What I Know
My DS status line has been a question for several years now. "Does what I know blind me to what is at my feet?" I have thought to change it countless times and left it on the basis that I still have need to wonder as I puzzle my way through the millenial round of my family dysfunction. This is the round where I'm the Toxic Mother. My victim stripes arenae bold enough to pass that buck. Throw-away kids grow into throw-away mothers. Life in the Toxic People Landfill isnae as bad as the non-toxic judges and juries have pronounced. The non-toxic judges and juries still feel kindred in spirit to the haters of Plastic People who dominated the fashion blame waves in the throw-away kid camps at the turn of the 60's and 70's. There isnae allot sense to understanding nonsense. Haters will hate. Wasters will waste. Judges will judge. Blamers will blame. Let the mystery be. Healing hopes for all. No exceptions.
The wandering wonder of whether knowledge blinds me to what is at my feet goes just about everywhere, but it seems especially pertinent in the healing of the family dysfunction cycles. However many flashbacks to my own mother are being triggered by my daughter-in-law during this drama of grandchildren in protective custody, my son didnae really marry my mother. Even if he did, both women hide behind literal closed doors to the extent that I didnae know my mother very well, either. Whatever the similarities to her closed door, my son's closed door and the closed doors of my parents/siblings, they arenae the same doors. The strictly personal dramas behind those closed doors are even more different. I donae *get* to know those dramas. Even when they sponsor of those closed doors choose to open their door and share, words arenae enough to share psychotic yaddahs with great efficiency. Listening requires far more faith than intellect and nothing derails the attempt to expose sensitive wounds and confusions quicker than the ex-spurting of knowlegable experts.
Somehow this ties to the "Weaving wild magics" brain fart. Does it translate to the speed with which wild magic runs from the domesticating yokes and collars of knowledge? Still sorting. . .
Back in the physical world. . .
Go ahead and call me a Drama Queen for my excitement over how easily the roofing mess swept out of the honey barn. The layers of neglect had to be scraped off. New layers merged with the old layers with natural ease. This most recent layer swept off with comparative ease. No need for scraping. The wind picked up pretty good while I worked inside the barn. It was a shock to my senses to not know that until I stepped outside. The wind played the old roof like a mournful flute in a desert canyon.
Final paint coat in progress. Life willing, Hubs will be able to leave his bee boxes in whatever space he sets them in the next time he moves them. Maybe. . . I am still threatening to co-opt it as my personal cottage while he is busy being busy. Busy people are so easy to get past. Does what they know blind them to what is at their feet?
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Maybe is all I can come up with. I feel the vibes more than the words are given, but those vibes must pass through my filters too. Working to remove those or at least keep them at bay is a work in progress.
Letting the mysteries be is not always the easiest to do where I am.
Hugs and good morning the coffee is on.
J.
You’re not alone in what to put on the DS status, Arfie. It’s always been a question for me also. I usually only update it when I’m distressed states, with rambling nonsense that only has any meaning to me.
To some extent I think we are all easily blinded to what is at our feet. Between our empathy and our struggles to heal, we always seem to be looking behind us or ahead but never where we actually are standing.
I’m very glad you have posted this, Arfie. Once again you struck a cord that resonates within me but for different reasons.
And I don’t think you’re a drama queen in the least. You’ve made amazing progress with your work on the honey barn.
Lots of hugs & support.
Let those wild magics fall into the weave as the will, instinctively you’ll find the way to add them to the pattern and I have ever confidence to in you.
Loves.
Hey! ! ! Don't fuck with my Drama Queen Crown! ! ! I wear it with pride, all 7 woven hairs, thirteen rhinestones and plaster of paris settings worth. Since I have quit taking it so seriously, it is the funnest crown in my queen closet, especially with a caffeine booster.
Letting the mystery be remains hard for me, too. Even after the decades of theraputed practice, etc., the stick up the ass of the stick up my ass is still crying for its control panel. This morning finds me wondering if that is the most important skill in the weaving of wild magics. Perhaps the wild magics respect Faith far more than Knowledge.
I kinda like the status line. I enjoy the living synopsis laid out in our own words of choice. It is meditated deliberation which has let this one run on my own profile for so long. Perhaps only because my control freakitis is still in need of intensive therapy. Perhaps. Letting the mystery be for now.
Your word "chewing"
Brings to me meaning I've attach. Slowing down to savor the flavor, in the moment of what is on my plate. Many times the taste is Horrid and I just want to swallow the chewing item down Fast. Other times, it's sticky, and gets stuck between my teeth. Other times, no chewing, just melting in my mouth.
I'm never too busy, yet do often miss what is right in front of my nose due to the fear of facing the "it"...thus creating the many different types of chew.
There are some on ds who can write freely about their life...In my state of panic over John I had to 'get the story' out of my head...to get other perspectives...I don't often do that...very hard to open wounds for jq public. More easily done is to respond to posts and keep my 'crazy' in my journal where only 7 people have entrance.
Never meant to fuck with your crown Arfie, so please continue as always to wear it with pride.
Let me know if you want to add “Drama Empress” to you list of honorary titles. I’ve gotten quite good now at working my wild magic with antique & vintage jewelry that I’m sure I can whip you up a crown worthy of Catherine the Great that would even make the Queen if England envious, lol.
Yea, the temptation to swallow those horrid tasting chews is, indeed, great. Alas, those are the chews that hold the most bones and stones which need to be identified and spit out before swallowing. If only those psychic chews could be spit out as easily as a piece of rancid meat. Trust me, I tried that one first. Hence my life long struggle with the residual effects of trauma induced amnesia. . .
When it comes to the emotional whiplash of my adult children, I amnae even close to believing I can speak freely. Parent/adult child gossip is still gossip and I've solidly believe that gossip does more damage than any other human trait I've observed. Family gossip might be the meanest of all the flavors of gossip, if for no other reason than its weave is tied to the foundation of our very beings.
There be a fine and fuzzy line between venting and mean-spirited gossip. I look for my distinctions in mindfulness of which parts are mine to sort. Healing hopes for all. No exceptions.
Thank you, Vltava. I'm not sure what a "Drama Empress" would look like. Perhaps another mystery from the Central Eurasia you are so enchanted with? I really do feel deprived for not knowing that part of the world, but. . . So much world and so little time.
My Queen closet isnae very secure. I don't mind leaving the shark bait, like theft-worthy jewels, with the traditional royalty. I'd rather not live with the guards, etc., required for those yaddahs.