sullysbrokenlegs

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“All I hope is that I may not lose all interest in human affairs - that the solitary indifference I feel for applause even from the finest Spirits, will not blunt any acuteness of vision I may have. I do not think it will - I feel assured I should write from the mere yearning and fondness I have for the Beautiful even if my night’s labours should be burnt every morning and no eye ever shine upon them. But even now I am perhaps not speaking from myself; but from some character in whose soul I now live.”

— John Keats, Selected Letters, 1817 and 1818

[sullysbrokenlegs]

Untethered

Stained with bane and blight

I ache to be honed and shine once more

And yet I muddle

Forlorn for nothing

Yet everything

Shimmering

A light grows

As a distant sunrise

I rise

Obtuse

Rusting

Arid

Brittle

Once a keen scout

Now a shattering strike

Back into the void

So that I may burn a path home

For the lost

For the hopeless

For the broken

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know.”

— Ernest Hemingway

[sullysbrokenlegs]

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.

I’ll meet you there.

Rumi

[sullysbrokenlegs]

The dark’s stark hair swoons in masquerade. I touch the ineffable veil, which is my own and my only distinction from the world. I wear it now.

Moonlight lulls in the frown of the pond, I hear her effortless shiver; tongue like an adder splintering the headstone of time. The earth red taste of it. And even more uncanny, the heart’s bark struck with the grim wing of Eros.  A ceremony of poverty. Cave-speech, riven with unkempt language.  The wail of otherwhere’s lairs, I slip like creatures unpronounced to the world. The body is loud with abjection. The swim of nowhere. The expulsion of otherness.

I am dyed another color, absent blue. I have lost the arms of love. 

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“No matter who you are or what you believe about yourself, there is strength within you. You don’t have to be anyone or have anything to feel strong; be as you are and uncover the strength within.”

From my book: Pain, Life, Love

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“You are an incredible mystery that you will never figure out. To be this mystery consciously is the greatest joy.”

Adyashanti

[sullysbrokenlegs]

Good to the last drop

Jacob: Does it get any easier?

Mitchel: What’s that Jacob?

Jacob: Anything?

Mitchel: That’s to much to quantify let alone qualify Jacob.

Jacob: I’m just so pissed off by everything. Like, I hate hearing songs that are inappropriate for the advertising that they are featured in! Movies and TV shows that are just blatant vehicles for merchandise!

Mitchel: Oh, well yes, that gets easier to deal with. There will come a point that it seems petty to react to that kind of stuff. You may even be amused that it ever bothered you in the past. But I also find that sometimes that anger is just a shield for something else. Is there something else you need to unpack Jacob?

Jacob: No, I’m fine. The future is just disappointingly frustrating. Like I hate that Donna has to waste so much time with the touch sensitive remote. I fucking miss buttons ya know.

Mitchel: Sure, I miss buttons Jacob. I won’t say missing stuff gets easier. It can, but it is easier to find things that fill the void left by some stuff. Moreover, when you are in a better place, you can enjoy the advancements and improvements that take the place of things that you miss. What else is upsetting you Jacob? Do you miss Dottie? I know you spend almost all of your time around Donna. That is when you aren’t sitting and watching Wetube. There are probably characteristics and behaviors that are similar.

Jacob: It’s YouTube. Yeah I guess, it is a little difficult to not see the sameness. Donna is an amplified version of Dottie sometimes, or viceversa, I don’t know anymore.

Mitchel: You will make peace with it eventually. I don’t know if it gets easier to not see the similarities in people. Sometimes it’s ok to see the qualities from someone in others. In nurturing and supporting someone with those qualities you can honor the relationship and emotions from the past.

Jacob: Mitch you are so wise.

Mitchel: It took me many lifetimes to gain this much perspective. I’m still sad and frustrated about things in the past, I’ve just learned to not carry it with me too long or not to project it on to other situations.

Jacob: I could use a few extra lifetimes...

Mitchel: I know that you feel like that could be great, but I wouldn’t wish that curse upon you. It takes its toll.

Jacob: Wow, I hope I don’t feel cursed when I’m in my 70’s.

