In Days I Dreamed Of Dragons

Winter Vibes – Atey Ghailian

I remember when I was younger that whenever I would be able to see the moisture on my breath it feel like I was blowing fire from my chest. “I am like a dragon” I always think proudly, braving the winter chill of childhood. “Nothing can stop me” I thought as the breath reminded me life inside burning brightly into the world. The world was full of these breaths and their wonder, every one could breath that fire from their chest, some stronger than others but all of us the same. I would savor the moments all wrapped up in jackets and jeans to test my breath to prove what a beast I was to be.

Those breaths changed as I got older, changing from a testament of invincibility to reminder of the thing I had to overcome. These breaths come more most notably on the road when running, sweat dripping down and freezing in the bitter wind. Those breaths represented a burning up inside of all the things I never knew but had to endure. A fighting spirit that persisted beyond the circumstances looking to burn my fate and the world along with it.

Now the breaths represent a small sense of solitude. I quiet moment in the night as I traverse hard concrete and quiet soil. It’s only my breath left, I feel it beneath my mask and skin. There out in the world it seems so empty, so lifeless, so void. I wonder, will there be others out there fight against the cold, looking for life out there in world or will breaths be the only one to refract those dimming lights. I once dreamed that we may have been dragons but sometime, just sometimes I feel that I am all that is left.

A lit wick and a slow burn

Slowly burn on a fuse that has been lit for a long time, these small but subtle moments that been eating away at me like rocks beneath the shore line. At some point I wonder if there will be a time where I will have no more fuse left to lay to keep the fire at bay, I have no time to check the lead the behind me, just enough time to lay it down and hope it keeps coming.

I’ve been feeling burned out by the world and work for a while. To be honest world and work might be one in the same. I’ve been searching for meaning in what I do because of it. Trying to find purpose in the waves of things I don’t really care about.

Though I am getting an education what I am left with is a particular set of skills I never wanted and a set of knowledge I had no desire to have. That might sound particularly silly and ungrateful but to be honest it’s more that it hasn’t met my expectations. Maybe it’s the pandemic and maybe it’s the classes but it makes me question what I’m doing and for what reasons I am doing it. I continue on in hopes that all of this will make sense but knowing I have give something up in myself to get anything out of it.

It feels sometimes like I’m a mouse in a cage running on wheel hoping to get somewhere, deluding myself into believing that every step I take is one that will bring me forward but in actuality all I am doing is retreading common ground. I wonder how I will look back on these moments in my life and think about them. Will they become a delightful serendipity or a bitter pill to swallow.

What I can say though is that I’m tired, I have been for a while. It’s the only thing I know I have been quite some time. Day and weeks blend together as I stare into the abyss and hope to find meaning. Hours lost, moment wanted. All I crave really is some type of substance to fulfill me and this releive me of this itch but for now I will just keep my head down and keep going. For now I will just concentrate on not getting burned.

A Warm Umbridaled Feeling Of Nothing

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It was a memory the spurred this conversation with myself.  A memory fished from far back in my brain, when coping with the disaster of my life led a realization of myself, a realization that still holds true today

It’s a paradox, rationalized over many years, I have a resistance to people touching me and a yearning to be touched.

I think this became apparent in middle school when I was still a very weird kid – wearing jackets into the heat of California summers. If you asked why a kid would do something like that would probably put on some bravado about being able to withstand the heat.  I liked the warmth, the cloth wrapping my body in a gentle embrace, reflecting the heat I generated back at me. In some way, it felt like being held, being saved from the world and all its evils. It was a proxy for touch, a segregate for being hugged, not that I didn’t get attention from my parents but I just became so wrapped up in these walls I built so high that I wanted someone to come in and break them down.

I don’t know what would have changed someone had intervened at that stage but even to this point, you’ll hardly ever see me wearing shorts as they make me feel uncomfortable. I love touch though, at least from the people I feel comfortable enough to touch me. Almost to the point of fetishism, I obsess over it, derive so much meaning out of it, to the point that the meaning becomes so distorted that it doesn’t even resemble the intention behind it.

What does touch feel like to me?  Well if done right, it feels like the moment of creation, where everything comes into being and life is born.  It feels like a transference of soul and sharing of self. Like spring of sweet serenity that washes over me. It’s so singular and yet so poignant, so particularly focused on the beauty of the moment that lasts forever and yet dissipates so quickly. With these feelings so concentrated on the experience of touch, touches that are unwelcome become equally horrendous to an experience.

I am not saying these things are good, I know they are not but it’s where I am at.  With that realization years ago, about the sensitivity of being in my own skin, I found that I needed to change. Acclimate to a space where I don’t place so much emphasis on touch and being touched. I have made progress but have yet to solve the problem.

I am sure in the future I will come much closer to my goal, but for now, I will appreciate that magic touch can bring and use all my strength to make the miraculous ultimately mundane.

A Return To Sleeping Beauty

Like a pick of the finger,
Or the poisoning of blood.
My body feels like it’s crawling through mud.

My eyes feel heavy.
My soul feels crossed.
Why is it that I feel so lost?

It’s in these moments,
When sleep is never enough
It’s falling into dreaming, and never wanting to wake up.

