She drew a box
Like a teeny tiny little girl inspired by the little Prince
Telling everybody she used to put in boxes;
The lamb you are looking for is inside
To many her drawing made no sense
Have you lost your marbles they said?
Maybe the girl replied, but not my imagination
Find your inner child too and come see
More than you ever imagined Love to be
No longer drawing conclusions
We all have faith in something
No one of us can change this fact
We cannot erase our subconscious
We cannot know our unknowns
What we are still to learn
We are in the dark about
Unlearning the not yet learned would be impossible would it not?
The sieve of our subconscious calls its shots
Making us all impossible imposters from time to time
Never mind me
Are you tired of being judged? I guess being misunderstood is the name of the game in life. We are all measured, judged, labeled and put into boxes where we do not belong. Or if we indeed belong or partially so the reasons for this are not even remotely understood by the accusers. A depressing process that does not stop until that final box five feet under.
This topic weighs heavily on my heart and maybe it does on yours too? I am not here to claim my innocence, after all my DNA is part of the human-race. Aiming for that complete stillness though.
From an evolutionary perspective we are talking about a great tool to ensure survival. Friend, enemy or someone to reproduce with? Beneficial information, but beyond that not so great. Based on merely fragments of information the human-mind generate complete personality profiles of virtually everybody observed. The main problem being that this is as credible as a fox’s report on number of chickens left in the chicken coop. Now what if a person hurts our feelings, but that offender never intended to? Then, who holds the ultimate truth?
Who makes these changes?
Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.
I should be suspicious
Of what I want.
The wind growls and howls
Yes, the wind growl and howls
From order and construction
Came chaos and destruction
Hammering waves of salt
Came in for assault
This scene was quite obscene
Like a nightmare never seen
A minuscule little boat
Was trying to stay afloat
Asking questions was her thing
But who could hear a thing
Under the deafening sound of the wind
Even louder than before
Ever, ever increasing more
The wind screams and stresses;
As labor progresses
One broken toy …
Let us call her Joy
Not knowing how to prevail
Until she turned her sail
The birth of valuable lessons
A sea of personal confessions
On the other side of this disease crippling me today there is life. I had a fever for several days recently, something ignored as much as possible. Today of course paying the price! I am such a slow learner:-( So, rest has forced its way into my life. Supported by my mind when reread one the blog-posts written when fever was at its worse, and it was not good. It was like the fight mode my body was/is in just permeated through the whole thing. So, blogging will have to wait for my good health to return.
I hope you stay healthy and not get this or any other diseases.
The first blog-post when I came firmly back here on WP was well received. It was a happy blog-post, oozing with positive vibes. After this different, eye-opening and controversial issues were dived into. That is when views and likes went downhill. Not that follower levels are high at this point, technically this is only the start of my second week. The weird and strange thing is though that I am more at peace now than blogging back in the days. Quite unequipped I was to handle follower numbers approaching 400. It feels strangely calming to not have to deal with that many views or likes. Also, I think that even though that some of my content are not preferred by the crowd does not mean it cannot be valuable and meaningful to someone. Math is not my strong side, but statistically it should be possible. Perhaps somewhere along the line, there might come a soul or two that find great comfort and company in all of this. Someone that feel that this is a place where they can let their guard down and be themselves. Be loved for whom they are, not how people around them want them to be. So, maybe I am the Christian Kimmy Gibbler of the blogging world. So what? Maybe somewhere on the horizon there is a group of creative, open-minded souls that one day will embrace our weirdness together. One strange step at a time.
On the stage of life be yourself everyone else is taken.
I hope you find encouragement in this:
If I could not handle not being good at something, then how could I consider myself a successful person?