Stopping to ask for directions

Torn apart by unseen forces
with places and faces I cannot see
Conflicted within and without
damaged by chasms existing in me

Fighting demons and angels
Not trusting even what I breathe
Battleworn and weary of not knowing
If this is a conflict in which I believe

How can I find or even hope to know
If there are any truths to what I see
If I am so busy searching and looking out there
That I never uncover the accuracy of me

How did I arrive at this strange place?
Where I do not trust what I see or feel.
I do not trust my perceptions and other's even less
There seems to be no compass for what is real

fragmented

I have let you into me and somehow it seems
that now I cannot let you all the way in
If I do not get out and discover what is in me
Yet, I have already let you in to such depths
That the thoughts of pulling you out
Create quaking flashes of sorrow and pain
I feel trapped by my own conflicted ways
Meanwhile, you just want to feel and have me
I cannot allow that because I can see
That there is no value in your version of me
For that version is only fragments of the whole
It is lacking the essence and the entirety of her
That mystical being that I aspire to be
The person that I can identify in the mirror
Through sideways glances and a quickening pulse
I desire to give and to be given to
I ache to be part of some partnered whole
But, how can I partner if I do not have the sum
of all of my fragmented parts...

Some of my thoughts

Sometimes I find that I chase my own thoughts around my head and that can be confusing. (That sentence could be confusing....)

So, getting them down and out of my head seems to allow for a better and more accurate perspective.

These are some of the thoughts that seem to crop up a lot and cause some friction and traffic in my brain:

• I think that religion seems to cause significantly more problems than it solves. And, for some reason, this seems to encourage people to seek it out even more. What a conundrum! There seems to be something in the organization set-up that seems to erode the roots of the religion. It is likely that most religions have pure roots. Yet, the act of creating and organizing and bringing in so many human elements seems to create divisive and dangerous and often unseen fissures.

• The surface of things seems to be so choppy, much like the ocean. It seems as though there is much value in getting below the surface. You know, when you dive down into the ocean a bit, there is calm. Underneath the waves, you can find the natural ebb and flow of the waters. You don't have to go to the bottom. There is much to be garnered from places that are beneath the surface but that are still visible from the surface.

• I really crave calm sometimes. I am finding, though, that peace and calm exist in ME. Perhaps it is woven throughout the edifaces. Perhaps it lingers at the bottom of the chasms that exist within me. Maybe that is why I occasionally have to plunge into them. It sure seems as though we cannot avoid the plunging into our personal caverns. Those that avoid them too much seem to live in a perpetual state of denial. Those that go spelunking in their own caves too often seem to get disoriented and lost in the darkness. Neither avoidance or overindulgence seems to be productive. But, exploration and coming up for air seems to be necessary to growth and survival.

These are just a few of the paths weaving through my skull..........

Showering in Broken Glass

Steamy and sharp it falls upon me
collapsing with the weight of the inner fight
The shards slice through the conditioned skin
And swirl through the events of the night
With only mediocre relief in sight

Scorching the first layer of me
Stabbing the outside with reality scenes
Turning to find comfort in the warmth
Only to be faced with waking dreams
And faceless images wondering what this means

Slowly, slowly, slowly...the glass breaks in
Those top layers begin to strip away
Perhaps there are answers to be found here
As fragrant images collapse into place
Cutting with accuracy the events of the day

The sultry air is encompassing now
Wet and stinging it shows its ways
There seems to be solace in the truth of this
Even if it reveals the impotence and pain
Glass and blood slowly, slowly, slowly swirl down the drain.

Is it crazy or sane?

The bars of the cage stare at me
I cannot tell which side I am on
The crazed look inside the faces
I cannot tell which side they are on
How will I know who is crazy
How will I know who is sane
Who decides what is crazy
Who decides what is sane

The black is empty around me
Not warm or fuzzy or pleasing
More like an empty, barren void
With nothing to offer inhabitants
How will I know who is crazy
How will I know who is sane
Who decides what is crazy
Who decides what is sane

Thundering over my skin
Consuming the space in my ears
Nothing fills it or completes it
Lost and fearful without a path out
How will I know who is crazy
How will I know who is sane
Who decides what is crazy
Who decides what is sane

Everything'll Be Okay...So they Say

Murky, obsidian scene
Shadowy, swarthy looks
Lugubrious, grimy skin
Squalid, starless surround

Agitated, concerned eyes
Timid, quivering voice
Trepidation behind smiles
Revulsion blocks throats

Faltering, shrinking glance
Fearful misgivings inside
Looking fretfully out
Seeking hiding places

THOUGHTS

Racing through the corridors
Like liquid molten lava
Chasing through any open doors
As if to capture something
Maybe if they will slow
Then there will be room for more

Tiptoeing through fragrant meadows
With a breeze gently lifting the petals
Rippling softly as the river flows
As if to caress the shore
Not concerned as much with destination
But with the knowledge the source holds

Glowing and pulsing points of light
Like a star vibrating in the atmosphere
Ubiquitous whether morning or night
A tranquil force that pulses
Resolute and persistent it shines
The burning core is lustrous and bright