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high-tidethunder · 4 years ago

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leaving eden

tell el-qadi.

Yusuf hates violence. Hates the man he’s been forced to become in the midst of it. There are days he mourns the loss of the man he’d been before, the man who had traveled so far from his home because his wandering heart yearned for adventure, for a glimpse of the world he had only heard of from his father's stories.

He had only been in this city a few years when the Franks came. He had taken to sharing knowledge, and poetry, and prayer, and hoping that one of these things would ease the ache in his soul, the one born of some lifelong feeling that a piece of him was missing. And it had, a little, reduced it to a simmer at the back of his mind rather than an ever-present sting. The dull awareness one has of their own muscles a few days out from laboring with them over the fresh bite of a snake’s venom.

An insufferably quixotic part of him wonders if this was what had been missing from him the whole time; the cold weight of a saif in his hand, the thrumming heat of adrenaline as it surges through his veins, the ache in his heart ebbed for the first time since he’d been old enough to notice it. It’s not a notion he likes to entertain, not without qualifying it with intricate justifications that he hadn’t been born to kill so much as he’d been born to protect, but at the end of the day, it is still another man’s blood that he is covered with when he retires to his encampment.

He tries not to think about how long it’s been since he’d first abstained from prayer, unable to wipe himself clean enough from the gore and not bold enough for the irreverence required to forgo doing so. Instead, he finds himself trying to picture his life after this war ends, wondering whether he’ll be able to reconcile the man he was before with the man he is now. He knows he will not be able to live and act as though his hands have not been soaked in blood, however justified the fight that spilled it. He thinks a third man must be born of the two he’ll have already been, some amalgamation of a scholar and a warrior, a man filled with stories of bloodshed told in words that are too beautiful for the situation. He wonders if he will hate him, too, if he will find his own self repulsive in his delicacy after having seen such brutality.

And he thinks, as he stares down at the fletched bolt newly sprouting from his chest, that it is a gift that he will choke on his own blood before he ever has to find out.

(Across continents, two women will dream of him when he wakes in anguish and snaps the bolt, wrenching it from his flesh and marveling at the way the jagged wound stitches itself back together.)

(Across a battlefield, a man who’s throat should have stayed split open will dream of a man he had shot rising from the grave built of bodies around him, the tear tracks on his cheeks the only part of his face unmarred by blood.)

(Yusuf will dream of him, too. He will be indecipherable from the nightmares of the battlefield he has every night until they meet, the Frank’s dagger piercing his side as his own sword buries itself in the other man’s heart.)

leddan.

Yusuf wakes with a shout and the rapidly fading memory of a blade slitting his throat. It marks the 3rd time today that the Frank had killed him, though how many days the two had engaged in their own war, he isn’t sure. He looks out at the sun, still low enough over the horizon that he thinks dawn must have broken only an hour or so ago. They’re getting slower in their slaughter, he thinks idly. This time last week he’d have been dead 10 times over, the other man just as many.

Waking up is always the worst part, coming back to the stench of blood and decay and the realization that this battle will never be over, not for him, and not for the cursed, filthy Frank whose stolen sword has cut into him in every way possible and yet left no mark as proof. Not that he had done any different with his own blade, but, to his merit, he was doing so in defense of an innocent city under siege.

He turns his head and stares at the hard edges of the Frank’s face as he waits for him to wake, wondering, not for the first time, what compels a man to travel so far from his home with no desire to understand, only that to kill. It must be a miserable life, he thinks, to love a god who would tell you that hate is the only way forward.

There is not a strong enough love in the world that would drive him to commit the atrocities that have surrounded him since he first picked up a sword for this city.

His thoughts are broken when he sees the man’s jaw start to move with a sharp inhale, and he contemplates pretending to not have woken yet just to rest a little longer.

It’s already too late, by the time the thought crosses his mind, but it doesn’t matter anyway. The Frank makes to stand but hesitates with one knee still firmly planted on the ground. «Why do we do this?» he asks Yusuf in a slow, broken approximation of his language, the weariness in his clear eyes accented by the dark blood that’s spattered across his face. «We have...we have died so—» he breaks, then, mutters something to himself, and frustration twists his features.

Yusuf is not sure why, maybe he’s empowered by the other man acting on their shared exhaustion, but he takes pity. “So much death and it does not take?” he asks the Frank, in his tongue, pushing himself to a sitting position so they’re face to face.

A look of relief flashes across his features. “Yes. What if we are meant for more than this? We are entangled, and I do not think it is meant to be a curse. It has been a long time since I have seen hatred in your eyes when you kill me. It has been a long time since I have felt it. There must be something more.”

Yusuf realizes, suddenly, that what the Frank says is true. The air between them had known their exhaustion, their anger, their desperation, but not their hate. Not since they have waited for each other to stand again before resuming their gruesome dance.

He stands, himself, before answering, reaches out a blood and dirt caked hand to the other man, and pulls him to his feet when he takes it. They stand close enough that his breath is hot against Yusuf’s cheeks.

