Has anyone had real success with "signing out for a couple of months"? Does the public guilt really keep you from coming back?
Let's find out!
Like most people, I have no will power. I check facebook far too regularly, and usually end up getting sucked in for at least 15-20min, sometimes well over an hour. Eventually closing the window, saying to myself "silly mortal, you'll accomplish nothing this way".
So I'm trying this. I'll be back May 1st (After classes and ArtWalk) - Until then, see RockyLuck.com for updates. And you can reach me the old fashion way! Thanks for playing along!
You know that horrible sensation you get, after momentarily forgetting
yesterday's sunburn, and stepping into that hot shower today?
Well, I burnt my finger on the kettle this morning. Stung like hell!
You can't see it now. I mean - gosh, I'm such a baby - you couldn't
really see it at the time either, but I could feel it for sure. I
tended to it well - ran it under cool water until it finally stopped
hurting. It ached for a while after the pain subsided, and after that
I eventually I stopped thinking about it.
By the time I'd finished breakfast, I had forgotten the incident ever
happened. Then I started washing dishes, the warm water hit, and it
stung almost as bad as when I burnt it. I yelped! I'd completely
forgotten! My finger - my finger remembered. It was still healing,
long after the hurt. The water wasn't even that hot, but my finger was
extra sensitive, and it was wary of being hurt again so soon.
As I ran it under cool water again, I wondered to myself: Do our
hearts remember being burnt before? There is no damage seen on the
surface, are we still healing something deeper? Even though we may
have long forgotten the pains of our initial injuries and loss - is
this why new, warm love stings old wounds? While we are still healing,
are we not extra sensitive and apt to perceiving unintended slights?
How do we remind ourselves then, to continue tending to these unseen
scars, long after the pain is gone?
* * *
I shared this with Hollye and she added what was missing:
"I do think our heart holds onto old wounds, burns, stings, and pain.
And new love can remind us, trigger us, into remembering our ouchies.
But, our ouchies heal with time, by loving ourselves, working through
stuff, etc. Perhaps they may never fully heal, but perhaps we will be
stronger, more beautiful, wiser, as we let ourselves feel them and
I awake, curled on a warm bed of soft moss, dried leaves, and dead
grass. Aching joints and stiff muscles, moving is such slow and
arduous work. Stiffly, I stand to find myself in a sun drenched
swampland, deep in the forest. The warm rays of dawn's first light,
breaking through the canopy, feel absolutely wonderful on my face. I
look out over the lush forest floor. It is littered with dead bodies
and I am immediately filled with an intense feeling of understanding
that only comes in dreams.
This land has been ravaged. There are no survivors.
Everywhere I look, there is death. Yet as the light touches us, we
are reanimating. Humans, trolls, giants, everyone. Everyone that lay
dead or dying only moments ago, all waking up. Each one, disappointed
to discover their current state.
I look down, over a small river, full of these massive troll
like creatures. Bodies white and bloated. Their great balding heads,
squashed in. Their long strands of gray hair, dragging out, collecting dead
leaves in the stream. I notice a giant just waking up. He is stuck on the river bank, his body bumping up against a dead log. As he stirs, he looks
solemnly down his long torso, and with an uncertain hand, pulls thin
stringy organs from his slashed belly. I watch quietly as he studies
his pale intestines, and finally releases them with remorseful
acceptance. Silently he turns away from the bank, away from me.
Rolling with the current, flowing peacefully down stream. He rides the
waters into the lake, to meet and make small talk with others who,
like him, can no longer leave the waters. The swamp is alive with the
hushed murmur of its inhabitants.
Needing to move on from this place, I start down the bank. I can see a
place for safe crossing up ahead on the right, where the river narrows. With each
step, my movements grow more fluid. I walk, I stumble, I melt, I roll.
I walk, I stumble, I melt, ...