I fall, I fall far into sleep.
Wondering where it is that my feelings will peak.

Down down, to that place of slumber
Like something has torn my body asunder.

It’s not even that I am hurt.
It’s not because I am diseased
My only problem is that my heart is not pleased.

Nothing seems to smell so sweet.
And nothing at all can compel me to my feet.

And yet I recollect on the past and present
Twisting and turning in ways not so pleasant

So I call to you oh sleeping beauty
Is it not the perilous prick that put you down
Or is it the tumultuous feelings about the crown?

Maybe if I just sleep a little bit more
The clouds will change
And this feeling be no more.

Yeah if I sleep a little bit more
Perhaps there will be a reason to wake up for.

Untitled.

A writes got to write.

But these worse, they don’t come easy.
Like a separation of skin from spirit, my hesitation comes from within.

There is a pain I wish to feel, sorrow in my heart that would make me feel okay
Like all of which I have just gone through is not just me but something more.

How can you argue with yourself
When your body and mind fail, you and you are sitting at the keys wishing words to pour out, but none come.
I scared them away with this intensity, and I don’t know how to get them back.

I have to be here, to suffer through the ambient silence and allow myself to be consumed by its misery. Quietly be eaten away but the hands of time as the push me towards the end of days.

I am not great, nor am I good.  This separation of what others see and what I do confuses me.  How could they see something that I can’t, why won’t the way I see? I would be much easier for me.

I need to write because I am a writer. Without writing I feel this pain weigh heavy on my heart. So I will put words to a page to save myself from the nothing within.

The Eternal Calm

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Like the sitting shores of a forgotten beach lays waveless water calm and deep.   Its sands untouched, unmoved, unmanned stacks so high like a reaching hand. From atop the sandy hill, you can see the waters still. And with those waters without a wake, reflects the world we hope to make.  Sky is ground and ground is sky, maybe it’s how we learn to fly. Because out on the horizon where these two skies meet, lies the eternal calm of a waveless beach.

The storm has passed for now, and my body is telling me that I need to rest.  It’s in these time, right after the rain ceases to fall, that calm rolls over and we are allowed to sit and ponder before life resumes again. I have faced these fears of mine, fears of inadequacy and being an impostor.  My stress levels have dropped, and my body relaxes. Many of these things have subsided for the moment, though to be honest I probably am just in the eye of the hurricane, waiting for the water wall to hit again.

I feel this weird, eerie calm wash over me. My body lightens and heavies, recovering from the burden I have been putting it through. I am a bit flat affect, much quieter and introverted. This part of me comes out to restore and refresh. To remind me that I am human and though life will move on, that things will change and the only way to get through them is to take care of myself.

So that’s what I am doing this week, not thinking much, but thinking regularly. Not doing much but moving forward.  Not saying much but speaking volumes. Soon the world will become boisterous again with the tide of fall so I will enjoy the calm while I can. Today is for rest so tomorrow I can be strong again.

 

Whats Wrong?

My eyes feel like their bleeding
Dripping from page to page
I can’t stop the seeping because
My stress level is high
My list of things to do is higher
I don’t really know what to do

My body feels like its breaking down
Piece by piece
I turn away from the pain
I feel in some way I need it
Like it makes me better
But maybe not when my body is screaming

My eyes feel like their bleeding
and I can’t stop looking at the screen
Words being written
So many people to please
I hope this end soon
That I escape from this dream
but who knows, I asked for this

I Think My Phone Is Trying To Kill Me

It sits there taunting me
Asking me to play
I slowly reach over
And begin my day

On and off the screen goes
With it in my pocket
Tracking every move
I know it’s trying to kill me,
I just need to figure out how

Maybe poisoning my mind with all sorts of stuff
Showing me picture and videos of things I don’t need
Until I can’t even think anymore
It finally just succeeds

Maybe it will be more blatant like shock
With a slip up I find
When the camera facing inward
It leaves me wanting to be blind

Maybe it is to just  make me unaware
Walking down the sidewalk
Watching a video, it seems
Might be my undoing when hit a pole with ease

My phones trying to kill me
And I can’t figure out how
Because each time I use it
It feels like I am dying a little on the inside.

The Weight of Nothing

My body feels rugged
Beaten and bruised
Heavy and slow
I though have not fought it
Quite the opposite,
I fed the fires that burned within
Unquenchable and everlasting

As my appetite reaches the level of unsatiable
My hunger growl at me for more
It emptied me out
Makes me feel spent
Even from the moment of arising
I feel my body is resisting me, resisting life

I don’t know
What will cure me
But I am looking
And here’s hoping

I find it soon.

Memory Flash

It feels like it flows from my fingertips
The expression of memory and intimacy
Flashes of feeling and memory
A vividness that captures my attention
They are escaping me
Like as memory
Each time remembered becomes softer
More Distorted

If feels like the flash is the memories life
The feeling trying to resurface and live
Gasping for air, one last stand before being left behind
It’s too late now
I can’t go back to relive the memories
Can’t go back to make any more
So sit motionless waiting for them to pass
Hoping to capture those last moments

There they go.
Bittersweet.
Sorrowful.
Happy.