For that I wonder -and- I fear. It would be... uncouth of me, I think sometimes, to tap the souces I know are there for me, somewhere, perhaps not waiting but accessable... There again I've laid no claim to being the most orthodox person on the face of the planet.
And to take strength.... There is a clash in my mind, of which you are involved in potently due to something I believe to be a dream I do not consciously remember (like the speak of dragons. You may or may not know what I mean by that though). I will, since this very setiment has been boiling in my blood for some days now, at least animate it into text... In retrospect, I left a rather insensitive message in respose to your illness... the thought it carried was bound up with a very abrupt stab of concern for a stranger, and a snap to the heaviness I've felt in relation to my own world. That very world, the one I live in day to day all the way across this planet from where you say you are located physically, sickens deeply as well. It's February and should be ten below (F)... it might be below freezing now, but we've had honest rain and this persistant, poison-bitter wind. Warm. Everything is melting, disintegrating, changing... there are god forsaken violets blooming in my father's flower garden.
I hesitate to confide this to the few remaining members of my circle, loyal and trustworthy though they are, because I run with the distinct feeling that I (myself, and no more) am the only one to which any of this, or its even vague relation to itself, has any importance whatsoever.
Though it looks grim, by all rationality, I thought I might at least -try- the odds of spilling my head to a stranger... I hope some of it made a little bit of sense.
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branchandroot
Re: teaching passion
Date: 2003-02-10 11:01 pm (UTC)And to take strength.... There is a clash in my mind, of which you are involved in potently due to something I believe to be a dream I do not consciously remember (like the speak of dragons. You may or may not know what I mean by that though). I will, since this very setiment has been boiling in my blood for some days now, at least animate it into text... In retrospect, I left a rather insensitive message in respose to your illness... the thought it carried was bound up with a very abrupt stab of concern for a stranger, and a snap to the heaviness I've felt in relation to my own world. That very world, the one I live in day to day all the way across this planet from where you say you are located physically, sickens deeply as well. It's February and should be ten below (F)... it might be below freezing now, but we've had honest rain and this persistant, poison-bitter wind. Warm. Everything is melting, disintegrating, changing... there are god forsaken violets blooming in my father's flower garden.
I hesitate to confide this to the few remaining members of my circle, loyal and trustworthy though they are, because I run with the distinct feeling that I (myself, and no more) am the only one to which any of this, or its even vague relation to itself, has any importance whatsoever.
Though it looks grim, by all rationality, I thought I might at least -try- the odds of spilling my head to a stranger... I hope some of it made a little bit of sense.