For the past few days Ive been wrestling with a nameless sadness. Nameless, because it has no tag and no particular place of origin. Ive been productive, pleasant and even funny, but this damp gloominess has been lingering in the background, like spring onion on the tongue. I have so much - too much even - to be grateful for. But when the tide goes in, my beach feels bare. Ive tried writing it right, but like last summers jeans, it still doesnt fit correctly. Materially I have everything I need, but spiritually and emotionally I feel a bit starved. And it is NOT a hole religion can fill. That would be just another layer of pretense. I keep hearing this voice asking: who are you? I have a telephone book of answers, but most of those numbers no longer exist. I can hazard a guess at who I want to be, and I know theres mega litres of love to give inside of me, but theres something acting like a blockade, like intimacy constipation. I hear myself sharing opinions and then thinking after I dont really believe that. or singing someones praises then thinking I dont truly feel that. The voice in my head has another repetitive line to sprinkle on the meat of my days, It doesnt really matter, its all just a story. I could ignore the sadness and focus on my blessings, or distract myself with sensuality and music. I could do it all differently, or merely change my outlook. But, it doesnt really matter who I am, because its all just a story.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Sep 2014 18:03:24 +0000
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