In the box: picture of me. middle of the parade, in the excerpt from it is, the usual time: time it sneaks through the back door on cat feet, and before you've provided you is it like this. Sometimes she jumps like a wild beast in the middle of the kitchen table and tears and silence between her hungry muse caught ... While around me the house is empty and the boxes are full, to feel my soul like an animal in a cage too small, like a female, on which seized all over the place and drawn, like a bird in a hurricane ...
I come to my limits, when every day I must decide what things I need to live and which are not. I lose patience when I laboriously the leaves of the winter from all corners and crannies of the garden was swept up and then a playful romp in Frühlinswind midst moves and everything redistributed. I get angry when my Plan A, B and C still does not work and I think all over again and must make.
extraction, which is also a re-productive activity. Do everything again. All the things that I once bought, for which I have found a place now need to provide appropriate, produced and re-accumulates VER: By taking them into the hand in my mind the images associated with them. When I find or have purchased by whom, what stories I've experienced with them. This is all mühseelig and requires a lot of power. More than I had expected.
In general, the expectations and the unexpected. Suddenly, she must come home, all the friends and friends for a coffee, an idea exchange. Leaving that solves the desire of staying here to hold and to ascertain what was and connects. Makes me happy and sad at the same time: I see, but the many created, "poduzierten," says human-made treasures Ties, which are also grown in these 10 years in this place. I'm leaving now. And I wonder how many times I do not see the obvious, can not perceive and wants. Is my everyday has become a habit? I go away, because I hope the sensations from the stranger who now has the everyday not to give again? There is something comforting about
the fact that things are what they are. Change sometimes so minutely that it may already seem like a standstill. What would it be for an effort, every day of convention to assure you again! And yet, even nature knows hurricanes and earthquakes, in order to properly swirl once all mixed up.
But I also recognize that I am one of a slower pace, although I tend to racing speeds, and I often repeat itself. Within hours, I grab a half a house - and then sit there for days and weeks and need to understand the swirling currents of life. My inner animal that longs for orderliness and clarity because otherwise the fear threatens to become all-powerful device, in a panic and runs head first against the wall. And the rest of me is engaged in appeasement. Everything will be fine. When packing a
learn their limits. Yes, I think I can live without a safety net. The unformed, precarious, in constant transition. But what the others say to me about it? There are
let the Spoilers that are most like everything and would rather be than later on the street and thirsts after the adventures that promise you life is and should only make life worth living. would have
Since the Conservative to an anxious, the perfectionist who confirmed everything right, and above all do well. DIN-standard boxes in rows, covered with color-coded and content lists for clarity stacked horizontally. One who is afraid of the impending abyss, and would beat him with propriety. The Catholic in me that still Believes that those who abide by the rules (whose rules?) But a distant heavenly reward day (have to).
and indifference, the beneficiary, the steady, fully irritated the ... Unnumbered. Mesh is so narrow that I like it appears everything is but a network in which many things can catch. And each of them to build their own walls and projections.
packing I can not, I am them and they'll take with me as the weather. Located on the outskirts of my life means access but only to come to terms with all these aspects and to know that if it is to go long here (and who says so, anyway?), then all need to want to run the same direction. Just that they do not just respond to commands. But neither flattering to softly whisper, the subtle variation of the manipulation.
And I note: A lot goes with many things, if one believes not matter at all that there is still something to go. The solutions are sometimes just outside of what one considers to be possible. Nobody here, you can borrow money for much-needed car? As a friend told in the way, on a different stage of Ebay, and buying a suddenly your armchair, of whom you knew not before, whereas with them. The unexpected is not always horrible, but quite often even soothing. And above all probably necessary course correction if eie too much in a fixed direction stares and running. No, for this street, he will not come. But turn around, maybe he has long behind you. And waiting to emerge.
have in the past week I sent to my friends and friends of a poem, "The Invitation" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. In it she asks - among others - according to whether one was opened by the inequities and uncertainties of life, could arise that Walt forces or makes himself small and closes the heart.
Such a question is not easy to answer, and there probably is no ambiguity in it. As a living, meandering Beings, we know both, and both must know, the closure and dedication, even on the painful. The life and living organisms, we are not just either-or but always both-and. And then there are days when I sit and keep my not-always-not-wrapped-things in her arms, hold me in interviews and conversations with people I have never been so important as now, draw me back to my innermost shell and I refuse to step out the door or to open it to anybody.
Until then comes the day, or the age or whatever, because I rip them to power again, the windows let into storm the spring wind and take everything with him blowing his nose blubbery my nose and flowed away.
Also my friend Marie-Louise writes from the loss of the "real truth", the uniqueness and the slow approximations of what may and may want to be. Unfortunately, I have always belonged to those to whom everything is not fast enough. So life teaches me through obstacles to slow down. To be precise and uncertain to be in where I think it already have and know. This is probably what this all goes so fast sometimes, to then turn into viscous: To me the opportunity to be.
It certainly is not certain whether I manage to put these aspects of me in a box, to seal this and to put aside. Some identifications are so fond of a lot. But at least the test I can do: deliver me from the necessity of self-invented unambiguity. Or they at least from time to time to store as a dress. It's still there, there, in the box. If it should ever be necessary because, yes I can unpack any time.
