Past Pops

Lately I’ve been having zooms of past enter. They come without control, without desire.
I have tried to figure out why.

 

  • Not currently as happy as I want to be
  • A lull in my life right now
  • I’m wanting what I had
  • I’m lonely
  • I wish I had of been better

 

Looking back on things longingly is kind of dangerous. There’s nothing I can do to get back there and it distorts my future. The future will always come even if I am not ready for it but I can lose out on a lot of opportunities if I’m not. Maybe some part of me is back to being half a leg in with my history. Maybe I’m straddling the past and the future because I am restless and wanting to make a big change and once I do it, my perception on what I’ve lived, will change. And maybe I will lose what I’ve learned. Maybe I want to remember the pain and the choices I could have made to have made it better. So that I don’t make the same choices now. Maybe I’m just beating myself up.

I don’t know how to control these images. They are activated so quickly and without warning. Sometimes I suck in my breath sharp. Not surprised at what I am remembering, but at the force of it’s loudness in my head.

I think I need to get more busy and set up a space where present thoughts can grow. Stability will make thoughts of my past less harmful. And that’s what I need to make.
Stability.

Ebb and Flow

Sometimes I find myself in a closed room sipping on sugar cubes of my past. I keep taking from the same bowl, these perfect little fresh six sided sweets.
I feel the sides, I take the angles and I let dissolve and I let absorb.
Again
and again.

Like with too much of anything, my insides will begin to cringe and unfold their exasperation and disapproval.

Every once in awhile, I step inside this place where I roll in the mud of my past. I let myself feel awful for my decisions. I pull in blame and frustration and I coat the whole room in these colours. I am angry and I am determined. I can’t do anything but eat the sweets that turn so sour, to crawl into cave where all I do is feel bad and wonder how I could have messed up so terribly.

Deep down I know. I truly do know. I had to do my past the way that I did so that I could reach where I have. I do align myself with motivation and self awareness, help and understanding, yet these spaces of time come to me strong every so often. I don’t remember ever really pushing them away, but at least now I know that I have the ability to climb out. That in another day or four, I’ll be positive and upbeat again.
I’ll soak in my sweet sweet truth of my life; everything from my perspective to the actual. I’ll make myself sick with consumption of my frustration and feeling of stuck.
When I’m done doing that, I’ll lay in sun and let myself soak that. I’ll let myself be sick on content and the ever always, ebb and flow of life.

 

 

Baggage

I’m a decade behind in mental documents, the kind that breeches all codes of present so vehemently it’s often mistaken as the actual.

The moments we don’t remember, but that are so deep in our corners and layered with patchwork and quick but organized fixes, we do not realize they exist.

But they do and we take them into everything that we do.

And until we let them surface- or recognize when they do- and feel them out and make the decision to let them go,
they will be our baggage.

Time in Truth

Your clock turns my times into believable spells of intuition. The way your time collapses onto my shoulder every few months doesn’t confuse me anymore. Your hands are moved by love, your seconds spew bullets of man made hope and the days you long for are the ones that would tick to the beat of my belly. But oh great one; the forever of your time can’t be connected with mine because your fear of our past is the Wall of Prevention.

Life tells me I’m beautiful

I’m in the middle of being far away. I let the sunrises and sunsets become sightless greys and blacks and I know I’m a wreck when I don’t touch eyes with fellow shoppers. We are people that have the useless power of slumbering through our days standing up.
I drive to work and I get there and think there is nothing I noticed. There is no shape of house or height of tree that I let myself acknowledge. I just pushed air with the car, pressed pedal with foot, and got there.
I don’t need to challenge myself to point out life.
I am apart of it and my brain and heart are too and if I let sunsets and rises sink under my skin, I then become everything there is to see.
Life tells me I’m beautiful, I just need to tell it
that it is beautiful too.