I don’t enjoy getting political or critical, it just seems to be an epigenetic trigger or some sort of left over of times past that last through bloodlines
I see the State governor have a bit of anger about Federal observance when they are the same one who opens the door
I see people grasping as the basic straws of long laid plans because; we were the “every day man” and what happens on our land in benefit of those already wealthy, is the only thing that matters
I want to scream ” They have been putting this shit on paper for over a century, and the only oversight they ever see, is those in the brethren- pull different sides but still friends in this awkward circle jerk that screws us all in the end- unless something changes, and it’s not just by switching hands in the same cesspool from which it began”
There is never equality in the Equality State- nor equitability or equilibrium because it chimes old rhymes from long lost times held strong only by namesakes and nepotisms, Good Ole boy’s carrying on some sort of nostalgic requim
Bread and circus! Call to the TOURIST- if you live here, you are accused of abusing the privilege to call it home- even born on and in this land I’m told to go elsewhere if I don’t like it- but I have my sights set and this is systematic and systemic- everywhere.
Go along, to get along, lil doggies. Be happy with the scraps in your bowl, if you want better, get a letter of recommendation and apply for the City, State or Federal and let them keep feeding you the rhetoric that there is some sort of separation of church and state
It’s intense to try to articulate that the whole thing is rigged against the everyday human- we see it in false inflation; the degradation of our food, education, and economic systems
I beg the question why we continue to work so hard for organizations that are quite openly showing us their true intentions-
The system and their minions don’t care for more than themselves and accruing wealth- for their weird little groups that seek to keep you busy building things you nor your kin will truly will benefit from, in the long run
I am at a brink, yet again, of not giving a fuck. I am sick of this task and having to daily face the fact that I can’t force anyone to think any way or another- it’s a bother, but I do it
Who knows when some of my words spent may be a bright light or a creative insight that helps someone justifying survival versus the alternatives that seem to want to push us to the edge and give up
I will say it again- I have had enough- and now they throw words back into our face about transparency, accountability and responcibility-
It’s a psychodrama unfolding for years beyond mention, and the only reason I can see it of benefit, is because we are meant to see it so that we can combat it as needed
It’s going to take creative thinking, you can not do things the same way as history- if you do, you actively participate in some sort of insanity that is looking for a better way of expression and acknowledgement
First step- get upset and seriously mad at it, but commit to your better sense- get psychic with this shit- stop playing small, wounded- collectively use your wisdom to ruffle feathers- show up no matter the weather
Second step- collect each other like precious stones that glow with their own knowing- work together- but don’t be afraid to call the BS when it is evident
Third step- be transparent, yourself. You don’t always have to be an open book- giving the TLDR in the first five minutes- take a breath and leave the book slightly ajar, open to answering honest questions with honest answers
Those truly seeking will see what they need to, because they have free will to do so
You know how in written Spanish, there is the upside-down question mark that appears before a written question, and is then finished with an upright question mark? It is simply called an inverted question mark, because statements and questions in Spanish are incredibly similar in structure. It is a pre-emptive demarcation to trigger your mind to know a question is being posed before it is articulated. It is then reinforced at the end of the articulation with a “normal” question mark.
Today I woke up angry- unnecessarily so, in my opinion. So it begged the question as to “why?”
There is nothing wrong with me, and most days I just wake up numb, asking the rhetorical question “This again?” And I only ponder for a moment how many people worldwide who wake up feeling that way. I avoid the ponderance of how many people jump up out of bed, excited to meet the day with open arms and a spring in their step. I’d appreciate accurate numbers if I was to pursue that data at all, and the sad reality is most people aren’t honest enough with themselves to admit, they are more likely feeling numb, angry or foreboding upon opening their eyes.
There is a sense of dread for many people- a desire to hunker down , pull the blanket over their head and go back to sleep. I get it- for many it is hard to have something positive to wake up to, something to live for. This is a byproduct of slowly watching the world continue to spin in predictable, unpredictability. To have to walk through the daily contradiction.
