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The Longing For Completion

There’s that void again. That deep cavernous feeling that threatens to swallow you whole from the inside out. That feeling of darkness so deep, it echoes back at you with its vast, empty loneliness. But, it’s not empty. Inside all of that depth is a tiny you grotesquely overwhelmed with feeling. So overwhelmed you forget you exist. Its not a good place to be. It’s a dangerous place to be…sometimes…screaming alone in your own brain. It gets that way when you are longing for completion.

A large part of our lives is spent in searching for integration, in feeling whole. We look for ourselves in others, we search for ourselves in tasks. We subscribe to the notion that we are fractured, splintered, incomplete beings always searching, always without. Never, ever really knowing that supreme, divine fullness of our self. I’m not talking the gluttony of selfishness as it’s manifested in destructive patterns. I’m talking the enriched, glorious feeling of contentment. Contentment so deep that it can only come from appreciation and gratitude. THAT feeling of wholeness. That’s a good place to be.


I have to say this. I am confused.

I am utterly confused. I am unbalanced and thrown.

I feel like I should be rash–but,  maybe not.

I could call it off. I could draw deeper and harder lines.

I could…I could…I could do so many things other than this.

Other than feeling so confused.

I could calm down for one thing.

I could regain my balance for another.

I could stand my ground.

I could be braver without any regrets.

I could do this without compromising my self.

My esteem. I could do this without compromising–my esteem.

I could…I could…I could cry.

I don’t know why I feel like this. I am confronted by an abyss which shouldn’t fascinate me at all. I should be afraid–and I am. I should respect that fear. That feeling that something is wrong. Something is off about this whole thing. I should respect my instincts to shun and to turn away. I should. I should. I really want to. But, I fear the loneliness of being right. Isn’t that an interesting way to feel? The loneliness of being right. Its terrible to know the worst but hope for the best. The regret is…immobilizing. 

I could…I should…I would. I would take this confused frustration of mine and break it in half so that I could analyze and take power over it. I would look closely at how its probably really nothing. I would recognize it for cheap and childish manipulations–this imbalance– and then I would show it the wisdom of the ages and simply let it go. I could do that. I would do that. I should do just that. I hope I can do JUST THAT.

A Post From My Tumblr Blog.

Submission Is A Gift Wrapped in Trust



You asked who I am–I told you.

You asked me what I wanted–I shared with you.

You asked me how I feel…You asked how I feel…and…You asked me how I feel–I think I showed you. 

I’m sure I showed you when,

I shared with you.

I opened up to you.

I laughed with you.

I suffered with you.

I cried for you–I cried with you.

I played with you.

I offered myself to you, over and over.

I trust you. I TRUSTED you.

Submission is a gift wrapped in trust.

Look for me inside of you, beside you, around you. I’m there because you asked me to.

Because, I wanted to.

I want to.

Did you forget? You wanted me there too.

My gift is TRUST.

The Not So Amusing Muse

        Its been awhile since I wrote anything on my WordPress. Its been awhile since I wrote at all and had the courage to share it on a public forum such as this. Like everybody or anybody else, it takes me awhile to open up the deepest parts of me and expose them to the possibilities of sharp remarks and toothsome criticisms. Every once in a while, I get brave. I become–embolden. That’s a good descriptive–EMBOLDEN. I digress. The meat of this is, inspiration. How this time, like many times around, My Muse is a dark one (dark to me but light to others). My Muse is a bit–embattled. Yes. Embattled–that’s a good descriptive too. So…as an introduction to my current WTF moment with mankind I present this:

        My Muse is an iceberg on the sea, floating desperately, trying to save himself. As the Universe has it, I came sailing by on a tiny life raft crafted slowly and meticulously out of faith, prayer, pragmatism, anger, survival, ingenuity and all types of hard work. He grabbed on. Compassion and Empathy have a way of making room when there really is none. A miracle of space and time these emotions/virtues are to make room where none seems to exist. He was right–It could’ve been anybody–no need to feel special–no need to feel at all. But, it wasn’t just anybody. It happened to be ME.

        ME. This is important. Because, anybody else on a tiny raft of survival would’ve let you drown in your depths. Yes, the depths of your making. The depths that strictly belong to you, as mine are to me. But, Compassion and Empathy will make room where previously none seemed to exist. I digress, again. Regardless, everything comes to an end which is a new beginning. We shall see. So…ode to My Muse. The lone iceberg on a seeming vast and desolate sea, riding alongside a tiny raft of me. 



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