Balance isn’t the zen experience I once idealized it to be. Balance is the light being as blinding as the dark is isolating. It’s the joy being as ever-soaring as the sadness is bottomless.
The nonsense as profound as the logic.
The pleasure as intense as the ache.
I think we have to accept this to achieve balance, if that’s what we’re on a path to seek.
It’s hard to accept.
Why do I find it so irritatingly hard to be
Vulnerable with one
Person, even the very closest one to me…
Yet
I can be so vulnerable
Here on a platform that I myself
Have made public for absolutely
Anyone to read
If they
Choose
When I say I don’t believe in the god written about in the Bible, I am not saying that I don’t believe your spiritual experiences.
I believe you. I have, also, had spiritual experiences. I don’t believe in the god written about by man. If you are offended by this, I want you to think about all the examples in the Bible that explain the flaws and agendas of man.
If I am to believe in a god, it certainly would not be one fed to me by the hands of man.
“Well, Jesus was a Jew.” I said.
Her resting face, which made me uneasy, erupted into a laughter that rated somewhere between a chuckle and a cackle.
She laughed for literal minutes before finally leading me back into the house. She stopped on the top stair and grabbed my shoulder, still laughing, and said to me, “Child, I have got to be the one to teach you. Jesus wasn’t Jewish. He was a Hebrew.”
I had never bit the inside of my cheek so hard. More out of fear than respect. I did not want to know how hard Penny could hit.
Who remembers who you are, when you can’t?
Those are the people who keep you, when you have lost yourself.
Who listens to you, when you’re not speaking?
Those are the people who hear you, through your silence.
Who loves you, when you hate yourself?
Those are the people who see you, and know your worth.
I’ve been handed this bag,
It’s too big to be a purse…
And too heavy for one shoulder…
I feel I’ve been handed a curse.
What am I to do with this?
This bag that I can’t put down…
I can, let it off my shoulder,
But I still have to drag it around.
I’m not even sure who it was,
That handed this bag to me…
But here it is and now it’s mine,
To ensure that I can’t be care-free.
Even more strange is that others can’t see it…
Almost like it’s all in my head.
How are they so blind to miss it?!
I’m dragging a bag full of lead!
I was 7 when my spirit was broken for the first time.
Being a child with a very high vibration, I was used to being redirected, and even disciplined.
This was different.
This woman looked at me like I was feral. This woman spoke to me like I was a disappointment. This woman treated me like I was exhausting.
This woman was my 2nd grade teacher.
She taught me to feel uncomfortable.
She taught me, my ideas were too much.
She taught me, my creativity was a burden.
I didn’t deserve that.
No child deserves that.
She taught me that being myself wasn’t okay.
Spinning spinning spinning
My skull is actually a centrifuge
Ideas and thoughts and visions go round
And round and round and round
Too fast to catch anything complete
Too fleeting to pin down a plan
Leaving a mess of half finished projects and good intentions
Too aware to enjoy the ride
Too abstract to be understood
Spinning spinning spinning
Scramble
Volume
Specific
Vast
Overwhelmed
Layered
Solution
Chaos
Quick
Methodical
Never-ending
Heavy
Magnetic
Spinning
Colorful
Realism
Connected
Growth
Grief
Hope
When was the last time you could
be happy
just happy
without thinking about the other shoe?
Words for humans 