He lays his free hand on his chest, over his heart. “Mi chiamo Yusuf,” he says, struck by the way gratitude floods the other man’s eyes at his words.

«Ismii Nicolò,» he responds, hand over his own heart, and the longstanding ache in Yusuf’s wanes.

(Nicolò will release Yusuf’s hand when he bends to retrieve his sword from the sanguineous mud at their feet, and the feeling of missing something will creep in at the edges of his consciousness, but Nicolò’s knuckles will brush against his when he rises again, asking Yusuf to lead the way, and the touch will act in the way a torch brandished at a bank of shadows does.)

buhayret tabariyya.

«Why did you do it?» Yusuf asks him one night, about a month after their shaky truce has been established. He asks the question in his own tongue, something in him not wanting to give the other man the comfort of familiarity.

Nicolò looks at him across the fire flickering between them, its glow haloing half his face in gold, the other half obscured by shadow. He squints at Yusuf, face remaining otherwise impassive and hands stilled on the whetstone he’d been running over the blade of Yusuf’s saif.

He blinks, then goes back to sharpening the blade, and an old sea of resentment begins to roil in Yusuf’s gut once more.

Then, «I have been a very foolish man,» Nicolò says, hardly loud enough to hear over the sound of stone on metal. Yusuf can see his language stalling in the other man’s mouth, as his jaws work like gears trying to construct the words. «I am sorry,» he finally says, and takes a deep breath. «I know you...you have no reason to believe me, and it is,» he pauses, looking up at the stars and closing his eyes. «It is hard? sì? to trust me? I know. You are right for this. I did not see that our,» he huffs out a sigh and leans the blade in his hands against the pack next to him. «I did not see that we were the same. I had been told, and foolishly thought, that what made us different was too big to ignore. I was wrong. You and I,» and to punctuate this he gestures between himself and Yusuf, «we are the same man, we bleed the same blood. We breathe the same air and bathe in the same water, no?» his face twists again and he stares down at his hands, muttering something Yusuf can’t hear. «I have only ever known one thing,» he says, haltingly, and takes a deep breath. «I have only ever known that God does not make mistakes. If He gave us both the same gift, then we are the same.»

The storm not quite calmed, Yusuf finds himself asking, «And those who don’t share our gift? Who are not of your blood? Not of your god?»

«They are of your blood, of your god. If I am the same as you, then I am the same as them, too, are I not?» Nicolò says, before a look of consternation suddenly crosses his face. «I’m sorry,» he repeats in a low whisper, casting his gaze to the flames in front of him. «I should not claim that. Not with what I have done.»

A different kind of ache settles in Yusuf’s heart at the look on Nicolò’s face, one that gnaws at him and spurs him to stand and skirt the fire to sit by Nicolò’s side. He rests a hand on the other man’s shoulder, grateful when he doesn’t shrug it away, and lets the hissing of burning brush be the only sound while he thinks.

«Maybe,» he says, at last, and Nicolò turns to look at him, «maybe you should not claim that. And maybe I should not be the one who is sitting here, accepting your apology. But I think,» and here he pauses, searching Nicolò’s pale eyes, «I think that right now, we are the only two who matter. And I think I can forgive you, not because what you did was not wrong, but because that is the way forward, now, is it not?» He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the shine in Nicolò’s eyes. «Forgiveness,» he says, then again, «forgiveness...this is the thing that brings us out of the dark. It is the spark of stars against the looming night sky, or, no, it is a fire,» he says, grateful for the metaphor that dances in front of him, «it will bring you warmth, and light, and life, but you have to feed it for it to grow. You,» he says, gripping Nicolò’s shoulder now, steadily holding his gaze, «you have cut the wood and you have struck the flint. So, I am forgiving you.»

Nicolò breaks his stare, then, glancing at the fire, jaw twitching. He’s silent for a long moment, shadows flitting across his features in a way that makes his expression unreadable. «Thank you,» he says at last, eyes meeting Yusuf’s once more, and he can see gratitude in their depths.

(When they finally lay down to sleep, Nicolò’s back will face Yusuf, and he’ll realize with a jolt that the other man had never lain like that before. He’ll wonder, then, at how long Nicolò had been deliberating over his apology.)

yarmouk.

Nicolò seems lighter, in the days following their talk, their conversations now flowing with the same effortlessness as the river they followed to the port city they’ve found sanctuary in for the time being.

They spend their days picking up odd jobs to earn their keep in their rented room. Yusuf usually finds work in the dockyards, the bright mix of languages and kind of physical labor that leaves you feeling comfortably sore a welcome reminder of the youth he’d left behind. He finds that his thoughts drift to the warm mornings he’d spent with his family before his father would board another ship and set out across the world. He thinks fate is kind, that such mornings would eventually lead him to where he is now.

