The leaf

Consistency.

That is a word that does not reflect my reality at the moment. Every day is different. I've not experienced this before, it's a whole new level of dissatisfaction. I am not usually one to hold on to things so hard, although people are impossible to let go of, and this style of placement has never happened to me before. I've never been pushed aside by someone; I was always the one who did the pushing. Welcome to the other side, Lydia.

Which choice will bring me the most clarity and well-being? What must I do to move forward and come back to my happy-go-lucky, everything-will-work-out personality? I live in two worlds now. One, which is dull, flatlined, in which I have no drive for personal goals and aspirations. The other, a fast-paced, enlivening world, one that takes me over and puts me into drive, lets me be the lover, a compassionate and bright being who connects with others.

I must say that the first is here most often. I also seem to switch between the two if I am alone and if I am around others, although the first can still remain around others depending on my mood, depending on external events. If they're big enough to bring my mind away from this current situation, it helps.

I feel like an empty shell. When I awake. When I go to sleep. In between. I feel like I put on a Lydia suit, and try to remind myself of who I was, of who I've always wanted to be which is the shiny bright human. I don't like basking in this vat of uncertainty. It kills my spirit. I understand now how "he" must have felt, constant unknown, was I to stay or was I to go? I'm so sorry.

Part of me laughs at this, at me, for finding this to be such a big issue. How have I allowed another to depict what I become? Am I not in control of myself? Is it ridiculous of me to think I could have that control at all? This must be another facet of life, this must be living inside a body, with all of the emotions and the ruckus constantly happening. With opening up to emotion comes being affected more often, and I seem to have burst the lid.

"You've got to walk that lonesome valley, you've got to walk there by yourself, there's no one here to go there with you, you've got to walk there by yourself."

Miracles

Miracles exist for a moment. They are little windows of time that counter reality. They are true only for a short period of time, until one enters back into the banality of life. A miracle seems to me an extreme opposite to the current circumstance. Only a fool could believe miracles to last a lifetime. Perhaps life is a linear depiction of tiny miracles - which encompass joy and love and certainty - juxtaposed to disaster; to ruin, to fear and uncertainty.

How long do we bask in goodness before we give into the sense of change, the sense of departing from the love that existed mere moments ago? How do we deal with the in-between states, from miracle to disaster?

We will naturally always be beckoned toward the light of miracles (or should we call it love?) like moth to flame. We will forget all of the strife we've endured, we will forget that it comes again after the initial warmth of the glowing yellow light. We will get burnt, and start all over again, repeating in this endless cycle until we are enveloped in the ultimate merging of miracle and disaster: death.