A Consuming Sadness

Oh heavy sadness, that hangs over my heart, like a fog clinging to the deep pine hills. A coat of cold covering my being.

How do you evoke color and 'the feel of things' with words? It is a search for me, an internal search. Conducted mostly intuitively. I want to write my feelings the way an artist paints theirs. I don't like literal, it's one sided, misses the soul. The soul hides in metaphor, illustration, it brings you somewhere the way a path does. The path doesn't spell out what it's doing. Even now my words frustrate me because they sound kind of woo hoo, pseudo, lacking sincerity. I don't know, I don't know. It's my song...

I've been experiencing a new sadness. It's not a despairing sadness. There is this constant sense behind it that I feel okay, even happy. But it is still so powerful at times. I think maybe that is what life is. Deeply, even comsumingly, sad- but beautiful and okay. I can easily identify why life is sad. I think most people can. It's harder to capture why it's okay. I know it has something to do with what I keep seeing again and again. True joy, true beauty, good people, and moments that contain something... But it makes me wonder about god and what god feels and sees? Does god experience deep sadness? A continuosly broken heart? Not broken because of lost love, but to see the suffering of so many living beings, so many small and precious things... ( I want god to be like me.)

A long time ago I wanted to create a blog just for poetry. I think now that my readership is down so much, I kind of feel a freedom to be, well, unusual. That won't be what this becomes, ultimately. Just at times. Or in little places.

I had a dream about betrayal. But not in any obvious sense. It was about my cousin. Her family was staying with us and she was very sick. With something like a flu or stomach virus. What I see when I think of the dream is this view into the bathroom, in the darkness, of her sleeping on the tiolet because she was throwing up bile so frequently she couldn't leave. All I felt in the dream was a fear for myself. All I can think of now is that little girl confined to the bathroom, sleeping on a toilet... That was how I was for so long, afraid of getting sick. Unable to feel anything for those who were suffering, just looking out for me. What I hate is a large remnant of that fear is still there. It isn't what it was. But I have some pretty negative feelings towards myself because of it. I worry about myself. Will I be able to become a better person? Will I let my weaknesses and my fears always rule me?

The more I learn about Muslim faith and beliefs it reminds me of old testament Israel. Bloody, wrathful, unbending. How can so many people want to live like that? It's incredibly unstable, there is absolutely no security. It seems to bring with it everywhere destruction, poverty, and extreme suffering. I know I mostly speak of the fringe, which seems to grow, like a poisonous bacteria. I see the same mind in all fringes. In the christian church... A poison, a deep insatiable hate, a flame that never dies, but consumes everything in its radious. People almost foaming at the mouth with hate. Where does it come from? Why do people become so infected? Maybe that is what the zombie architype represents? The true living dead, who posses the power to turn others into what they are...