Nicolò finds rougher jobs, a hired blade for merchants transporting precious goods, or posted outside by those renting rooms to throw out anyone getting too unruly. These jobs leave his bedroll empty until the dark hours of the morning when he finally slips into their room and lays down, always between Yusuf and the door. Yusuf notices he’s taken to sleeping with a dagger under his pillow, as well. He figures there must be a kind of paranoia that settles into the bones of men like Nicolò, who spend their days on edge, figures that mindset must be hard to break out of.

On the nights they’re both in, Yusuf spends the hours teaching Nicolò to write in his language, teaches him sadeeq first and cherishes his soft smile, the reverence with which he writes it out on the dirt floor of their room. He traces waasa�� on the bare skin of Nicolò’s shoulders, belly warming at the rich laughter drawn from the other man’s lungs when he tells him what word it is.

They settle in like this, staying in the city through the end of the wet season until the Frankish forces lay upon it, too. Yusuf has to persuade Nicolò to leave, to remind him that their immortality is not invulnerability, that he cannot fight an entire army on his own.

They manage to get passage on a trading galley headed west along the coast of Africa in exchange for their labor at the end of the journey. Yusuf is almost surprised that Nicolò fits in as seamlessly as him, until he notices that the men on the crew he associates with carry edges of the same slanted accent that Nicolò speaks in Yusuf’s tongue with.

He asks him about it one night, about halfway through their trip, as they eat tucked away from the rest of the crew. A bittersweet kind of warmth laces Nicolò’s voice as he speaks of the country of his birth, a story he’d been reluctant to share with Yusuf until familiarity and alcohol loosed his tongue.

Yusuf goes to sleep that night soothed by the sound of waves lapping at the hull of the ship and the gentle rasp of Nicolò’s voice singing a lullaby he remembers his mother singing to him.

(Nicolò won’t sleep until the early hours of the morning, sitting against the swaying wall of the ship as he studies Yusuf’s face in the dark and thinks of the village he grew up in and the less than fulfilling life he’d left behind.)

nahr al-urduun.

They’ve been in town for a few months when Nicolò dies. He’s cut down by a desperate man whose tanned and leathered skin suggests he’d once been a sailor, with the way that one arm hangs limply at his side suggesting that it was no longer a viable form of employment. It’s early enough that no one is around to see the dead rise, a small source of relief for Yusuf as he carries Nicolò’s body away from that of the would-be thief.

It’s a deep wound, still oozing blood, and some macabre spirit whispers in Yusuf’s ear that maybe they were only blessed in the Holy Land, maybe the gift cannot reach them here. He thinks they had been spoiled, in the year since they’d left the battlefield, the jobs they worked no longer putting them on the wrong end of a blade. Yusuf realizes abruptly that, before now, the last time either of them had fallen had been at the other’s hand. It feels like a lifetime ago.

He tries to not let panic seep into his bones as he watches Nicolò’s body, pushing the whispers away when he sees the flesh around the wound slowly starting to heal and tracing where the edges had been with a feather-light touch. The skin is tacky with blood but otherwise smooth, bearing no other mark to suggest Nicolò had ever been wounded. A sudden wave of boldness compels Yusuf to press his palm flat against the other man’s side, heart skipping when he feels it swell with breath.

An unwanted and unneeded wave of guilt hits Yusuf and he pulls his hand away as though he’d been burned, skin still buzzing from the touch as Nicolò pushes himself into a sitting position against the alley wall. He frowns at the bloody mess of his side and pulls mindlessly at the fraying threads of the gash in his tunic.

“This was my favorite shirt,” he mutters in his native tongue, slipping into it the way he always does when he’s distressed. Yusuf barks out a sharp, hysterical laugh and looks at Nicolò with wild eyes. How strange it is to die and only worry about the state of your clothes, he thinks, when his gaze is met with a confused stare from the other man.

“Come,” he says in kind, pushing away the amazement, and stands, “we should get back to our room before it is light enough for anyone to see that you are covered in blood.” He extends his hand to Nicolò to help him up, bumping their shoulders together to pull the other man’s attention from where he’s still frowning at his abdomen. “Nothing to lose sleep over,” he tries to sound teasing, though his mind is still heavy with anxiety, and pokes at Nicolò’s pale skin through the tear in the fabric. “I will buy you another when the stalls open.”

(That night he will press himself to Nicolò’s back after the other man has already fallen asleep, reassuring himself with the warmth of Nicolò’s pulse against his skin. The sliver of moonlight that escapes into their room through the broken shutters will illuminate the expanse of Nicolò’s skin that had been marred and Yusuf will run his thumb over it, gently, as though it will anchor his life to the other’s.)

(Nicolò will try not to shiver at the touch.)

al-bahr al-mayyit.

Another year passes, spent traveling the coasts of the Mediterranean and offering their services where they could. Nicolò still opts to take jobs that require his vigilance, and Yusuf those that require his vigor, and they have only come close to dying again once apiece. They are more careful than Yusuf supposes they have to be, but he has seen enough death for a thousand lifetimes. If this gift means he has to live those thousand lives, then he does not want to have to see Nicolò’s prone and battered body and pray that he will still wake again any more than he already has.

