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.

Physical Labor

I envy those on the show Ax-Men...all chewing tobacco, coarse language, and springing nimbly from log to log while hoisting chainsaws well over their heads. (My Sunday evening lull-to-sleep telly).

I've never been that type. I don't mind being physical, but I certainly don't seek it out. Call me lazy, if you think it fits. But when it's necessary, I can strap on my Nikes and become the formidable Amazon. (Note to self, get a crossbow. Or spear.)

Yesterday was one of those moments.

Today, however, will be the complete opposite. My muscles and bones will be taking a nice comforting break, courtesy of three Netflix movies and an 11 am massage appointment.

Will it make all the difference?

I've always detested Robert Frost. Standing at a fork in the road, poetically rambling about his indecisiveness.

Decide already. Left. Right. It doesn't matter, just do it.

But I'm standing at a fork in the road. And I'm poetically rambling, even if only in my own head, about my indecisiveness. And there is this pale rope around me, and it's pulling me in one direction. And that rope feels wonderful. And rough. And comforting. And frightening.

Dialogue with Understanding

You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

From T.S. Eliot, East Coker.