![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salineaI feel so moody those days. Not moody in the sense that I'm cranky, though I might be, but in that my moods swing as fast as quicksilver. One time I'm dreamy and hopeful and optimitics, one time I feel a wave of panic so strong it threatens to flood me and drown myself, and I can't do anything, I can't move, I can barely pace my room round and round, and then I feel so good, and serene and full of love for the world and everything seems beautiful. And then I'm angry at everone and myself, and angressive, filled with nervous energy and the least comment from anyone gets me to leash out.
And I look at my life and it like trying to grasp shreds of dreams and wispy spiderwebs. Things that crumble to dust and dissipate into moonlight if I even touch it. Like I'm standing on nothing, no structure, no order, nothing real and I'm going to fall forever.
I have not the least fucking idea about what to do about myself, what to do about my life. I don't even know what I want, except I desire a lot of things, but it's like loving to desire something, not something you really want to have, just a dream you want to hold within yourself. Like what I want was the water in which the moon reflects and if I put my hand on it, there won't be anything anymore.
And anytime I want to do something, I decide to give myself a drive, a goal, a project, some direction to aim at, the following instant I doubt it, either wether I really want it, or wether I'm capable of it. I doubt myself and I wonder what kind of odd idea I ever had I could be able to live, to stand and to walk. Like I've been walking around people all that time just acting out. A puppet, a mask pretending to be human, fooling some people but never being able to be the real stuff.
And other times I feel so certain, I feel so filled with with peace and pure grace that makes me certain that there is so much things out there, so much worthy things, so much beauty, so many layers, so many worlds, so many realities, so many people wealthy of uncounted riches. And everything's going to be all right. I could do so many things. I could walk so many pathes. I'm capable of so many things.
Then the wind shifts and I forget the feeling.
Sometimes I think i'm just wrong to try to map things out, that I just let the tide carry me away wherever they might led me. That if I dare to loose my grasp, if I don't hold so tightly anymore I could just enjoy the ride. Maybe there's some things you can only find when you are lost. Like dreams, and hopes, and yourself. But I'm so scared, sometimes, I just want to hold myself tightly in a dark room waiting for things to happen. Just breathing, just eating, just watching, but never really doing anything. I'm good at watching things and commenting, not at actual actions.
But if I dare...
It could be such a journey if I let the winds take me wherever that might be, if i let myself wander to the unknown. But I could loose myself. I could loose myself so deep, so far, so fast. I could get so much abused, and I know there's a part of me who wouldn't stop it if I let go. Then there's a voice that whispers to my ear that if identity is an illusion then it doesn't matter. Death doesn't matter, change doesn't matter, the permanence of self doesn't matter. Because then things just /are/ and that is enough. That is enough for everything that is beautiful and precious in the world.
Maybe I'm just afraid that if I starts taking a road, I won't ever be able to take all the other ways, like in that poem. And I'm not being anything so I wouldn't have to sacrifice all the things I might be.
And if I keep resisting the storm that blows more and more, I will just be unraveled, unrooted and broken by it. But if I try to ride it, like I'm willing to ride pain and angst, then what if once I'm far from the ground I realise I can't fly ? I'm not sure I have wings to glide.
Twenties suck. I'm starting to have the feelings that all ages do.
And I look at my life and it like trying to grasp shreds of dreams and wispy spiderwebs. Things that crumble to dust and dissipate into moonlight if I even touch it. Like I'm standing on nothing, no structure, no order, nothing real and I'm going to fall forever.
I have not the least fucking idea about what to do about myself, what to do about my life. I don't even know what I want, except I desire a lot of things, but it's like loving to desire something, not something you really want to have, just a dream you want to hold within yourself. Like what I want was the water in which the moon reflects and if I put my hand on it, there won't be anything anymore.
And anytime I want to do something, I decide to give myself a drive, a goal, a project, some direction to aim at, the following instant I doubt it, either wether I really want it, or wether I'm capable of it. I doubt myself and I wonder what kind of odd idea I ever had I could be able to live, to stand and to walk. Like I've been walking around people all that time just acting out. A puppet, a mask pretending to be human, fooling some people but never being able to be the real stuff.
And other times I feel so certain, I feel so filled with with peace and pure grace that makes me certain that there is so much things out there, so much worthy things, so much beauty, so many layers, so many worlds, so many realities, so many people wealthy of uncounted riches. And everything's going to be all right. I could do so many things. I could walk so many pathes. I'm capable of so many things.
Then the wind shifts and I forget the feeling.
Sometimes I think i'm just wrong to try to map things out, that I just let the tide carry me away wherever they might led me. That if I dare to loose my grasp, if I don't hold so tightly anymore I could just enjoy the ride. Maybe there's some things you can only find when you are lost. Like dreams, and hopes, and yourself. But I'm so scared, sometimes, I just want to hold myself tightly in a dark room waiting for things to happen. Just breathing, just eating, just watching, but never really doing anything. I'm good at watching things and commenting, not at actual actions.
But if I dare...
It could be such a journey if I let the winds take me wherever that might be, if i let myself wander to the unknown. But I could loose myself. I could loose myself so deep, so far, so fast. I could get so much abused, and I know there's a part of me who wouldn't stop it if I let go. Then there's a voice that whispers to my ear that if identity is an illusion then it doesn't matter. Death doesn't matter, change doesn't matter, the permanence of self doesn't matter. Because then things just /are/ and that is enough. That is enough for everything that is beautiful and precious in the world.
Maybe I'm just afraid that if I starts taking a road, I won't ever be able to take all the other ways, like in that poem. And I'm not being anything so I wouldn't have to sacrifice all the things I might be.
And if I keep resisting the storm that blows more and more, I will just be unraveled, unrooted and broken by it. But if I try to ride it, like I'm willing to ride pain and angst, then what if once I'm far from the ground I realise I can't fly ? I'm not sure I have wings to glide.
Twenties suck. I'm starting to have the feelings that all ages do.