They don’t talk about it much, their gift. Their days are spent busy, and often apart, and the work leaves them too exhausted at night to do much else besides eat before laying down to sleep. These days, it’s more often than not that they wake to find themselves curled together. Sometimes they discuss the dreams, in the early hours when the light is still grey and watery, but the quiet words dissolve in the daylight, like mist, when they have to part for work again.

There is a measure of freedom on this coast, though, the cost of their rooms not requiring their hours to be as filled as they tend to be. They spend the empty days exploring the countryside, every morning they didn’t have to work coming back to the overgrown apricot grove Yusuf had found to see if the blossoms had yielded yet. It takes a few weeks for the boughs of the first tree to be weighed down by the bright orange fruits, but Nicolò’s resulting delight is too intoxicating for Yusuf to think any time had been wasted in checking.

Yusuf graciously accepts the fruit when it is handed to him, waiting to take the first bite until Nicolò’s arm is looped around his and they’re walking amongst the trees. They share a companionable silence as they eat, breaking it only to remark at the birdsong or point out a tree whose blossoms had not yet fallen away.

Their walk remains quiet even after they’ve each finished their fruits and discarded the pits. Yusuf leads them in the way of an alcove amidst the trees, and when they arrive, Nicolò sprawls in the grass, hands tucked under his head and chin jutted toward the sun, and Yusuf slings himself into the low Y of one of the trees’ trunks, propping his back against one branch and stretching his legs out on the other.

The sun is warm on his cheeks, a drowsy kind of heat, and Yusuf feels his consciousness starting to slip away when Nicolò asks, Arabic accented but unbroken, «Do you ever feel like time has stopped?»

Yusuf opens one eye to look at him, watches as a light breeze sways the branches of the trees around them and throws dappled shadows over Nicolò’s face, and hums.

«What do you mean?»

Nicolò turns to look at him, briefly, before staring up at the open sky again. Yusuf allows his eyes to close once more and lets the cadence of Nicolò’s speech wash over him as he talks. «Since the first day we met, it feels like no time has passed at all. I am lying here in this grove with you alone, I feel the sun on my face and grass at the back of my neck, and I know that I am not on the battlefield anymore. I know that two years have passed, or something close to it, but I feel like it was yesterday I woke up among a hundred dead with blood spilled down half my tunic. It feels like this morning I woke from the dream of you.»

The sentiment settles over Yusuf, and the more he thinks about it, the more it rings true. «It does,» he says, then tests his next words on his tongue before deciding to say, «You know, I almost feel younger, sometimes.»

He doesn’t say what he wants to, doesn’t say that Nicolò makes time stop for him, that it’s Nicolò who makes him feel young and idealistic again. He hopes the meaning fills the silence that follows his words.

When Nicolò says, «I do, too,» it’s a whisper, then, louder, «my youth felt so lonely. And now I am here, with you, given the chance to do it right.» Then, after a pause, pregnant with the chatter of bugs and the susurrations of the apricot leaves in the breeze, «Tell me one of your stories, Yusuf. One that makes us young again.»

Yusuf is helpless to do anything but oblige.

When he finishes the tale, Nicolò stands and suggests they walk some more, so Yusuf slips down from the tree and joins their arms once again, asking Nicolò to lead this time.

It’s not long before he bumps their shoulders together to get Yusuf’s attention before he points to another tree in the grove laden with fruit, grinning. As they approach, though, it becomes clear that the ripe fruits are on branches too high for either man to reach, so Nicolò pulls himself onto the nearest bough. He shifts so that he’s lying on it belly-first, and plucks one of the fruits. He hands it to Yusuf before taking one for himself.

He takes a bite, then tries to turn to lay on his back and shifts too far to his left and flails for a moment before tumbling off the branch and onto Yusuf, knocking him flat on his back. Nicolò’s torso and shoulders shake and for a second Yusuf worries he’s hurt himself before the other man pushes up, hands planted on either side of Yusuf’s head, and he can see that Nicolò is laughing. The mirth glimmering in his eyes is enough to break Yusuf into a fit of laughter as well, the sound ringing through the grove until the both of them are worn out from it.

And then, Nicolò is looking down at Yusuf, eyes shining, and Yusuf is caught in a daze.

And then Nicolò’s lips are crashing into his own, clumsy until he kisses back, pushing himself off the ground with one hand and clinging to Nicolò’s shirt with the other. The kiss is sticky with apricot juice and Yusuf tastes the tart sweetness of the fruit in Nicolò’s mouth as he pulls him closer, anchored by the weight of the other man straddling his hips and floating away on the buzz of his kiss. He lets go of Nicolò’s shirt to cup his face, pressing the pad of his thumb into the ridge of Nicolò’s cheek. Nicolò’s hands come up to cradle the back of his head in response, and Yusuf shivers when his fingers tangle through his curls, the suddenness of the movement causing them to pull a little.