I wish I was a “Happy to jump out of bed person,” but I’m not. I waffle in a space where I am somewhat numb and ambivalent, or like today- angry at nothing discernable. The anger like this is rare- which tells me it isn’t 100% belonging to me. It’s a collective anger, and I am standing in its coronal shadow of ignorance; which then brings me personal anger because I want the data. I want the tea- I want the details and the specifics and if those are being withheld, I am at the mercy of interpretation of vibration and frequency.
I am very attuned to Stress as a vibrational frequency. Stress and I go way, way back in time. She sure is a finicky rascal who often times has a hard job of articulation and clarity.
I had the joy of sharing with my dad, these feelings and I discussed how this is the feeling before a civil upheaval. I made mention that it starts in the home and goes close to home, neighbor against neighbor.
It felt as though I was feeling a dozen angers individually, attached by the same crate. Unified as a stack, a unit, a collection. All are eggs, all came from the same variety of chickens off the same farm- and all of them want to be thrown at someone or something. I know it’s a weird metaphor, but it’s the visual that came up when I was first trying to articulate this to myself, in order to get to the cash crop of this mental aberration.
Today, everyone feels like an idiot- including myself, to one degree or another. We have been a collective set of idiots, trusting other idiots for truth and well meaning.
What really came in, was the service minded, service attitude of heart-people. They take the brunt so often and rarely get a break because they are, dare I say: busy bodies. They are always open to being a helper, even to their own detriment. I know this because I’ve done it, and there is no work/life balance there- it’s just help until you run yourself ragged, collapse, deny you need a break and jump right back in.
The energy bucket diminishes slowly, but surely.
Helper people break their own backs, and often they refuse the rest they need while also having a hard go of just enjoying the time they actually have to recalibrate because the philosophy is “go, go, go! Do, do, do! I’ll stop when I am dead.” Actively avoiding the opportunities, they may get interim to stop and smell the proverbial roses and clap themselves on the back for a job well done.
Helping can become an addiction, and not in a good way when it comes to self-sustaining energy. When helpers crash- they crash hard.
As my day moved on and I moved through my emotions and settled in the weird internal world that I have so carefully cultivated- the home dynamics shifted as I went inside to take a carefully cultivated shit.
The moment I walked through the door, the energy was screaming “FRENETIC!”
This is a sign to me that there is unspoken stress. As I go through therapy and try to untangle myself from the emotions around me, I fight the story line that I am the problem, and I am the reason for this vibratory change. When I use my eyes and ears, it’s very clear this isn’t about me. I am observing something that I am close to but cannot currently touch.
I asked one simple question with a curious smile- and received a short answer, a sharp look and pursed lips. It wasn’t the time to discuss this with me. So, I mirrored the look as a reception that I got the context and made a silent exit stage left.
It’s fine that I don’t get all the piping hot tea in the heat of the moment- but my curiosity is equally burning. I have a feeling, I know what’s up, kind of- but I want confirmation in words. I have to keep self-awareness to not slip into speculation- which is hard to do.
Here is what I will say in regard to my ability to sense vibrational shifts, which may be useful; my awareness of connection is multi-dimensional. Sometimes it is directly connected to those I am related to, and sometimes it is because it is a collective feeling many people across the world are feeling in tandem.
When I woke up with the anger feeling I knew it wasn’t 100% mine, it was relational and collective.
It is said that vibrational sensitivity is connected to trauma and self-preservation for survival. It becomes attuned so that the vulnerable can preserve their safety. The body awareness shifts into overdrive because things are not being directly communicated or articulated.
Vulnerable people are often kept in ignorance because they are not seen or perceived to be strong enough to “handle the truth.”
This is very strange because vulnerable people are often times the first to learn how to cope and read information via vibration and things left unsaid. They sense discomfort coming on the horizon, so they adapt accordingly to maintain that safety and self-preservation. So, in many respects they are actually very mentally strong and adaptable in that way of their perception. Often times, they don’t feel socially allowed to speak to that strength.
Personally, I want that knowing because I am a problem solver. I want that articulate communication so I can discern if it is a vibration I need to hold space for, realizing it isn’t mine, so I can creatively transmute it with intuition and awareness.
