I have this new journal (since I finished my last one). I love the paper and knew it was perfect; plus it was a gift from the Russian Co-worker (hahaaa she would murder me for saying it. She is from Bosnia – or what once was: she was there for the bombings and devastation; it is why she emigrated here) and I adore it. Like I said, smooth, thin lines of pale navy blue; thin paper, like in a bible. Generous quantity of pages. A whole future. Anyway, i was just writing in there, out of the grief of boredom (I could die of it some hours) and could not just put to the back of my mind one more time that the writing/paper/book/dark-ink was a problem. It wasn’t working, I felt cramped and felt confined within it. I honestly felt like crying at the truth, that it wasn’t working and I felt my body hunch while understanding the distance of time till the end of this book…
…Then I thought about it and really asked myself: what can be done here? Write larger? Give up the now-lost and floating journal that consisted only of End-of-August/Beginning-of-September (are you laughing here? am I driving you nuts? I wish I knew.)? But, I really had an epiphany: Change the pen, the writing instrument. The ink to rich, too black, too bleedy and stroke too wide. Change the pen. Write using another instrument, and lighter pen, a thinner ink, a pale
I miss being obsessed with Bibio’s ‘Curls’. I grieve lost feelings. Reveling in the richness of past stimulations, community of self amongst other selves and other places are alchemical in themselves, no? Chemistry. Being forever changed. Not having the technique or technology to undo what is changed. Eternal unfolding is the key to peace.
I miss reinforced belief.
It’s a soft and strange Saturday early evening. Where is this going? What is this weird (very weird and spaced feeling…?) I feel like I’m waiting at a bus stop for something my guardian angels won’t give me the slightest clue about. No compulsion to pull a tarot card for psychic-or-otherwise inspiration for Truth-telling? It’s like I’m too lazy to know, but really its because I already know and I am waiting. I can’t even really do anything for anyone else right now. I am very confused by that…
I may just be in a Resting Period.
Honestly, that’s the answer, right there.
I just really fucking hate surrendering my consciousness to rest. My potential, surrendered to nothingness. But then, it also brings about beautiful expressions, such as this! Such as music like this song above. Reflecting is also what it is. Time to reflect and make choices about lifestyle and personality. Yes, there’s a lot going on here, really, Jen. What has more potential than the moment prior to change?
It hurts so much sometimes, to write between the lines. (sadness; grief from loss, sadness underlying all hatred and resentment is the reality. Acceptance of it all is the sword of peace).