Streams of Consciousness

I don’t write in this category often. I don’t want to share the daily grind. Held back by need for privacy, knowing that vultures are always waiting, insignificant events in the interim. Funny how people hide their shame. Who gives a fuck. It’s all a game of who can judge better, and my heart is thick and egg is good for the skin.

People make me ponder. Why are so many ascended ones still struggling with closed minds? I’m going to listen to my gut instinct on that one. I felt it from day one It just feels off. No need for explanations. Follow the path.

So many things about c-ptsd taken for granted; like why we don’t remember conversations well, or how we met people, or even names that go with faces. We remember what was significant to us. It never matches the other person’s memory. The result, we are perceived as unstable in our thinking at times.

Yet, I observe from an understanding that most people just simply don’t have the facts to be able to understand. I’m tired of explaining. It’s time for people to step up and care in general on a human level. When I see it lacking in someone, the inability to open to altering possibilities, I move on now. I just don’t have the desire to waste any more time. I want to say grow up and read. Be self educated. There’s no excuse. Accept information. Consider it. Weigh it. Open your mind.

Quit taking it all so fucking personal. Truth hurts because you let it hurt you. Instead of letting it water your seedling.

A year of aloneness and inward focus. My eyelids fade to grey. I can tell when it’s not time to speak yet. So I say enough to scatter the bread crumbs and satisfy the watchers.

Grandiose delusions. Just a spark inside infancy. Infinite sea. The more I speak, the more I just want to be silent. Some things are meant just for me, and that’s where acceptance comes to be.

The need to share holds hands with validation. The one who needs none, they say, is the most powerful on earth. Science. Facts. None of it is relevant except for;

The straining to hear
The weariness of human language
The readiness to sleep a thousand years

How comforting that thought.

This mission has been fought with precision, and from where I stand there’s a battle at hand.

I know what will come, and it feels like a shrug.

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