Well, that didn’t take long. I wanted to write something every day, for 30 days. Apparently, that was too much too ask. I did realize, rather quickly, just why I don’t write every day. It’s hard to carve out the time and the desire. Even harder to deal with some old skeletons, that maybe are best left in the closet. It’s easy to think I have nothing worthwhile to say. Even easier to feel guilty about not only taking the time to say things – but, also for the things that I may say themselves.
I did make a few private journal entries. This one may be as well. We will see. I am leaning towards journaling privately more and more lately, and just sharing certain poems and posts. I still struggle a bit with the fact that some people from my “real life” may be reading this. Truthfully, sometimes I wish I never shared this space with anyone close to me. This is nothing personal regarding anyone, other than myself. It is more of a reflection of how comfortable I am in m own skin. Still. And, how much I like having a private space to clear my head. But, I think that is ok. Common, if not “normal”, right? We all need at least some personal space. And, who knows? Maybe some close to me in “real life” are sorry I ever shared it with them, as well. Maybe, there are old bones that nobody really needs, or wants, to see. I mean, we all have enough on our own plates. Who needs to pick through someone else’s bones, too, right?
Too much light can be blinding. Painful. Immobilizing.
Maybe it’s more important to cast just enough light that our own eyes can start to focus and recognize familiar shapes.. as they surface from shadowy depths… until we can see old bones for what they truly are… or once were.
We shall see.
Hopefully.
~ smj
“Things grow towards the light
Looking to find what they are looking for
And grasses grow high
In pursuit of the sky
Like those who’ve come before
Now and evermore“
~ Untitled (Grasses Grow), A Fine Frenzy
Samantha Mariah Jane 