My Soulz Ink ~ my muse , wet paint

In my prior life B.C. (Before Cancer) I was a writer working on a novel, a screenplay & hand dancing much poetic verse. It was my life & greatest passion. Since being diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer in 2002, although the passion still exists. Sadly, I have not been able to re-kindle the fire & flame that once fueled my Souls Ink. Hoping to reclaim that part of me that went lost.

I recently found this post & a few others which were written before my diagnosis. I was sick & in daily pain.

Intuitively' I knew that something wicked like Cancer was coming, on Oct 21st, 2001-- a Bird confirmed it.

Sunday, October 21, 2001

Through assessment a mind scrolling of sorts I’ve come to realize “ I’m weary” I feel emotionally exhausted, thus causing me to feel frustrated. My dissatisfaction exhibits itself in many forms, often as though a separate entity has spawned itself from me. “Remember the Creature from the Black Lagoon”? So I embellish a wee bit. I’ve taking a breather from most things, a hiatus from obligatory, it’s autumn after all, and I must refuel. It’s been a bumpy year, a rough one many trials & tribulations it’s just catching up to me now, settling in like an unwanted visitor, who hasn’t showered in weeks & wants to borrow money.

Those who know me or rather love me best interpret my mood as bound toward them. This is where weariness begins; I’m tired of defending others from myself, excusing & clarifying, lather, rinse, and repeat. The truth is; I believe I’m simply weary from sustaining my stance. I’ve tried balancing this temple with opposing pillars for far too long. I want to let go, I refrain simply because I’ve rehearsed & prepared enough times that I dread the crashing sound of inner destruction, I simply just don’t have the fortitude to sustain the backlash. Coward! A knotted mess, this life be. I’m tired of untangling the good from the evils, so this large ball of bullshit sits like a Cheshire cat waiting, just waiting. Let it wait! I need coffee.

I am haunted I am the haunting. This wretched phantom lurks in quest of light, for a candle once burned here. Whether it was accidentally on purpose, by design, obligation or need, at any rate IT BURNED. Having affirmed this I am called to wonder, perhaps we are given one opportunity to glow, to shine, just one chance to burn brilliant. I allowed my candle to flicker out, snuffed out by self-doubt no less. Beaten by a weakling. Such a fool, such a fool, such is life, I’m told.

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. Always striving for greater intelligence, the gift of truly understanding, how foolish of me. I’ve come to learn in perception or be it self-made theory, intelligence is an intermittent concept much like the timely or untimely spangle of a candle. The poet within me failed to see that without light we are without shadows. It’s the imagery of the unseen, the profuse glow of nothingness- that stirs the hairs on the back of our neck, awakening acuity. These shadows possess truths.

I chose to delve deep into the dark without recognizing its significance. Too dark I could not find my way back home, ultimately I abandoned my pursuit, and I surrendered. Coward! Requisite To say that a concept is polymorphous, I am simply a concept of an unknown source, laughs...say it isn’t so! Blind spots intrigue me, always will, demon plodding, I do what I do cause “ I must” no rhyme or reason here. Like a shark biting on a full stomach.

I’m distracted! Ever hear something outside the realm of what we know to be normal noise? Then hear it again & again. Propelling one to speculate whether this is the sound of madness calling? I had thought the chariots were approaching, unhinged madness coming to drive me home “ Swing low sweet chariots” Well’ wrong again Batman! Just when the world appears to be intact (HAAAAAA) a thumping occurs, thump, thump, drag. I’m laughing at the paradox of it all. Thoughts drop upon me like snowflakes,disappearing before I have a chance to consider the one before.

Normal noise, a world intact, a well-mannered madness calling ahead of its imminent arrival. How absurd! Unconvinced however I mirror all things, measuring mind against matter. Poor Bird, caught within the confines of consequence, been there. He/she (it) sought light, perhaps the intimacy of such rhyme and reason. I’m a poet assimilating of course, I do that. : ) This brave bird took the road less traveled only to come face to face with an undesirable outcome. Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.

How clever stupidity can be when debts are low. Incapable of nourishing a notion for any desirable span of time, I find myself caught once more in wonder. I wonder if Poe had heard this sound too, I wonder could this be what Poe had heard? Is this the noise, which inspired Poe to craft “ The Raven”? While I pondered weak and weary.Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my fireplace door- Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, “ tapping at my fireplace door- only this and nothing more.” You see I hear this rapping, Though I’d call it a sort of tapping A tap, tap, tapping Upon my fireplace door. It’s a bird, I believe a Robin not a raven Seeking a safe haven Fluttering behind my fireplace door My children expect me to correct him With hopes that I’ll eject him Instead I laughed & said, “ Let him be” after all;

Nothing can come of nothing. Look at me.

There’s a bird in my fireplace, wrestling to get out, desperately trying to fly, be free. I can relate.

The bird came as a warning.