Barely finding time inside

Blurting out some story ideas and somehow there's some nonfiction in there coming from within...

I just ran right out the door and didn't look back, ok but only once and then afterwards not again.  The street was deserted anyways and for the most part so was everything within me, gone but not forgotten, the moods, the stress, the thoughts and the fears.  All I wanted was to get to somewhere new and see what that held.  Picking fruit and living in a caravan, finding walking sticks in the woods, wandering from market town to market town and writing poems for people on the spot, walking as far as possible on a limited amount of drinking water before falling aghast and starving at the feet of some poor unsuspecting stranger's door.

All of these things crossed my mind as I got to the bus stop and got on the number 22, all those old preoccupations would have to leave, numerology, looking for meaning in things without any instinctual basis, any emotional resonance, was no more.  My mind has played far too important a role lately and has from what I can remember in a hazy year, played that role with impropriety and abandon, since taking over as the understudy when I lost my head, my heart, my body and soul to the desire never to feel anything, never to have to make and stick to the decisions that would take me forward.

You see fear has ruled my every move, from the times when backed into a corner I have made progress, to the occasions many to name but none fondly remembered when I just threw myself into situations without knowing or thinking and won some kind of recognition, you see thinking is my worst enemy, if I have time to think I can worry myself silly and decide beyond a shadow of a doubt that it ain't for me this thing called life.  It's far too scary, the world is just too big, too full of ideas, just too much for me to handle.  Then came the day I was capable of handling the things that scared me, and jumped in with both feet, only to find the water far too deep for such an inexperienced traveller of the shores of possibility.

So I shrink inside, take on all the self loathing of old, reignite the fire of destruction and set it alight to destroy any confidence, any idea of progress forward, I don't deserve it, I'm not good enough, haven't had enough practice, I just don't know what I'm doing, can't take the pressure, fold, crumble, collapse, implode never explode, still resonating, still so easily brought to mind those things of the old, those things I did without thinking, those times I let myself be drawn, hung, quartered until there was just the small matter of a tiny voice outshouted by a louder one that said no-one will ever love you, you're a miserable excuse for a human being, those closest to you know what a shite you are or they'd comfort you, ask how you are feeling and actually listen to the answer.

They'd take you seriously or challenge the times when you sound like you're making things up as you go along.  The sad truth is they don't know you, and you don't know them.  There's no closeness there just the frivolity of surface jokes and passing off pain as witty remarks.  There's the fact that they take the easy way in and out of every situation, would rather not deal with the day to day struggle, and can't cope with the long term issues either so nothing ever gets done.  The attitude coming from them says 'there's no point' so nothing ever happens.  It makes me feel like punching the cunts but that's not me.  My fist might feel like reaching out to them but as always I hold it back from connecting with their fat fucking faces.

I couldn't hit someone with glasses on anyway.

Pain, regret, fear, shame, doubt, burning strong within.

I can't decide the answers and know so many of the questions now that they all roll into one big mess of nothingness, so all I am left with is the human dimension, the people, the places, the times when I could make a difference, the ways in which I can learn to do so, the spaces in which I may be able to learn from my mistakes, learn from others', make up for all the lost time that I've killed with fantastical mind adventures and daft dreams that now seem more like nightmares.

You said about that ultimate transformation and relief of suffering and lest I faint at the thought, joy unbound, the nothingness returning, that quiet calm not fearing, not always there, but at least a background from which to look out on new horizons, somewhere peaceful this time with some planning permission granted.

This story shall continue...

Creating again
Light &
Love
Jon
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