Morning Musings



I’m reading the diaries of Sylvia Plath on a lake, quiet, with history and tension at my back. But for whatever reason this morning it is not stealing my peace. A flesh reminder of one of my mortal wounds does not intimidate, when previously just thoughts would torment me. I may owe this grace only to my mere physical exhaustion, but it is something I am proud of.

I am not without sympathy, I know what it’s like to feel as though the universe conspires against you and that circumstances manifest to cause suffering rather than learning, but that is not my purpose. My purpose is to fulfill some sort of Gestalt within myself, by finally learning that I am not some utterly flappable dandelion seed in the wind.

But the core truth is that everyone wants love, at the same time the type of love desired between individuals may vary. The definitions vary. I can’t say my understanding is the correct one, but I know what makes me feel fulfilled. There’s nothing like the disappointment of finding a prospective lover and realizing the timing is off, circumstances aren’t conducive to connection, and you’re not getting what you need … or worse still, you feel a connection that the other person does not. I’ve experienced all of those in my life so far. The latter especially can make you question your own perceptions of reality, and I truly wish that on no one.

A lightning bug graced me with its presence this morning by landing on my book. One page covered it after a mishap on my part and I was certain that the one page had squashed it. That likely reflects how I feel in most situations… my cumbersome presence ruins the most beautiful of things. With its six legs and red orange face, it appeared to be stretching its limbs, moving its body and wings side to side as if to wake up. It sat on my book for at least 10 minutes, doing some morning yoga before going on its way.

I haven’t written so much in a long time … years probably. It feels foreign yet familiar. Like not remembering how to play a song on the piano until the second you start and your fingers just move, but you swear you don’t remember. The song can sometimes come out mechanical and tentative, but other times you play with lost feeling you didn’t know you possessed.

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