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Colorfully-See-Through-Head

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Friday, December 09, 2005

Wild and Raging

Ahh, but soft!  Methinks I scent a storm.
It cometh on stinging wind, but
e’il though it be, it hides
hic et ubique even on the soft
wings of blessed angels.
What springes have you laid, you
damnable omnipotent being some
call God?  We live and die, yet
to what means?  To posset then
rot to dust? To spend eternity in
purgation, though to no avail, for
human sins outnumber grains of
sand and twinkling stars.
February 5, 1992

That’s the journal entry I choose to quote because it’s how I feel tonight.  I feel like Lear raging at a wild storm, dancing barefoot on the top of a grassy hill while the wind tugs at my hair and clothes.  Oh no, no, I’m not insane.  Not at all.  Nor was I then, not really.  Maybe just a little overwhelmed.  You see, I have this _problem_ with, well, as Lande put it, “There is not room in your life for all those who will choose to be close to you…”

Eh, that leads me to an entry on _doors_ but that will have to wait for tomorrow.  This morning I’m feeling altogether too fragile and broken and beaten to try to piece together my thoughts on that matter.  Mostly, right now I just _feel_ and what I feel is a void, an emptiness, a frightening bit of chaos swirling in a vortex of dangerous emotion that transcends the mundane experiences of my life.  It’s a longing for more, condemnation for human fallacies (especially my own),  appreciation for hedonistic pleasures, a wild need to just… GO.  That’s really it.  This feeling of being weighed down, trapped, soldered in place, that just drives me nuts.  I hate feeling stagnant.  I hate feeling caged.

If I could just hop on my horse and ride off into the sunset - explore strange places, meet new people, adventure as my heart aches, listen to the wind, break bread with the ghosts of the forest, sing loud, and long and laugh harder than ever before at nothing but the sound of my own tears… my God.  Then, I could really say I’ve lived.

Reality doesn’t allow for this.  I am a wife, a mother, a _responsible citizen_ - not a wild fae or a gypsy queen.

At least I can still dream.

Posted by Liberty on 12/09 at 04:39 AM
Posted under: Colorful

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Comments

Kali  at  12/09/05 06:22 PM

“I am a wife, a mother, a responsible citizen – not a wild fae or a gypsy queen.”

You are, in fact, all of these.

I work 70 hours a week in the corporate world at a job I love, but that requires many sacrifices in terms of my “freedom”. However, I refuse to believe I am any less of a wild fae, gypsy queen, or a hopelessly idealistic bohemian than I’ve ever been.

Our circumstances do not define us, we do.

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