Saturday, December 25


The soul must be malleable. Is it my vision that makes it rigid and painful? It is my interpretation that creates my reality (thank you Master Psychotherapist James Bugental. I still smile thinking of our brief friendship and his gentle, in the moment teaching methods.) as there is no abject reality. What holds me in this envelope ... oh no, I hate the stereotypical. But I am locked inside, with that large, dark, hollow, echoing. So I guess it's is yelling, for help. for direction and guidance, for human touch. For reassurance. It's not there though. I know a God is. It is hard to feel companionship even of one so mighty, able to be all encompassing, compassionate. I am mad. Is this what I signed up for? What is worth all this pain. What? What is the point? I suppose I am so wrapped up in useless emotion that I don't hear the message. Self-loathing, yuck. Yuck.

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