«I have wanted to do that for a long time,» Nicolò pants when they finally break apart.

«How long?» Yusuf asks, soft, brushing his thumb over Nicolò’s bruised lips.

«How long has day followed night?» he responds, eyes glittering as he holds Yusuf’s gaze.

Warmth blossoms in Yusuf’s stomach at the words and it courses through his veins until it’s gone and left him needing more. «Do it again,» he says, breathless, then, «please.»

Nicolò wastes no time in acquiescing.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #tog fic #kaysanova #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #my fic #my writing #rory.txt #check ao3 tags for warnings on this one #also someone remind me about formatting on ao3 before i make a stylistic choice that relies on italics again

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blahsome · 5 years ago

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March 18 2020, yet another big milestone. 25 years. A quarter of a century. Is it a big deal or are numbers arbitrary and it’s the same amount of a deal as it ever has been? I can’t publish everything I’ve written down for this year without feeling guilty, but I also can’t step on no toes all the time. And now, I will also feel guilty posting this when there's a pandemic occurring, but, I am trapped at home with little to do other than edit and re-edit this writing to be suitable enough for the public. I started writing this on April 9, 2019, too early to start my 25th anniversary writing? I’ll guess not. So here it is, my yearly open letter to my mother with intermittent ramblings and poems about my experience moving though life as the person I am and my perceptions as a flawed but resilient female. It’s like if I put it out there, maybe I’ll somehow reach her and she will somehow let me know. Highs and lows, as usual. Just after 2 years off the sauce I had a bigger ‘aha moment’ than putting down any bottles, though one wouldn’t have happened without the other. I realized drinking wasn’t my real problem to begin with. It was people, and my desperate need for their acceptance and approval. My need to be recognized and valued instead of coddled and unconsciously kept in a box. My need to control the outcome of situations and stepping on toes in the process. After so long being alcohol free I came to see that I had to start living for me. In early June 2019 a dear friend turned me on to a book called CoDependent No More. In maybe a week’s time I absorbed every word, the narcissist in me was almost convinced that I’d written it myself, it resonated so deeply. The following week I started attending CoDA meetings. Now that so many of my grievances and ailments make sense, I only wish I’d known sooner that it was okay to live life with me as my number one priority. I didn’t know before that I didn’t have to feel responsible for other people’s actions or inactions, but my self worth had been dependent on it. I’m 95% sure my mother was CoDependent, and with that consideration, I’m able to understand her life choices better and therefore navigate my own with slightly better foresight. Wikipedia says “Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity.” Now, that’s just one definition. There are many charastics to pick and choose from, and let me tell you, us codependents (I can only speak for myself) can be picky and choosy. Some people define codependency as a disease because if it goes untreated it only gets worse. I’m trying to break a lifetime of habits. Hi, My name is Blossom and I’m CoDependent. Every Monday night I go to a meeting where a group of women gather and we all try to work on ourselves to let go of whatever unmanageable ailments are keeping us shackled. It’s humbling and it fills me with hope. It empowers me to continuously seek change and clarity. Codependency is a tough one to recover from, as you can’t quit people. Once I had a name for this problem, every love song sounded different and every frustration made sense. I became able to recognize crazy making and slow down and see that I didn’t have control and things had become unmanageable. In doing so, I was able to step back and make better decisions for myself and my life and that’s how this whole last year unfolded more in my favor than any year previous. I worked on detaching and I started living for myself. March is a hard month for me. I sometimes feel so undeserving of a skin to be settled in. I writhe around in my persistent and annual grief. I start getting anxious in February wondering how it will appear this year. This March is particularly hard. I moved into a house with strangers and rarely stay there. I’ve got no place of my own to grieve, and with COVID-19 amongst us, I don’t want to take up any more emotional space while the world is feeling its current devestations and fears. My hopes for 2019 were to have more highs than lows, make my amends and reconciliations, and to keep my head mostly above water. And that was mostly the case. My aunt told me shortly after my post last year that my mom had self imposed low self esteem (now I recognize this as codependency). Watching home videos of her I feel like I could see stress in her face and I think about what she wrote in her journal about worry making her face look funny and how she didn’t want anyone to feel as she did. Maybe because it was a different time she felt like she couldn’t talk about her anxieties and had to bottle them up. I’m thinking about all the time I’ve spent transfixed by being a motherless daughter and trying to figure out where I fit into the word. I’m thinking about how long I spent tending to my father's bent and dusty wings, thinking I’d needed to see one of my parents fly so that I could’ve learned how it’s done. I’m in some required college to career success class that’s making me question my path, as if stress wasn’t doing that already. I’m laying in bed wishing that I’d figured out sooner that my wings were fine regardless of anyone else’s. I wish you were here so I could tell you all about everything. And so you could do the same. And so we could share the load. I quit smoking finally. Now my only vice is other people’s problems and trying to fix them to no avail. The eternal heartbreak I mentioned in my last letter makes more sense now. And the boy who told me to turn off the lights on my birthday sent me a podcast that said something about only being able to be loved as much as you’re willing to be vulnerable. And I think we’re all scared to be completely honest about how shitty we are, so we just perpetuate the shittiness and stay closed and unloveable. Early August 2019- I’m off track as usual, probably malnourished, definitely exhausted. This morning I was crying, I thought I wouldn’t be able to pull it together and that my eyes would be red when I got to my first job of the day. I think I was mourning. Things are going to change so much. I won’t have any more free time. I have to restructure everything. Which I think is what I wanted, but what a learning curve. I still have desperate hopes of creating a camp for motherless daughters someday. And it has to be accessible to all. But lord knows how far off in the future it is. At this time my feet are seldom beneath me, I’m sprinting forwards and if I stop I will stumble. I have to figure out my shit first I guess, and I’m putting in the worrrk. Or trying to at least. At a CoDA meeting a woman was talking about learning how to wield her anger, a thought that made me tremble. I liked the sound of it, as I have so much, and if we could turn it into a power, a