“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

ain’t that the truth.

“Numbing the pa…

so the hair loss has gotten increasingly worse as of late.

i’m sorry for being so antisocial but currently the only things holding me together are , yoga kickboxing, nature and the limited amount of people that i feel comfortable around.

please don’t think that if i don’t respond to correspondences that i am rude or distant. i am incredibly focused on figuring out/preserving my health/sanity at the moment and merely hanging out in front of mirrors makes me cry – let alone hanging around with other people.

finally getting a bunch of blood and hormone tests monday (thank odin, my incredible roommate and 21st century medical technology) hopefully there will be some light with the results that will help me in continuing the fight to accept the situation and surrendering to it.

anyway, fall is approaching and the trees are going to lose all their leaves and i have yet to see one start crying, having a panic attack or attempting to leave the forest in search for a cave.

they remain still, strong and calm all the way through winter knowing that spring will come and with it new leaves.

if i can learn something from them and their presence i know everything will be alright.

the deeper part of me knows that this body, this life and this current state of loss is all temporary but sometimes we just need to fall to our knees for a bit.

i hope when i stand back up my perspective will have shifted for the better.

with infinite amounts of love and strength,

c

Image

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
― Hermann HesseBäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

trees don’t cry in winter.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou

i had a dream this morning.

i was in a factory. being a factory worker.

my dad was there. and some other people as well i guess.

during the lunch break i sat up high with my legs crossed and impressed the cafeteria.

i lifted a quarter with my mind. i focused incredibly hard and raised it from the floor. at first it was a bit shaky. it would rise an inch, teeter and return. i remained strong in will and determination and eventually had full control and swung it toward the gathering crowd. then i used my mind to condense a cooked bag of spinach back into a frozen package. don’t ask me what that even means. but i did it.

at this point my dad told me he had forgotten how amazing i was.

i was awakening an inner power. i felt raw, energized, wild.

some women restrained and escorted me to a back room. after just realizing my potential of lifting coins and condensing spinach they wanted to make sure i was kept inside obviously. they put me in a cage like room. it was hot and dry.

fire was boiling in my veins. i looked in the mirror. my eyes were white and rolling around in a black liquid. my teeth were sharp. there was blood smeared all over my mouth.

i saw myself so clearly in that moment. i felt the fire burning so strong. then i woke up.

i’ve been going through this sort of awakening with waterfalls of energy being released more and more each day.

i have to tell about this experience, how i think it has manifested and see where it eventually takes me.

hopefully i’ll be able to sleep better at night without this story, my story, playing over and over within my head.

i haven’t let it out yet. i’ve cracked the windows a couple times, felt the faint breeze and awakened this inner wolf. she is obviously incredibly hungry for release and if i don’t comply she will continue to ravage my life – destroying everything that i attempt to build.

so cheers to opening the doors. beginning new eras.

and floating quarters.

 

hypnotic

untold.