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.
When will you decide the enough? You have all the chances, all the ins to all the outs. This one living experience is so intrinsic and chaotic. I realize this more and more with time. And each action, each choice has a hibernating root. Each enough you choose- and when- is derivative of a connection along the way of this life. When will you decide your ‘enough?
The Christmas spirit sure drives moving anchors. Im grounded but I am growing. Time will fall out of its cabin, like I will crawl from my cocoon. i am not waiting for anything to click, i am just choosing celery over poptarts on a regular basis. i must instill patience. Even popcorn takes two minutes to become its edible cloud puff. Internal electric does its course and i can be the source of forward moment. I just have to be best friends with Time .
Warm swirling energetic chaos simmering inside- like a turtle about to start a race. You know you’re about to do great things.
The mind is so powerful. Can make or break your moment, your hour, your day. It’s difficult for those that struggle with taking control. To readjust your head, be authoritative and administer the care and direction. It is very worth it. And will continue to need tuning, and realignment. Sometimes you will react poorly to a comment and forget that you have the ability to regulate.
And sometimes these nice sugar dust brain waves, pair perfectly with that simmering chaos and you will know how beautiful it all is.
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.
Relationship with my eight year old son strained like raw spaghetti rigid in the sink and when you toss those toothpick noodles against the wall nothing sticks.
The sauce burnt on the stove even though I like the smell because it smells like I cooked something nice like how I created my son without looking at a recipe or the ingredients.
Who measures out sperm or eggs?
So here I struggle, while he stirs the pot of boiling brain temperatures of mine and racing heart.
The perfect dish of basil and mushroom spaghetti doesn’t exist but getting my hands dirty and paste splattered on my apron that I don’t even wear because my whole body is a canvas for stains, is this process that at least I can use to become better at
making the dish of Life sticky and sweet enjoyable.
I aim for sugar dirt. Crusted in your burnt bacon. I’ll bend so far I won’t feel my big toe, stuck in salsa that you dripped down the stove just to see it travel from top to bottom like our slow touches that give us freedom to love our flavoured beauty.
Sometimes dramatic thoughts and not thinking about the realistically or literally or common sensically, way, is fun. It’d endearing to my own self. I believe in it . For the fun. For the youthfulness. And standing on that once upon a time wizard feel, is a fantastic. I feel the confidence that comes with being proud. that’s easy to feel when you have the audience praise popping around the stage of life you’re making. And when you don’t , when you find that the spark’s been sucked up, or you cant light wet ash, you create the fire,you become the rest of the part you stumbled with. In growing older, you question whether you are being the so young so too much and you wonder about the crowd u want to attract. And once you realize the place you want to exist in for yourself, you can love that you can know the power in the relationship you make with who you are.