You reintroduced this term to me, used it often and found great assurance in your understanding of it. I developed further recognization of it, found disdain for the idea of it and began to further practise decisions on it. I claimed myself to be a rather high individual carrying the deep lows in life in general.
Somehow out of despair, rises the sweet heaviness of beautiful relief. Is the ebb and flow what we feel – our reactions to occurrences outside our control? Or the reality of nature and our perceivement of it?
Your ebb has proven to be the tired, disengaged replica of a toothy snail. Your flow, the drunk in your drink. You release such ebb and flow in this manner. If one feels the flow and ebb, but the other does not, does it cancel it’s existence? Does the stillness in the ebb, furnish the room of flow? So much so, the greater the pullback of the ebb, the stronger sense of flow ?
Is it more difficult to be with someone who ebb/flows at stronger tide or who doesn’t? If both ebb/flows are similar, does it produce larger volumes of efficiency? Does life make more sense together or does ones ebb reflect the others flow and such accordingly so, that an elegant balance is discovered? Only to fall out of sync here and there thus, the supply of flow is full and becomes in demand? Will my ebb and flow tell me about who I am? What will the origin reasons mean?
The ebb an flow of lava, surely is not the same as musty plastic pellets or clear, untouched chocolate milk? How much damage does ebb/flow do? How beneficial, how much can we utilize the characteristics of it? Do some people feel they need it more than others? Are they higher risk of uncommmitance, with greater frustrations? Does it take more to satisfy them?
To label life as ebb and flow hardly seems necessary- yet we bring it naturally into our discrepancies to perhaps exhale some of the repercussions. Ebb and flow is each our own natural state of the now. But is it? How far does natural go, when you preempt the ebb/flow just to feel the lack of numbness?
Is this just manipulating the ebb and floofery? I flow so hard, I ebb.
Sometimes your ebb creates the perfect opportunity for my flow. And when I present with that, my flow dissolves your ebb. And I can’t decide if the term ebb and flow is just a way to describe sometimes our weak ability to accept our excuses.
Sometimes I feel broken because Love seems something I can’t feel. Or that I can’t seem to display it. I’m estranged to the actions. Out of Lazy? Out of fear? Protection? Oh I long to fall madly in love and want it for forever. I know it is out there, I have had it before. I had to lose it, to understand it’s value. For now, I will continue to feel my broken lovemeter.
With weathered temperature, I break down currents whelming from my insides out the clues that can’t speak about the heart any differently. Maybe there is denial or some type of degree of heat that we deny, our experiences weather us with rain and snow or drought. They all have purpose. Maybe because I hold onto my seemingly crushed ego from back in the day that rose my being to cold Antartica. I won’t let go of the heat I feel, but I will let go of my umbrella. I would like to feel it all.
Wird press this I appreciate you wanting to get to know how it goes – that carnival in my brain. But you can only eat so much cotton candy in one day. You’ll read this again, and you’ll be frustrated again I’m like a train that has the caboose on the other end of yours.
Keep running after your sandwich, you won’t get enough of the cheese until you do.
And then you’ll be sick for quite awhile.
It’s okay dear, only the strong mess around with my carnival.
I’m too afraid to go to outerspace because what if i get sick and throw up on my new hairstyle. Or in getting stuck floating through the wonders. Would it be a peaceful way to go, or is suffocating, still suffocating.
The stars sit so comfortably in its’ galaxy hold. The relationships between it all up there, be so delicate and firm. The sky is never the limit. and maybe the galactic beauty that melts my heart bones and leaves a thick layer of motivation, is always ever the drive to do and be better.
You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday. Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin. How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood. The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub. My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means you are my soul mate.
Your being is closer, the sapphire fragrance of your inner child stands tall among the adult reeds. And my hands dribble through the adequate possibility, catching the stickiness of the long stems between my fingers. Making sense of today, the future.