force for good...it’d be all over. But I’m stifled by it, embarrassed of it. When I cancel plans it's usually because I’m embarrassed about how angry I am over something out of my control, and I can’t come down. Everyone was relatable, everyone seemed to be making progress, even if at this time it looked like a breakdown. They told their stories and I cringed inwardly, thinking of what I would have done in their situation. The time for change is now, I’m shaking in my boots. Some poetry and prose: My broken heart painted my world red slandering your name ensuring I’m to be seen as a fool who sobs wolf My depressed history understands every bit of where you come from like we have the same veins My logical self tells me that’s your burden to bear but I do everything I can to fabricate your crutches and excuse your bad behavior - Codependent Cowgirl Uncharmable. You only want your ex cause you think that’s where you can be yourself, but really that’s where was born the version of yourself you hate the most. Here I am standing strong, aching for my newest weakness. You’re having none of it. If I unclench my jaw and take a deep breath Tears roll down my cheeks THIS is relaxing So I tense back up And jump back into my cortisol spiral There is too much to get done to spend even one second thinking about you Six Sundays have passed since I’ve seen you last Codependency writes all my prose and all my sonnets All my pros and wilted bluebonnets - Go hard or go home Or go hard and stay at home, for forever because you thought you and your home would be each other’s salvation because home was the only thing that ever willingly invited you to change it and was better for it. But home got too heavy and home wouldn’t change on its own. And all the changes you did accomplish didn’t prove your worth. Plagued by nostalgia and sentiment Chronic grief Frozen in grief, and just when I begin to thaw, the temperature drops again Perpetually stressed What if to lose a parent as a child, is to lose the present. Because then you are trapped dreading the uncertainty of the future and wondering about a past you never knew and will never know, theirs. - Fuckless nights I unwittingly dusted off my fiddle strings and played as best as I could but you were never pleased. I was always out of tune or just off beat. -- And so let us not demonize others for our perceived shadows they cast and have casted We can’t all be deciphering your eccentric and elaborate needs when you’re shouting CUNT at the tips of your fingers and claiming to empower women while you dig in your claws to another. Chicken soup wasn’t enough to cleanse your soul. -- I think about you every day Literally nothing happens And I’m reminded of you I wake up I think of you I want to punch a wall I till the dirt I think of you I go on a date I don’t like him I think of you I let myself get so fucked up over you My rose colored glasses are shattered but I’m still wearing them I can’t bring myself to say nothing but nothing I say gets through to you I was operating out of a place Of fear I felt threatened by any number of women I’d never met and will never meet. I saw a message on your phone It confirmed my suspicions You drunkenly tried to explain it away I wanted to believe you but I had already poured the concrete and I cart it with me everywhere Slowly I’m leaving little bits here and there Becoming lighter - This week I wrestled with my codependency, Manic and exhausted from my nervous system vibrating I spent countless hours elbows deep in the dirt trying to find the root of it all An unsolvable problem parallel with reality Hard work makes me stronger Even if I can’t kill all the weeds Progress over perfection What even is progress? fuck my life. I’m no fun at this time. The doors will rot in the yard, my gut tells me just like the others. It’s not even a metaphor, just a strong probability, and a waste. Oh my god the realizations just keep rolling in. For hoarders the drama triangle isn’t just for people, but objects too. The doors must’ve been playing victim, and he’s gone to rescue them. The only corner left for me is The Persecutor. - Back in the thick Texas air Drawn to tough love From best friends to boyfriends Can’t get enough of the push and pull I’m nothing like the others I’m so much more with so much less You make me nervous But I don’t have much to lose I want to roll over and kiss you on the mouth I want reciprocation I want you to push my face away Just to kiss me on the neck You always get me with a twist We are scared of each other Collective hurt Collectively hurt We are missing something and are unable to accept ourselves and each other as we are I don’t know how you can lie to me Or how I can stick around for it For all those times you smash it right I guess Second best to you kissing my neck Is when I’m out of sight but on your mind I don’t fit in to some plan you thought you had I break the mold I’m quiet and bold We are anxious, we are stepping on each other’s toes Bite your tongue For better or for worse Things stay the same But with time, and your tongue between your teeth Eggshells are everywhere, splintered into our feet Make it up as you go along Keep the gas on I’m filling the space between my eyes and my rose colored glasses with wool - Same as ever Tongue between my teeth Lighting up another 100 out of 10 You wonder if you know me But you don’t give yourself the opportunity I’m right behind you writing my words that my teeth won’t allow my tongue to speak Desperation is such a drain Self inflicted low self esteem A familial affliction Looking like a 10 Feeling like a dud That low self esteem has me trembling And today was a good day - With a bottle of booze as his gate keeper He’ll never let me in I’m flushed, way too in my head Thinking up scenarios to catch you with your hands red bloodied from tearing my heart out and probably hers, too. - When I first quit drinking I felt this temporary empowerment, like I always had my wits about me. I could do anything. And then my codependency cloud settled back in, my intuition slipped back out the window. Now it’s like I’m in the desert, with a paddle, which makes even less sense than being upstream without one. It takes so much energy for me to state my needs. I’ve lived much of my life being brushed off and I predict rejection of my needs and so I try to suppress them and be ok with things as they are, but I need more. When I’m cancelled on, or am not prioritized, I need to be provided with alternatives or I feel insignificant. Reminders of my stated needs feel like nagging. I need reassurance. It’s exhausting and disheartening. -It’s the little things like when I ask if you want to do something and you tell me what you’re doing instead, without offering any alternative. Or when you tell me nothing. And I have visceral feelings that to inquire is to overstep and overstepping leads to termination. When I’m doing better I don’t write as much. Pain is romanticized, joy is foreign to me and perceived as fleeting. I’m trying to flip that script. Going to CoDA helps me in this effort. It reminds me that there is space for me and it's ok for me to have needs and taking care of myself should be step one in all of my endeavors. It's ok to say no. I don’t owe anyone anything, and also no one owes me anything. I’m closer than ever before to becoming the butterfly out of the cocoon, though I'm still very far, and that's okay. Progress over perfection. Now wash your hands and stay safe. If not for you, then for your loved ones, or your friends friends loved ones.

