I bought this little chime designed to hang from your car rear view mirror. The sentiment is one that I've heard a lot over the years. I even went so far as to seriously study breath work with David Elliot when I lived in Los Angeles. (Short bit on You Tube... ). At any rate I've been "working" with breath for a long time. I feel that smoking is a testament to my understanding of the importance of breath. More than someone who doesn't or has never smoked... I get it. I understand what it's like to breath deeply, frequently, on purpose. To "need" to do that, to sacrifice for it, to plan for it, stress over it, yearn for it... Every smoker knows what I'm talking about. The breath is linked to smoking and nicotine... but intimately connected.
I met with my therapist April Hannah a couple weeks ago with the specific intent of releasing emotions. I have experienced for the last several months what I describe as emotional constipation. I have numerous episodes of getting "choked up" - on the verge of tears - but never actually crying. Menopause you say? How the fuck would I know? I've never had menopause before, like a virus that lasts for years... Everyone's experience seems to be so different the reports from others is completely unreliable. The cause, anyway, is totally without consequence. The fact is I feel a desperate sense of heartache that is stopped up, halted, stunted, unexpressed. I know I don't have the tools or experience to actually express these feelings in a safe, fearless, courageous way. I was stunted in my own emotional expressional growth by both of my fathers. One of those long sad, sad tales of woe that is, once again, unimportant.
I'll have to continue this later...
August 1st... I just noticed that the post above didn't actually post to the site when I wrote it on the 23rd of July. How odd... apparently not meant to be. I'm testing now to see if adding this comment will somehow register the rest of the text.
I'm still breathing and dealing with breathing and loving it.... testing... testing...
What shall I forgive this day to amuse and delight?
I decided back in November 2015 to make my poetry available and journal online. I'm not exactly sure what "blogging" means but I am quite sure this is an online journal. Feel free to read on with an aire of open minded curiosity. At no time do I intend to offend, judge or pretend to know anything really, I'm just an observer and explorer, as we all are. Feel free to "boldly go" through my observations and perhaps it will spark or inspire. Comments are off because I don't want to be worried about political correctness when I'm writing. I'm not thinking about "you." I'm just writing because it feels "right". Feel free to enjoy or surf on.
Fibber McGee's closet!