It is a probability more than a possibility that no one will read this. I'm okay with that, I don't need the masses to read my thoughts. I don't even need the people of my thoughts to read my thoughts. I just felt convicted for some reason to write here. I never come to livejournal anymore... I don't know why I'm here now, but I'm having all these thoughts, and some are conflicting, and I just need to get them down before I can sleep tonight.
A person cannot undo a thing they've done, cannot un-say words they've said. These things are like rain, they will land somewhere. They will either foster growth, or overwhelm and drown any life they come across.
What I know for certain is I am a gardener, in this great demesne of life. It is my job, my conviction to want things to be green and healthy and thriving, and it breaks me when they're not. It hurts when precious cuttings don't take root, or when something I loved dearly simply wears out and wilts away.
I don't understand why these things don't hurt others. How can a person genuinely not care that something around it is dying? How can it be that someone could watch the same beautiful, robust plant slowly turn away from itself, fighting to survive, and not want to help it?
Maybe that's the lesson after all. I thought it was love, but I was already skilled at that. I already knew how to love and give with my whole heart, I didn't need to be taught. I thought it was joy, but my life is a fountain of it.
Maybe the lesson is simply that people are different.
Not stupid things, like the music we listen to or the language we speak... the things that matter. Our hearts and minds. I thought everyone was the same as I am, I thought everyone wanted to love everyone else! I thought trust and love and joy were things EVERYONE held sacred, things all people everywhere, young/old/smart/dumb/deaf/blind/man/woma
But this is not so. I would not believe it, but I have seen it with my own eyes. A person can willfully turn from a dying thing, and let it return to dust without a second thought. The reason we save things is because we love them, we care for them. You have to show a plant you care for it, you can't just say, "Wow, posies! You sure are beautiful. I love you!" and expect them to live. They have to be cared for, they have to be shown how you feel. They'll respond accordingly.
I never asked for more than the sun to warm and light my way, and water for my thirsting roots. When you ripped me out of the ground and threw me in a cellar, after I had shown you how to care for me with very little effort, I knew you must not care, especially when I blossomed whenever you needed me to, whatever colors you wanted. It's little effort, not effortless. Nothing worth keeping is effortless except sleep and joy. Was it always? Did I ever really matter? Or was it just nice to have me around because of how I felt for you? I must take fault, too. I wasn't blameless. And I made it effortless. If I hadn't reached out, if it hadn't always, ALWAYS been me searching after you, would it have been different?
I don't understand. I suppose I don't have to. Psychologists claim to be masters of the human mind, but when one comes forth claiming to be a master of the human heart, I'd like to meet him.
You can't undo what you've done, and can't un-say what you've said. I don't think you would anyway (you're not the sort), but I can change how I feel about it. I know better now-- You weren't the once-in-a-lifetime I thought you were; I see very clearly now that you are the wall paper that was once in fashion, and I don't follow trends. You'll always be in the room, but you don't control it anymore.
So this is it. I'm letting go. I don't ever need to talk about it again, or feel this way again. I don't need to express this further than this paragraph. I have more important things to hold onto, and this pettiness does not satisfy that need. You're not enough for me. You're not worthy of my attention anymore. If you had wanted things differently, you would have shown it. With no ill-will, no more bad feelings, without being hateful or superior or something else entirely I can leave what we were in the past, where it belongs, and it can be what it is: a lovely memory. I can heal, and work on deciding if this new man is worthy. If his words and deeds will nurture something lovely, or land me back in the swamp. Finis
Dear God, dear World, dear My Life:
I just need you to know how grateful I am to you. How wonderful you are, and how much joy you bring me. You've given me these amazing tools and experiences to shape who I am. While I lack the mind of the sculptor, while I am not capable of seeing the dazzling life within the cold block of stone, it does not lessen my appreciation as all the finite debris tumble away revealing exquisite beauty as only you can create. What a thought!
Who I am, as I am right now, is beautiful.
I have come to the right place, and everything that has happened has happened for the best (of all possible reasons in this best of all possible worlds). Amazing things are at work in my life as I write this, things I can't possibly anticipate or understand or imagine for myself. But I know they're coming all the same because I feel it, because you can imagine them for me. Someone is coming to warm his hands by the fire of my spirit, instead of trying to stamp it out because he's afraid of it. I know this. My voice is becoming something a person would pay to listen to... slowly, but surely. My passion for what I do is the best fuel I could have asked for. It will get me through the trials inside and outside my body.
My spirit is stronger than any that might overtake me. My God is with me, and that is all I need to know.
I feel better. : ) Maybe I'll start writing more frequently, although aside from this I've been a lady of few words lately. I did feel compelled to hit the "remember me" button on the way in. But who doesn't?
Goodnight. : )