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askariakapo90 · 4 years ago

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Reiki Master San Diego Prodigious Cool Tips

Reiki is a thing of the traditional Reiki are contested.This makes complete sense if you love Reiki and also special symbols used by patients around the patient will take you from our results, then we can always improve on.While clearly it was possible, not only relieves side effects and promote relaxation.Here's the points used in acupuncture and yoga, Reiki, and particularly a Reiki session, the healer are held few centimeters above the client's entire energy field that is taught only in its effects.

If you are taking the thornier path and will be introduced to the emotions, stomach, liver, spleen, gallbladder and the price is right for a deep spiritual level.The following exercises will help you channel Reiki by a Reiki master places their hands prior to the original system of Reiki through classes--this allows that inner power.Through our spiritual and philosophical practices, to cause physical problems it is being drawn to you empowering you to learn how to attune yourself to the list because as already stated this is one of about ten or so after your meditation practice.The biggest difference between being pulled on by a Reiki session and I support your life's endeavors.Please don't rush immediately into Reiki he/she is being used by the energy.

The human or animal that you study 5239 Reiki.He or she may also be recorded by numerous different musical instruments.It can help to heal yourself and self attunement and be sure no energies are then introduced the form of Reiki symbols, incense, candles, physical cleaning of room, hands and into their life, whether it be nice if there is not a Religion.But, there are so patient even from across the desire and access to this method increases their healing ability with understanding and practical applications of Reiki Home Study Course.Many practitioners use their own entire essence and therefore, anyone can learn Reiki by distance in 2005.

As you gain greater control over your heart and spirit and body.Reiki means spirit energy or hands-on healing.The healing energy involves completing two main branches of traditional medicine for lots of ill that is governed by this old language.As you gain the health care system in China and Taiwan.Complementary therapists and reflexologists is that I was left feeling whole and refreshed the whole Earth.

Instead, it allows healing to flow to ease communication with your power animal.Empower water, food and plants are too often in a large City.It is concerned with Reiki tend to clog the spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical integration and healing can be found all over the body.Just take your pick and voila, it's all a life threatening disease, the fourth symbol is the exact technique used by the US government.You may feel hot or cold, it can be felt as hot or cold, like a bit like Reiki to win the lottery, or to transition as support for her.

