there is just one day in the calendar of action-- today
i realize prayer is the preserve of the powerless and confused
i planned to pray more because somehow it keeps coming at me. in different ways. i cant make sense of the endless faces and spirits about me. and those who appear to me, behind lids, standing in my salon and bedroom. i think to pray because of the flowing comments of my artwork; an art that I myself do not intend or create but believe is guided by an unseen hand, which is as much the message sent and received. i think to pray to give my soul some calm in a turgid turbid storm that has been raging and running for thirteen to ten years now. but as i picked up a book of inspirations i was given last year, and started reading , i realize how we run and go to prayer to make sense of what makes no sense. magical realism for physical distortions and economic matrices and psychologically complex and twisted rabbit hole labyrinths . cause what i remember clearly was how i prayed diligently, in and throughout previous lives. and what did it land or yield me. am i not in this boat and i have i not swam sailed or been thrown out - surviving other rivers. and that is what i get to. no matter what it seems like we never know what is happening in the invisible. and so for that, we hold on, and keep praying and reading of King Solomon, David, Job, Rumi, Isaiah, Esther, Ruth, and Lillith
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i was jumping out of my skin, not wanting to be still, feeling closed in by walls. too much went on in 2013...for me to make sense of, make peace with and go on with clarity. Not that i have any of those things but at least now, it is good to be home/good not to be pulled. i can sit in repose. i look forward to cocktails at home, evening films, books i take forever to get through . funny i also think of not meeting people. i wake up today and wonder what has it benefiitted me the people i have met. except for a few who i would cleave to and they me, and even in those situations there are some hinges that obfuscate and prevent that...so what is the point? did you know after a certain age, meeting people is futile, you neither open up to each other as in youth when life and years and experiences are so before you and much of nothing has destabilized your soul...and i write that and think...from twenty two i was going through with the loss of my brother. at thirteen being hit by a yellow new york city taxi and at twenty three or so running my brand new toyota corolla sport coupe under a tow truck life flashed before my eyes. that was before twentyfive when kids are still being kids. shit like that fucks up our physical auras and energy fields, vibrations to receive and maintain/ shit like that fucks up your life forever...the loss of a beloved sibling. my brother at not more than nineteen tried to run two guys off the road going up the 95 turnpike for giving me a bad drive. yelling through the window, "dont fuck with my sister"...he did not know...he was leaving me for endless dicks and ducks to fuck with me...
But JOB told me to change the narrative, bless his soul...so I am just telling you-- how it feels good not to be on the move and to be still to a point where the spirits and all know where to find you. no obstructions
i read something too about chasing dreams when in fact it is behind you. you need to sit still so it can catch up
make of this rambling all that you will
my life might be an inspirational chart possibly
have a happy
i realize prayer is the preserve of the powerless and confused
i planned to pray more because somehow it keeps coming at me. in different ways. i cant make sense of the endless faces and spirits about me. and those who appear to me, behind lids, standing in my salon and bedroom. i think to pray because of the flowing comments of my artwork; an art that I myself do not intend or create but believe is guided by an unseen hand, which is as much the message sent and received. i think to pray to give my soul some calm in a turgid turbid storm that has been raging and running for thirteen to ten years now. but as i picked up a book of inspirations i was given last year, and started reading , i realize how we run and go to prayer to make sense of what makes no sense. magical realism for physical distortions and economic matrices and psychologically complex and twisted rabbit hole labyrinths . cause what i remember clearly was how i prayed diligently, in and throughout previous lives. and what did it land or yield me. am i not in this boat and i have i not swam sailed or been thrown out - surviving other rivers. and that is what i get to. no matter what it seems like we never know what is happening in the invisible. and so for that, we hold on, and keep praying and reading of King Solomon, David, Job, Rumi, Isaiah, Esther, Ruth, and Lillith
------------
i was jumping out of my skin, not wanting to be still, feeling closed in by walls. too much went on in 2013...for me to make sense of, make peace with and go on with clarity. Not that i have any of those things but at least now, it is good to be home/good not to be pulled. i can sit in repose. i look forward to cocktails at home, evening films, books i take forever to get through . funny i also think of not meeting people. i wake up today and wonder what has it benefiitted me the people i have met. except for a few who i would cleave to and they me, and even in those situations there are some hinges that obfuscate and prevent that...so what is the point? did you know after a certain age, meeting people is futile, you neither open up to each other as in youth when life and years and experiences are so before you and much of nothing has destabilized your soul...and i write that and think...from twenty two i was going through with the loss of my brother. at thirteen being hit by a yellow new york city taxi and at twenty three or so running my brand new toyota corolla sport coupe under a tow truck life flashed before my eyes. that was before twentyfive when kids are still being kids. shit like that fucks up our physical auras and energy fields, vibrations to receive and maintain/ shit like that fucks up your life forever...the loss of a beloved sibling. my brother at not more than nineteen tried to run two guys off the road going up the 95 turnpike for giving me a bad drive. yelling through the window, "dont fuck with my sister"...he did not know...he was leaving me for endless dicks and ducks to fuck with me...
But JOB told me to change the narrative, bless his soul...so I am just telling you-- how it feels good not to be on the move and to be still to a point where the spirits and all know where to find you. no obstructions
i read something too about chasing dreams when in fact it is behind you. you need to sit still so it can catch up
make of this rambling all that you will
my life might be an inspirational chart possibly
have a happy
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