becoming again, again, again

The dawn comes in the window, slowly illuminating this place. My apartment, where I rest, where I still can’t bring myself to call ‘home’. Not being allowed to paint the walls, to create a space that is my own, a reflection of me & all my moods makes it difficult to see this other than a place to sleep, to give Ruby & myself comfort. I know how fortunate I am to even have this place, but still, it is simply a stop on the journey. Perhaps if the largest wall wasn’t concrete and therefore took a small demolition team to simply hang something it would make a difference, but quite honestly, I haven’t given that wall as much effort as I could. Perhaps I just don’t want to get too comfortable… and even more, it isn’t a hospital room. Count blessings.

New Years Eve, 2012. What an amazing few years it has been. Cheated death twice, just by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin, and after a lifetime of wondering, half of that searching, I found, at long last, the woman who gave me life.

I still don’t really think that has hit me with all the weight that it has, all the weight that it deserves – especially in this magickal life I have lived, so full of joy, of sorrow, of adventure and all that I have learned, and continue to discover. True, the past year has been mundane and somewhat dull, but then again, I consider what I have grown accustomed to, and feel grateful. Perhaps was a necessary exercise in Zen, of accepting what is and knowing that the present does not dictate the future.

Hells, you think I would have learned that by now, but when the present deadens the soul… when the present deadens the soul, it’s time to remember the caterpillar. Perhaps this time has been my chrysalis. Maybe it was needed, and maybe I didn’t use it as wisely or constructively as I could have… but that time has passed, and with it, slowly, the distaste for myself and lack of action.

So… what now? I asked M, and knowing me better than most, having a better feel for these things than most, she said that she could see me as a sculptor.

Though I didn’t disagree with her, I also couldn’t find a way to wholly agree – it just didn’t seem feasible. Not in creating the extravagant, larger than life things I’ve always pictured creating in my mind, especially without the necessary space or nickel-one to begin… but perhaps it planted the essential seed, and from that, a different world of accepted possibilities grew and became something that I can see myself loving to do, can grow with, and perhaps most important of all, has endless possibilities. And, not in any way a small thing, are needful things, and therefore can generate the funds to grow into something…. well, something. Maybe big, maybe not, but definitely self-supporting.

And then, something else. Something good. Something that I need to be careful with, to nurture, and try to be certain that this old fool with a child’s heart isn’t just dreaming again…

But that’s what I do.

I dream…

and somehow, someway, if the heavens smile as they have a tendency to do on me, the dreams held onto even in the direst of times will reveal their power when not forgotten…

or something like that.

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