I want to start at gentility but I know that isn’t the beginning. The beginning is a frustrated little bulldozer of a baby not understanding how the things she holds keep breaking. The beginning is seeded with the strength of a little girl who didn’t understand that not everyone (everything) was a running tumble waterfall of rocks and sunlight and lava all the time. She was better when she was alone, different to the other ones, a story we all know. Friendly and sweet and curious, but always the bruises. Every friend flinched when she got angry, when she loved too aggressively. Softness meant weakness. The delicate ones were disgusting because she could never be mistaken for one, the soft ones were weak because even the lightest touch left them bruised. The loathing began there, in those delicate little roots. The loathing of self for what she could never be, the loathing of the object itself. It takes a lot of growing to shed the taproot. A lot of forgiveness, of breaking open the ugly and owning what it’s done. Breaking open the ugly and letting it be its whole self. Loving her and owning her worthiness.

Impostor syndrome and the fear of inadequacy are bastard twins of bed mates. The blunt weapon of being othered for existing a few standard deviations from the current norm leaves brutal and lingering damage. Watching little boys and girls limp and crawl through puberty into young adulthood hobbled by these beatings is heart breaking. Knowing they’re going to go through some version of what you did, because that’s what happens in A Society, doubly so. I don’t hate myself anymore, not for those trivialities. I have never been a delicate person, my bones too heavy, my armor too well constructed, but I have always been a specific kind of fragile, though. Not quite as cool as a bomb, more like Fukushima. I can repair the foundations, seal the cracks and move to sturdier ground, but all that toxicity still exploded and oozed and did its damage. That, I can’t undo. I’m invested in repairing the environments I poisoned, teaching what lessons are available to me to anyone willing to listen. To my children. Learning how to listen.

I don’t hate myself anymore, but I exist with guilt. It seems obvious that all conscious parents exist with guilt in some form- we know we’re fucked up and there’s only so perfect anyone can be. All the moral, semi-emotionally intelligent humans in the history of ever have experienced the guilt and anxiety of recognizing wrongs after commission. I know I experience this in 4D. Maybe 5D, I’m not putting it past my super-conscious mind to be the reason my skin is in revolt. “Take that, you selfish cunt.” Oh I’m taking it. Like a bitch. The jarring reality of how holistically we are affected by …everything?… never ceases to sit me down. The sufferer suffers type shit. Of course it’s not that serious (I mean, it’s absolutely that serious because there’s very little more serious than your fucking growth as a human and how you re/invest that energy into your time here. I’m just not jerking off on the concept of suffering as some kind of noble end.), but the web is endlessly impressive. Breaking cycles takes one small change, and I know how impossible that can seem. Can fuckin be. My daily defeat by Impossible Tasks should embarrass me, but there’s not much left in that bin except for some of the stupid shit I did when I was super busted. This just isn’t my first run through the ringer.

The coolest part of what’s been going on is recognizing that the good parts are getting stronger. They’re being refined by the lessons and tribulations as opposed to redefined. Those tumblers are set. That’s an incredibly good feeling. I couldn’t, at this moment, tell you what any of the Good Things are because I am in that liminal space in thinktime where hard concepts will kill the connection. I don’t even think about the idea of numbers lol. Too definite. Anyway, the tumblers still churning in the spin are the pieces I’ve been working through lately. Going over recent history to find truths and not what my thoughts and feelings convinced me was real. I hate that my relationships are sort of only serving my parenthood, but I guess that’s really how important that role is. The lessons I learned through my mistakes and experiences absolutely apply to all relationships I have across the board, but the only focus I have (and the one that I believe requires the most investment) is on my kids. That massive hammer in my head and its relentless DO. BETTER. BE. BETTER. There are no second chances or do-overs, and they aren’t grown ups who can leave me if I’m hurting them. There’s a healthy level of desperation right up in the meat of that one.

I mentioned to Will the synchronicity I’m experiencing again. How the pull for intuitive introspection, to shatter barriers to perspectives and really get a good look at what -Is-, lined itself up perfectly with the eclipse I was oblivious to. Saw it mentioned on the 16th, the day after it ended. I’m trying to figure out how to hold on to the lessons, because I still struggle to bring things back through the ether with me. I know there are valuable perspectives and lessons on that alone, but I lowkey enjoy doing this on my own. I like knowing I forged that connection and control it without active influence from others. I also know I would probably be much more effective if I shut up and listened to others, did a better job of recognizing and accepting the value that exists in even the people of whom I am not fond. Ego ego ego. I know my power, so to speak, and that had been good enough until now. Gotta figure out where I want to start. I lack the language to express how much I love having several irons in the fire like this. God forge.

I don’t remember what I was even thinking when I started this, so uh. Goodnight.