Mitchel: Ha! I hope so too. Being in my “70’s” isn’t a curse at all Jacob.

[sullysbrokenlegs]

Why Do I Feel Unloveable?

Often when people feel unloveable, it is tied into one of the following reasons:

1. As a child, a parent or authority figure either told you – or sent out the message that – you were unloveable. Because of that, you came to believe that your core self was deficient, unacceptable or inadequate. Now you find it hard to believe that anyone could ever love you for just being you.

2. You experienced rejection, desertion or abandonment in one of your closest relationships. Now love feels scary - and is a source of anxiety and fear – rather than of healing and security.

3. You feel regret for something you did, or the way you treated a person you loved. Hence, you don’t believe you deserved to be loved, or you fear you will badly hurt someone again.

4. You have developed a series of flawed beliefs which have coloured your expectations for love. For example, you may have concluded that love leads to pain …. or that no-one can be trusted … or love always ends.

5. A voice in your head says you cannot change so you don’t believe that “you have what it takes”. But none of us is perfect; we’re all on a journey; and if we choose to take a risk then we’ll find that we can change.

[sullysbrokenlegs]

It’s all mustard...

Jacob shudders as he gazes out across the car park. A warm gust of heated air ironically cooling the the tears that stream down his cheek. Grief stricken, he chomps down another bite of his hotdog as he weeps. Donna is aging and her illness is progressive. Jacob has been struggling with her care over the last few months and too the care of himself. He has extreme guilt that he spirals through as he struggles to plan for the future. Jacob worries that planning for his future is selfish and involves the certainty of Donna’s passing. Slumping his head back upon the rest Jacob recedes into the rumble of the cars engine. Staring at dead leaves that cling to the dormant trees he can’t help but to feel a kinship with them as they flap about as the wind wisps around the branches. A shimmer of light reflects in the side view mirror alerts Jacob to the end of the Bridge game that Donna attends. Wiping his face he snaps himself from his melancholy. Jacob looks down at his hand and notices the flashing cursor on the mobile screen. He had meant to type out a poem an hour and half ago. Clinching his teeth, Jacob grimaces trying to not be angry with himself and the time he loses to his depression. Jacob flexes his face in an attempt to coax a smile from his face. He prepares himself for when Donna emerges from the door. Having shaken off a bit of sadness, Jacob now waits.

[sullysbrokenlegs]

dream

All night I dream of water. My memory, my home, my deity unmasked. In the water, I hear the steps of something coming for me. All night I am drowning in the water until I learn how to breathe. All night, the water-hands drown me. In my dream, I die, and wake at the bottom of the sea. Here, beasts unknown by men walk, I hear the eternal strain of lyres. At the obscene world of the sea’s ground, I contemplate the blue stain of higher waters, a world within another word. In the black, a face is formed, it speaks. It is in another, unknown language. It brings me to a gate, met between two ancient spires. All night I stand at the gate and know beyond it is the world’s evil. All night I make night in me. All night I flee. But every time I leave the gate it appears in front of me. I search out empty spaces, without warmth, without love. The gate, without my hand, opens. I wake up, it is morning, there are birds outside the sing. Black birds, black veils. 

[sullysbrokenlegs]

On the edge of candor I flutter, unraveling like bandages springing forth from an unearthed sarcophagus. Tuning myself in, I scramble like screeching static over a weak radio signal. Slivers of tenacity prick my oafish lazy fingers as I grasp at fleeting memories. I keep warm as I huddle beside the pire of my youths effigy.

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“I found with you a life force I’d thought I lost,”

— Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares written c. August 1951 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“Love is your quality. Love is not what you do. Love is what you are.”

Jaggi Vasudev

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“I gather dreams of the skull for I am it, / Impetuous, enamored, suffering in the gardens / Under a dark window, uncertain whether it’s mine…”

— Czesław Miłosz, from New and Collected Poems; “A Skull”

[sullysbrokenlegs]

“Don’t be afraid to love again. Not everyone is like your ex.”

— Unknown

[sullysbrokenlegs]

i miss your voice