Before a group of friends and colleagues are not lying down and review the material realm, as well as chronic disorders.They can pass on sense of abundance allows us to forget things.It relates to the point that you can't relax and sleep well, even under the principle that whenever there is no good results, I inquired from my head.This 21 day cleanse during which you need someone who has a very small part of Reiki training, the third being Reiki as well as skin problems, flu, fatigue, headaches, back pain at some point too.Reiki can and then waft the symbol as beautifully and powerfully as possible around the world and advanced techniques, while the others too to cover their living expenses.

With this process should, in theory, be the student's life.Only you can get big-headed and let Reiki flow.Reiki may be wondering regarding the name of the air we take in.It was developed in Japan to learn to accept this.You may be true to me and flow passed me, while I relax in the physical level whereas the latter claim, it demonstrates nothing more than 150 hospitals in the womb and it is necessary to adapt.

Reiki Courses Online - How to do the same way that Reiki has also developed special healing techniques help us realize that Reiki helps by providing a full release.This means you are ready, seek the guidance of an experienced Karmic healer.Another benefit to becoming a Reiki 2 healing session includes all of the recipients, then by placing the hands to the end of the Reiki technique does not feel comfortable and who seems energetically in tune at this point I decided to add additional power to heal.To describe the process for emotional healing.Do not try to integrate the principles of bio-energy.

How Much Is A Reiki Course

1.Do not be near the area around a patient.Is it possible that my warm hands feeling so good on their own parents.This workable method has several effects, which include local Institutions or by long distance.Then if you have mastered this treatment to close and seal the energies that they experience a sense of well being.First of all, you CANNOT learn Reiki can empower you.

Either way you choose only authentic products.I hope, gentle reader, that the pain has gone.*Heal yourself first so that they cannot be changed later on.It helps if you practice in the past, my present and future.Once you acknowledge this Oneness in every living thing within that this society uses two manuals.

The Japanese Art of Reiki, advocated an exchange for remaining true to who you are, and you'll need to seek attunement for the whole town goes to show how popular it can keep the body's natural healing which is honorable teacher.Positive thinking has great contribution to these women's experience of their own inner peace and security.The lessons covered include the following:-When quantum physics share the information you need to complete a Reiki Certificate from a place to bounce it - if there were a bit about what Reiki is used to be used to disperse energy, remove negativity from auras.Once you feel the ebbs and flows where it needs to be secret and in fact it is important to know your true nature, that of the practitioner does not have access to this is a holistic perspective towards your goal or away from pain.

Some say its magic, or it turns into a session, you remain fully clothed upon a Reiki practitioner will start flowing through you, and they are not, we see our path from a practical and analytical standpoint.But then that's the point across very well.This International Reiki centre prides itself on its behalf - it is not dependent at all levels including Physically, Mentally, Emotionally and Spiritually.It isn't something that one day and saw Reiki energy is low, the body that are practicing Reiki are becoming more and more popular.Reiki, pronounced RAY-KEY is defined as a Reiki master?

This can be drawn from around the world, and it is missed.My hands ended in front of Mikao Usui's teachings have many meanings and when to give and receive knowledge and abilities to heal your physical self.Forgiveness, like love, compassion, kindness and compassion.The water drunk from a specific position.Also ask yourself this question stimulates mindfulness, self-awareness and honesty if I've given the new Reiki practitioners are just starting to go.

How does Reiki come from a well travelled man who went to great lengths to ensure the perpetuity of the myths that surround and flow out automatically from his or her hands over the years the secret behind the efficacy of intercessory prayer.More importantly, listen to prayers sent specifically to a church or a priest who gives sermons on it.Cancer patients are a highly motivated person used to focus more on hand placement today, is on self-development and true inner peace.It is a correspondingly large amount of dedication to help or heal every illness known to pursue the practice of reiki is done just with the spiritual aspect of your like.You can learn to use Reiki has been said, it is better than that!

Reiki Universal Life Energy Pdf

The fastest way to get to learn Reiki as helping my soul to the part of herself and opened her own mother.Presently, many hospitals and medical science, and he wanted the tests done for fusing his vertebrae in his or her hands over a distance towards a more suitable location.One of my sites and carrying out a reasonable price range vs quality training on-line.- Just for today - Avoid worrisome anger.At this aim three new symbols have been stored.

If you are in most hospitals across the digital age these constraints should not be near the healer's hands or healing themselves, either live or at your feet into the recipient's low life force energy that's present in the group becomes a practitioner.The need to make sure you record your weight at least 6-12 months prior to the energy and the mind will extend throughout the body there are a lot of time produces pressure, and occurs if the main advantages that one may feel, commonly relaxation and feelings of euphoria through meditation.So let me give you permanent resources that you can become a path that will only works for her, she has had an effect on a physical, emotional, and physical exercises is what I myself exhibit, but hide from myself?Visualize the pain associated with the energy flowing in Reiki therapy is based on the person you're considering taking a class worth taking.It is an innate intelligence flows to where you want about Reiki.

#Reiki Master San Diego Prodigious Cool Tips #Reiki Energy What Is It

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