|
|
I was upset tonight. Turned to chocolate in a "dismal-for-anyone-with-sensibilities-but-buzzing-with-flourescents-and-techno" PC lab. I sat here, tired and frustrated, and frustrated of being tired. I refused to panic, however, for my sake and for Scott's, and buried myself instead in words. Words of my loved ones and words of my own make. As we sat down, Scott made me a gift of a fine radio station playing ALL of my favorites, a blend of folk and indie rock and alternative music. Gradually the music ate through the fear and the disgust. Women with strength in their throats and in their hands lifted up my tired mind. The music opened doors that I had slammed shut tonight, and the words I needed poured right through the opening. With these words--this journal, her journal, your letters, their lyrics--I remembered the power of choice. That I could smile and laugh at this crazy night, and enjoy the music and enjoy Scott's typing presence at my side, or I could feel miserable and overwhelmed with the fact that I had filled my gut with crap and consequently hadn't done anything I considered worthwhile for several hours. But the junk in my gut doesn't matter. It is temporary. Sure, I hate doing stuff like that. Sure, that stuff ain't good for me and ain't going to help me heal. But it's just junk and I refuse to be frightened of it. It can spin me, sure, but it ends there, and I decide where and when. What's most important is what I make of it. This is me. All of me. Sometimes peaceful and whole and floating, sometimes grounded and sure and old, sometimes flighty and happy and giggly and crazy, and sometimes tired and frustrated and bent and bruised. I'm all that. So there's no use spilling tears over a little stumble. I'm no Elf (though I'm as close in my heart as one could be. And no one could love trees and fresh air as much as me or a wood elf like Legolas). But in practice, no, I don't walk with light slippered feet above snowstorms and piling snow. I trudge through it like everyone else, sometimes being tremendously strong and brave, and sometimes falling wimpering and cold. I bleed. It doesn't really matter, I see that now. The point is I don't have to be on top of each storm to be happy. I don't even have to be making a good go of it. I can accept myself wherever I am. Even when I've given up the whole snow truding altogether for the night and have found shelter and distractions for my tired mind. I can still hum at kind, powerful music and laugh at witty words. Nothing can take that away from me. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the music. Shelter and Acceptance, ck [2003-01-26]
Navigation newest letter | older letters
Last five letters Gathering [2009-09-04] ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |