These days I understand things, and I keep quiet.
What use does the narc have with my incessant telling of the stories of trauma healing, when all it can do is remain on being entraped.
I'll get quiet, and share my silent understanding with it, in that realm of illusional separation it keeps on evading, always submerging in a numbed out reality of ornate fakery and fuckery.
It pretends it's polite, and does nice, but keeps snapping, and losing the maskerade of its calm demeanor.
I was never bragging about my knowledge, I was just always so excited to be sharing, helping, doing this human co-existing on a deep level, but that seems to never be welcome, not four decades ago, not last year, not today.
I sit it in abandoned abundant knowledge and I teach myself more and new ways of humbling, and I get more informed, which humbles me even more.
Simply put, life has a way of feeling like an eternity of endless days and nights and cycles that keeps on repeating. But I do trust the messages of this timeline, they're telling me to hold still, no action is required anymore. No moving, no movements, just grounding.
I sense the launching is nearing. I'm alert, but at ease.
I was prepared, always have been, all the pain too, it did that very thing, of preparation, and other things too.
I often smile in my aloneness, I bask in endless hours of sunshine, and the most beautiful illusion of solitude, for I am indeed on my own and one with it and them all.
But write I must, for what a horrible loss it would be not to savour and cherish the moments, and all the in between's.
You can't tame the fire, but you sure can contain it.
Here's to December fire, and the very end of the autumn fires.
