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Where Have You Been?

I’ve realized one thing. I’ve realized that this “Writer Person” is actually a personality state that visits us, comes out of us, and at times, refuses to come out of us. I’ve missed her. I can only hope that others have missed her too.

One of the things that happened is that we got ourselves involved in a relationship. Inside that relationship, sharing oneself and one’s life with other people really wasn’t a thing encouraged. Our being the morphing beings that we are, we tried to accommodate this lifestyle, to honor the not-always-silently expressed desire of the chosen partner to be private. Guarded. Anti-social. It’s not really our thing. We shouldn’t have compelled ourselves to try and fulfill this type of life.

Fast forward to today. That relationship is gone. The years spent in it have dulled our voice. It’s a relief that it’s over–but we didn’t feel that relief part for quite some time. No. We felt the heartbroken, anguished mourning part. Some days, we mourn still. Especially for the time that we lost with our beloved furkids. The time that we still are losing with those of them left alive.

But life is this way, isn’t it? A series of changes. Of losses. Of grief. Of rebirth.

And are we all reborn? Certainly not! We’re still the same old revolving door of selves. Some more present than others. Some more vocal and forceful. Others dormant. Still others, still screaming inside our belly, trapped in a torment that they can’t share. Not even with us–the ones who carry them forward through that thing called time. We all doubt now that our Screamers will ever be free.

Because, we’re old now, aren’t we? Old and sickly. More sickly than we want to be. More sickly than we think we should be. More sickly than we all think this body deserves to be.

It’s said that the body takes on unexpressed pain. That even artistic and creative expression trapped inside serves to make the physical vessel sick. If so, then having our Writer Person trapped, our Artist Person trapped, our Singer and our Dancer trapped, all shut down for years, perhaps this is the reason for the unwellness and auto-immune issues that plague us.

If the above is true, then we can but pray to the gods and goddesses of our dreams that starting this writing bit up again will help us to heal. Help us to come together better as a working unit. If we don’t obsess over getting things right, reading and re-reading, editing and agonizing over word-choices, if we will but WRITE! CREATE! DANCE! and SING once again! Oh, great joy, then, oh THEN, perhaps we can awaken again…and LIVE.


Posted in My Life Today, Where Am I Now?.

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