My habits have been slow in coming, but in reflection of the last couple of weeks I’m finding it to not be like massage school, where the layers were peeled back. Instead of removing layers, this seems more akin to a cherry pitter, poking directly into the source and working its way out. This is the first time, in a long time, where tears just come. Normally, that is the result of seeking the result, either through repeated viewing of sad movies or listening to emotion evoking music. But it’s nice, to feel a tear, and not feel like it’s trying to stay in my tear ducts. I know I’m shutting a lot of pain up inside, my writing has been clogged (as the emptiness of this journal shows) and I feel like I’ve stunted myself in some way. The words don’t flow in the rivers previously known, nor do they just attach to the paper I carry with me. I’m still trying to get past that period where I always had someone questioning what I wrote and not leaving it simply as me expressing myself.

I’ve also found that my right side has pretty much caved in, I’m chalking it up as a wounded warrior complex, given what all happened leading into my decision to temporarily stop training. Too many blows that I couldn’t properly defend myself from, some that I wasn’t willing to defend, and others that I just flat out didn’t see coming at me. It still hurts to think about the ones that I didn’t see. The ultimate heartbreak for me that destroyed any vestige of trust I could have going into the future. And people wonder why I hang back shrouded in my own secrecy. I know I can trust myself, and trying to open up to trust others, completely, is a tricky endeavor. The recent events in my life are showing me who actually can catch me when I fall, which is a pleasant surprise. And I really thank all the unexpected hands who have contributed to my current upright position.

I’m starting to dream again, bit by bit the words of the love muse are returning. I think I can point to this year’s PPUSA van occupants for that. I was amazed that the type of people I got to meet this year. Each and every one of them a pure genius in tapping through the wall that separates us from the creative flow. I didn’t get to see many of the performances, but as always, I was up front for my favourite ones, or in the wings when I wanted to fly on their lyrics.

But still, I haven’t forgiven myself, as psychosu has suggested I do. I might find a means during my class, but I’m not going to focus on it. I’m actually happy that I was finally able to start expressing the sense of loss I felt with Don’s passing. He’s been in my thoughts a good bit, lately. Trying to not think that I have failed, in my dedications to him, but at least I’m where he sent me to be. So, it’s a start, and it’s kicked me back onto my grove studies. Doing more researching into veil walking, and as much as I’d like to honour my mentors request to focus during yoga training, I need to do a journey here soon. It’s pretty obvious to me, given my recent over-stimulant ingesting and late night wanderings. Might as well listen when the universe knocks, instead of passing it off as a crappy night of sleep.