The deep breath inwards...

... keeps me grinning, even after 4 hours of sleep and all the shrouds of darkness and sadness and idiocy all around everything. I know that there is potential in everything an everyone, and it makes me smile like a fool.

That's not to say it kills all of he problems - they sit there, stubborn, moving for no-one, and we have to tiptoe around them and clamber over the tops of their massive frames. Somewhere though, amongst all this, there is a feeling of positivity - An aura of inexorable change up ahead. Emanating from deep within the canyons under the problems is the next step, slowly creeping out, ready to shake this situation to pieces and set my family on a new course.

I just need God to keep my Mum upright. All of us are suffering, but her most. She sees some days through permanent darkness, never stopping to relax, always working to keep on top of all of the responsibilities and fears she's now lumped with. She's so string, but she certainly doest feel it. She's battered but not beaten, and I need her to feel encouraged until the change comes.

The loneliness is the worst part, easily. It kills us all. I'm one to suffer it quite badly, but I inherited that want for contact with people from Mum. She aspires only to share life with those around her, and now the nights are impossible.

I love her, and I want to be there for her all the time, but it isn't the same.



'tonm. xx

Book of the Moment: Anything with beauty in its words, I suppose.

Song of the Moment: "Blind" by Reana

"Reach out through the flame..."

This is what Mr. Plant tells us while he describes dancing in heaven. What a wonderful task for us all! How greatly we would benefit if we just forced ourselves through the searing pain of the fire as it licked around our wrists, with the sole intention of discovering something new and free on the outside...

Problem is, Rob, is that it's really hot. This isn't walk-in-the-park-on-a-summers-day-with-no-shirt-on temperature we're talking about. We're putting our hand towards the wall of flames and pulling back a good few times before we decide to throw ourselves straight into it.

So what happens when we do then? I'll tell you - We get burned. A lot.

Our skin peels back and we scream and we cry and we beat ourselves for ever considering such a preposterous idea in the first place. Still, we do see the outside, right? Totally. We see it, then we draw back from it, knowing it's within reach and then get even more bowled over when we realise that we might never get to spend any time out there because of all this pain.

I'm not trying to be negative. Really, I'm not, I just want to assure you all that I don't try to convince myself that I need to throw off the shackles of oppression to get to the next point. I think, the more I breathe, the more still I am, the more the fire dies down, the more I see of my surroundings and, gradually, I hope I'll be able to step over the line.

I think I know what I mean - I'm trying to convince myself that there's still potential for some of my dreams to work out. Maybe I'm being pretentious.

Regardless of how much this may read like a pile of fatuous arse-bilge, I stick by it, because otherwise I've got to start running at that bloody fire again.

'tonm
xx


Book of the Moment: n/a

Song of the Moment: "Road to Zion" by Damien Marley & Nas

I am not too humble to tell you that I can't do this alone.

I'm not having a faith crisis. I think it's more of a confused daze.

Do you know the sensation you experience when you're struck across the head? Like, a real blow to the temple, thrown to the ground job? Well, when you try to open your eyes, there are flickering lights covering everything you see and a sharp hum rings in your ears, as if your senses are trying to reconfigure themselves after a risky pull-the-plug-from-the-back reboot procedure.

I'm there. I pray and believe it's heard, but I can't see any results because of everything imparing my view of what should be. That sounds too confusing;

I can't see anything working. I know it is, but I can't see it, because of the shock. There, that's it.

I know that things will change eventually - Note, I use the term change, because "get better" is not a guarantee. At some point, near or far, there will be a new spark, a new thing to either clear away some of the concussion or strike me once again. I know we are saveable. (That's probably a word...) We-Me-My Family-can be saved, pulled up out of the dark place and set on the ground once again, with the blue skies above us and the fresh air pouring into our lungs.

The thing is, it's really scary here, now, waiting for that. I trust it'll happen; I just bloody wish I knew what form it's going to take.


'tonm.
xxx

Book of the Moment: n/a

Song of the Moment: "Dance" by Robbie Seay Band