Maybe directing the questions at myself, a loud, by example will provoke a response on my part—and a new, unfamiliar response in your own thoughts. Often, we share our thoughts in our deeds. Maybe you will answer the questions I direct at myself. Maybe.

My responsibility is to ask you questions. You have no responsibility to answer ME—but to answer in your thoughts, [private as they are], will get your answer across to me—not in the context of your real thought—but the fact that you allowed yourself to have any thoughts at all on the matter.

Why so gloomy? I am not intending to be that way…that is your perception of things. Joyousness comes to us by Fate and an openness to receive: joyous occasion, joyous moods. But joyousness comes to us sporadically, often enough to give us a reason to keep on trying…to go on living. But, our darker sides are always with us. There are long spells between the happenings of Joy. If is in these spells that we only have our troubled thoughts to keep us company. We are able to come to some resolution concerning our problems. Then, we have some joyous occasion punctuate our lives to distract us, if only for awhile.

We attempt to control our Fate by surrounding ourselves with actions that will bring us more and more Joy. I think people who do this are only deluding themselves. Why ask to understand the darker side of your own personality when there is so much Joy to contend with? Or reckon with. But remember, we probably created our own Joy. Our darker side contains the memories of things that have happened to us that are usually outside of our conscious control. But unconsciously, sometimes we do things that will bring us unintentional hurt and self-hate.

If a person opens his heart to deal with all that torments him, a cleansing will occur, eventually. And joy will come on its own accord, not by your own manipulating of reality.

Too close to your own reality of how you are leading your life? Is it taking hold of you? Is it shaking you up? Good. That happened to me. Eventually.

I am you. And you are Myself. I am inside of Your mighty walls. It’s too late…I am now a part of You, and You know that I am. You can’t run from Me. The only way you can avoid running into Me, in to turn to yourself---with so many unanswered questions. You don’t have to face Me, but I will try to answer them…with Love, through Prayer.

“…in the morning of my life I will look to the sunrise, at a moment in my life when the world is new – and the questions I will ask: if that God will grant me….to be brave, and strong, and true; and to fill the world with love my whole life through; and to fill the world with love, and to fill the world with love, and to fill the world with love….my whole life through. In the evening of my life I will look to the sunset – at a moment in my life when the day is through. And the questions I shall ask only You can answer….was I brave, and strong, and true? Did I fill the world with love my whole life through? Did I fill the world with love, did I fill the world with love, did I fill the world with love? My whole life through?” [from “Good-bye, Mr. Chips]

I am in prison. Looking out through the bars at the Outside World. But, when I look out at this world, I see other people looking at me through their own prison’s bars. We’re looking out across at each other in disbelief. We’re like two mirrors facing each other. Did you ever place two mirrors directly opposite from each other? We want to look at one of the mirrors from a slight angle, but it is always the same: an endless reflection of the same thing, - each successive one a bit smaller, but nonetheless, the same identical image. This tireless cycle does have a way of being broken….break one of the mirrors. Then you have only one reflection of: a broken mirror. What does that mean to me?

Ever walk downtown in a metropolis, with tall skyscrapers all around? Have you looked way up above and seen the sun shining on the very tip-tops of the tallest buildings. Or been on a busy beach? There is so much movement of people, children playing, radios, talking…that you feel that you couldn’t possibly be getting a decent suntan. What do you do? You fold up your towel and leave. Too much noise for the sun’s rays to find you.

Or maybe you seek solitude in the forest. There is very little sun there. But in looking up, you can see sparkling gems of sunlight, forcing themselves down through the trees, seeking what? You, in the darkness, trying to find your way through the dim light.

When you wander into an open field or meadow…the sunlight beats down on your head, but also catches you on your back and sides, too. People have even experienced sunburned feet! If there is nothing obstructing the sun’s path. Does this make sense? Does it have to have some underlying meaning to you? Maybe. Maybe not. Take it for what it is.

The Girl of the Limberlost. A story or a book, I faintly recall the title of. I can’t remember the story’s content, but that is of little importance right now. The title alone is powerfully capable of creating a state of mind to me….and that is what is important.

Stay away from me, I have a cold! My tangible earthly being and an intangible self. I transcend to another part of me that knows no boundaries, limitations, hang-ups or dread. Then magically, I am so far away from my body-self. But I am not afraid. It’s got to be a little like actually dying: going through a transition to a Higher Power. Only I am unaware that I have died a thousand deaths….until now.

I have been too high up here for too many words. I must go through the painful process of putting on my warpaint to just live daily life. Being born into a person is a cold, jarring event. Moving out of life as we know it: to die---is sweet, soft, warm and comforting. that is why it is comforting to move into a transcended state. But ---who do you ask me to confirm this?

For the wrong person to read this manuscripts, I may be thought of as a mentally ill person. But they are ill for thinking that of me. Has a truly mentally ill person written his/her thoughts in an understandable fashion? Maybe. If the individual was schizophrenic. But just maybe there are no really mentally-handicapped people at all. Moving to the beat of a different drummer, singing the song of a different bird is probably all that is really wrong. When strong people don’t understand the thoughts and actions and words and beliefs of others—these “stronger” people [out of fear?] bully those different from them into believing that they have a problem, or are wrong, or are evil. Mass extinguishing of these “different” people have resulted since the beginning of Time. Let these “crazy” people hurt themselves, but protect others from them.

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“How strong is your Faith?”

“My faith is powerfully strong.”

“Are you afraid of Me?”

“Yes.”

“Then your Faith is not strong enough.”

“I am afraid of You for one reason: what you say - how you make me listen to You. But I have Faith that my understanding and acceptance of your words will come on their own free will—for I have no Will against you.”

Return to the story of Grace

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