I am…bursting at the seams with thoughts and words but afraid to put them out onto paper, afraid about how best to express them and whether there is any point in pouring anything out at all. I see words in my dreams these days, sometimes I’m creating poems like visions in the air but they are gone by the time I wake up. Sometimes I am lucky enough to flirt with an idea that popped up somewhere in my head but being to lazy to right and furthermore, afraid that words will soften the ethereal idea into something earthly and worthless, I content myself with putting them as a memo on my phone, to be scrolled through at will but not converted into anything more structured.
How I long for the freedom to spread my wings out of this hidey-hole and live some of the dreams I’ve been seeing. Most of my dreams for this lifetime are soft and positive, meant to heal and build up. They are all selfish at the root, of course, because that is the only reason I am seeking them at all. But they are meant to do good and yet, it is astonishing to realize how much resistance good ideas face, inspite of the goodness grown-ups preach to us since we’ve been little children. Do good, do not steal or tell fibs or hurt anyone or be selfish or undisciplined, we are told as we stumble through our little life rituals. But when it actually is within your power to perhaps affect someone or something in a small and good way, they will stand in your way and tell you it mustn’t be done! I find this strange irony hard to bear.
I lost heart midway during this vent. I’m still going to put it out there, as is. Cheers.