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Sunday, April 8, 2012

Chapter Forty-two: Taking a Deep Breath


My heart is heavy with tenderness
Tipped full to its brim
With thoughts so filled with gentleness
 Soft as the sun’s first beam

The unuttered hope that seeds within
Blossoms I cherish sweetly
Gives me courage to finally begin
A babe’s steps still wobbly

Too many doors have I closed before
All in the name of fear
Tracing scars from departed sores
Chasing apparitions that appear

Thus today I cut the leading-strings
That tied me to that past
From here I’ll take what tomorrow brings
And hope my courage will last. 

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Intermission XVIII: A Note to the Little Ones Residing in My Hea(rt)d.


Strange bedfellows, you little fellows are. Whimsical, petulant things who constantly float about in my head, who swell into gigantic proportions and clog my heart, whenever prodded. And I cannot place you in a box nor seal it tight, for fear of feeding you a compression that causes you to grow, and grow, and grow. And then burst open like a fanfare of colours-in-a-box, splattering and staining everything inside and/or around me.

Just like the frame that captures the colours on each canvas, you swathe my world, whispering in my ears. Naughty things that tint my world rose, twine my heart with green, stain my emptiness blue and make me see red. I both envy and pity those who do not find themselves needing to deal with these little devils. Envy, because they've have cost me many a pretty pound in scrubbing the bruises they leave, both outside my shell, and inside my heart. Yet, if ever I would reach into my heart and my head and not find you there, I would find myself unbearably.. lonely. And my world would fade into monochrome dullness, losing the edge that your colours give.

Why I felt the need to write about these particular little devils, especially after waking up from a period of hibernation (from updating the blog)..  I know not. A manifestation of self-reflection after the abundant discussions about MBTI types, perchance? I have often considered you a nuisance, having associated with you various memories of losing hold of your leash and watching you lunge forward with a vengeance, suffocating the person(s) nearest to me. And often the dearest.

Good God, I’m sorry. To those who've had to scrub the splatters of emotional excess after the explosions. I’m only too glad that I found my paint rag to help cleanse some of the messes before the stains soaked in too deeply to be removed. Mum has ever told me I don’t control you enough for my own good; yet, realizing that I am an ISFJ is like being shown the reversed side of the story.

Together, how much pain have we dealt out, how much remorse have we suffered? But I have not been fair to you, you poor little devils. I have not tried to understand you, always letting you run wild, only to lock you in that prison of a box when I didn’t like how you were ringing the alarm in my head. But listen to me: I have finally accepted that I cannot shut you away in the hopes that you'll shush and not try to break free.  I promise you, although I will still stuff you in there from time to time, I will heed you when you knock on the lid and ask to be let out. And I will guide you out myself, in harmony, you and I hand in hand, walking together, finding the answers we need.

Because if you and I end up hurting the precious ones again... I couldn’t forgive either you or myself, and might wish for you to disappear. And know that if I reach inside and find that you're no longer there... I simply wouldn’t know how to live anymore.