Peace in the stillness

take me away to a different place
to the ocean or to outer space
and all of these complications disappear
and all that is left
oh all that is left is the peace that i hold here

so please, would you please let me close
oh let me close my eyes
'cause all I need at this moment, hey, is a lullaby
ooh is a lullaby
ooh is a lullaby

and the ocean is where i need to be
and i hope that this song can carry me
and if you like, well, you could come with me
and i will show, i will show you everything that you need to see

-lullaby lyrics, trevor hall

It's been a long couple of months, full of alternating moments of great sadness and irrepressible joy. I hit the off switch on my libido, and the freedom I feel is indescribable. And necessary.

Tactile

Long ago I retrained myself to write gracefully. Not the words, but the act of putting pen to paper. I practiced for weeks. A A A A a a a a. B B B B b b b b. It worked. I have excellent penmanship.

But I rarely use it. My longhand notes at work are purely for my own use, not for the enjoyment of others. But I do keep a little journal, sometimes pre-blogging there, or jotting stream-of-consciousness phrases that long to be made into poems. 

Yesterday I found some lovely note cards. Beautiful paper, very textured, with gilt envelopes. Now I am leafing through my address book, wondering where to send them...

I don't want to be here now, the product of an experience I can't quite remove from my head. This silence is a step back, a deep breath. 

Namaste.

Silences

People tend to fill a void. With action, or words. I'm not that way. I don't mind a comfortable, companionable silence. I don't feel the need to fill that space with endless chatter about trivialities. Most of the time. I do have my chatty cathy moments, generally due to overstimulation via caffiene.

Sometimes, though, I observe myself and my silence and wonder if it seems like disassociation or reclusiveness. I suppose that is true to an extent, I can be quite the hermit. I've always understood that my tendency towards solitude is more about enjoying myself rather than not enjoying others. Is that vanity? Or acceptance? Or enlightenment? I'm not sure, but I have been told that I seem cold and distant. I don't intend it, it is just a natural consequence of my quietude (in all definitions of the word).

I am at peace. With who I am, who I have been, who I am becoming. With my weaknesses and faults, with my strengths.

This is a nice place to be.

Speechless

I keep coming here, with the intention of writing something. Anything. I end up staring blankly at the screen for a few moments, then running off to shop online for hammocks.

Of moderate interest...I found two 'stories' from when I was in high school. One was run of the mill Penthouse forum-variety. The other was of a more D/s nature. All along I thought I hadn't discovered this until my mid-to-late twenties, only to find it was in me much earlier.

In me. Snicker.

Flannel Pajamas

There is finally a touch of fall here, and I'm entertaining myself with thoughts of fireplaces and hot chocolate. A dog is curled up next to me, one eye blinking lazily at me when I stir. It's peaceful, at long last, my head is clear.