On the Verge of.....

This is the story of a grown woman, who was born into a world of conflict, emotional abuse, hatred and apathy.  This is the story of a grown woman who experienced the same for more than half of her life.  And overcame it all.

Blah-blah-blah.

    She is still frequently sad and empty.  Totally frustrated with her kids, her job, her life.  Gets zero respect at work or at home.  Gets yanked around by everyone everywhere.  Wants to write but nothing worth reading comes out.

    Wants to cry and scream but has become so apathetic to the customary-ness of it all that she doesnt' even bother to sigh anymore.

     What's it all about, Alfie?

     What.the.actual.fuck is it all about?

    The struggle is a daily soul-shredding.  And she can't fit the pieces back together so easily any more.  (Well, putting the pieces back together has never been EASY, but you learn how to do it better and better each time.)  Maybe the pieces get too worn to fit completely back together after so many times of being pulled apart, like jigsaw puzzle pieces that tear a tiny bit...just enough so that eventually the fit is no longer seamless and you can see through the cracks.

    She has all the tools for joy, serenity, inspiration, magic.  The pretty catch-phrases, the motivational pictures, the music, the incense, the candles.  But she can't seem to build anything that lasts more than a day or a few fleeting hours.

     She is a wizard in the kitchen and cooks like it will save her life, because it has in the past.  She has a creative soul and has made so many pretty things to brighten her existence.  She loves her garden, but neglects it sometimes to see the wild things grow.  She hurts when others in her life hurt and does her best to help them heal.

    She has mastered SO many things and is a million times more driven than most.

    So WHY,  oh why, can't she master the joy of LIVING?

    She wonders and worries and frets.  So many directives and rules from the world outside herself.  Things that must be done for survival, existence.  She only wants to dance through life to the music in her soul that she is incapable of translating to any form that others could share.

     Her vibration is amazing, but being muted, like holding down the damper pedal on a piano.  She doesn't know if SHE is the damper, or if it is an outside force.  Why can't she just BE?  and LIVE?  and LOVE?  and VIBRATE?

  The little girl who ran wild through the woods, with the sunlight dappling through the tree branches, and all the wonderful smells and feels, wants to know why she never gets to come out and play any more.  She still looks out through the grown woman's eyes, but like a drunk, or someone who's been poisoned and is puzzled and horrified by the reality she sees, disillusionment that feels like a physical blow.

     She feels like she is poised on the verge of....

nothing........