Layered

 

This is what most people think of, when they think of children:  an open space; a jungle gym; a peaceful day.  And yet it's empty.  There are no inhabitants.  Nothing but wildlife to run a muck   The way that it was originally intended to be.  A preserve for those who were here prior to the construction of pieced land.  Animals sneaking their way into the grass, flying so low, so that they can have what humans have made theirs.  Almost as if that small patch is their journey home.  Like Dorothy, just hoping to find their way back.  Back into their reality:  nature.  Untouched by human hand or machine.  Preserved, and still reserved for their rights.  To roam, jump, fly, or climb, just like any other human (minus the flying -- unless on a swing  :-p).

What am I up to these days?

Reminders

*Spoiler Alert - The picture below may not be suitable for everyone*

So many things can make you dredge up the past:  faces, a smell, a picture, a sound . . . a thought.  And when you come face-to-face with that emotion, it can often be too difficult to erase.  Been there, done that.  Reminders are more than just an alert from a calender -- telling you it's the anniversary of something you'd rather forget.  Maybe the reminder is to try and forget -- putting your energy into something else more time consuming.  Whatever it is, reminders can also be a trigger.  

I must say, placing this picture (taken a while back) in my blog was beyond one of the most impacting, yet extremely terrifying moments I've had to overcome.  Just as the following poem that leads after (will be posted soon). 

I'm such an enclosed person, that I never discuss my own emotions -- never wanting to be bothersome.  Most of my friends come to me to vent, but I never let it go the other way.  I'm there -- a bouncing board of ideas as to what to do -- how to stay calm -- how to breathe -- how to be positive.  Why hasn't that worked for me?  Why, now, must I write about the past?  Well, because it just seems to continue bringing its way back into my present being.  And I'm secretly hoping it never makes it to my future.  

Yes, I've tried to kick the habit of being my own psychiatrist -- prescribing my own remedies for unwanted thoughts -- Still trying.  Yes, I've gone days, weeks, months even, without resorting to those habits.  But just as one small whiff of odor can set one into a tail spin, so can one unblocked and blurry image.  

Moment by moment -- that's what happens.  I don't see myself as a person venting.  However, now, I see myself as a person FINALLY being able to speak.  And I hope that in time, I can speak about other moments.