Regardless, whatever happened today, did not happen to me, directly. It did directly affect my energy, and sometimes I have to fight the idea that people play me for the fool versus utilizing my strengths to benefit us all with solutions that are often times overlooked, ignored or scoffed at.
ME: “Let’s find solutions together with our various experiences and personal diversity!”
THE WORLD: “Bad idea. Let’s do it the way it has always been done.”
It’s wild.
Either way it was nice to get this off my chest, and to work it through in various ways. I wrote in my journal, I re-examined it here, which will lead me to create a visual art piece to assimilate it all together in a transmutation.
Tomorrow will be a new day, a different profile of emotions and new information. I take it as it comes and use it for the best- that’s the best I can do.
¿Maybe, tomorrow I won’t wake up with an inverted question mark?
When suffering from depression, or mental illness; it can be very hard to live in domestic partnerships. This is especially true, when the partner of the sufferer, has no interest in gaining coping skills to off set some of the dramatic emotional upheavals that are bound to occur.
We don’t plan our depressions; it can take years and years of self awareness to pin point all the potential triggers, as often times they tend to be more subconscious programs. Dates, places, and phrases can, and often times, will set off a new bout of despair.
When the despair hits, it leads to an overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, and alienated. These feelings amplify self criticism; making the already annoying self critical response clock in off the charts. A pervasive weight of ” I can do nothing right.” and “It’s all my fault.”
The thoughts and feelings that you may have had on “good days” now are second guessed and reduced to illusion. That voice of illusion, says “No one really loves you. No one ever will.”
It’s hard not to feel crazy when logic and emotion collide in the confusion of depression.
This is a piece I wrote while in a domestic partnership, that led me to spending a night in jail for domestic violence. I started attending drug, alcohol, and domestic abuse classes for court.
Many times through the 7 months that I attended, I asked my partner to come with me; as I felt they were sharing a lot of useful information. I also thought it would put us on the same page, so that we could move forward, together.
However, he was not interested in those classes; which said to me, he didn’t really care about Us. It broke my heart, and inevitably we split up. For years, I wondered, “what if? What if he was invested in my desire to get better? ”
I have since had to move on from that, and accept where I am, and who I am today. I know that not just any one can handle the unforeseen upsets of the future. It will require strength, patience, and cooperation.
When Words Signal the End.
This frustration builds. This love, a lie. And I am burning for more than this disappointment.
I am yearning for more than this fear of abandonment.
Alone with these thoughts and feeling, despite the activity around me; this soul is closed. All the doors are closed.
We can’t communicate. You say my reality isn’t valid.
It really isn’t yours to judge, but you do; constantly.
You blame me for being some fucked up artist.
It isn’t that, at all.
Can’t you see, sometimes we are both wrong.
No. You control. You blame. Nothing changes.
You bribe the master, waiving possibilities in my face. Nothing is ever manifest; it finds itself as watered down truths, dripping lies from your lips.
I am down, because you keep me there.
I am mad, because you show you care, in the most fucked up ways.
Days later, you apologize; so we keep riding the storm.
Love borne Hate. Emancipation is evident. All of this too late.
I am debating my hate; trying to hold my love, but I am drowning.
It’s astounding to watch from the wings, as I take swings at your face.
Wasting time, like it’s easy to buy; when really it’s hard to replace.
I want for you to show me something real; but the wheel of life turns and this heart burns with heartache.
Love is a dish best served cold, old and mouldy upon a paper plate. Swarming with fly larvae,
It isn’t tangible; it causes vertigo as my brain starts to go south.
My mouth a cesspool of verbs and curving words; they slice like a knife, through this paper flesh.
Should I regret this venture?
It’s too late, this path paved with good intentions, gone awry.
The repetitive question; Why, why, why me?
Why this mess? Why?
I confess; I am the mess. I am the beast with talon feet. I am the rage and the endless sadness. The builder of madness and tears that never seem to dry.
I try, but you call me the catalyst… The baddest bitch, you know.
Blow by blow your words knock me down, and add to the scowling.
Sweet inner child caught in the frowning, forgetting recollections; the brief reflections of innocence.
I am just an artist, with nothing to show; but a hole in my head where I’ve let these words go.
Madge Midgely 