Brutal Black Comedy.

morning
rain  and mist, winter on the island. I do love to live here. possibility surrounds me, opportunity keeps knocking, maybe I'll answer. The kicker is it's up to me to knock on my own door, it's not that I don't hear myself, i"m not sure why I do not answer. I wonder if it's the fog of meds. Don't know.  I feel mostly detached. It's a brutal black comedy when my therapist oh so gently invites me to sense wherein in my body is the source of the pain. What sensations am I feeling. It's like I'm not even in there.  She is very kind and encouraging. Yet I am a ghost haunting this poor organic missive.

I am looking forward to being in the water, how I have missed it. And like my art friends say, maybe it's where I need to be for now. I love the support, the freedom it gives me, the power I feel. Already my arms and legs are stronger. It's helping my shoulder too, which is gratifying. It is a challenge to be around so many other people, all in the same water, but that is where we all exist ultimately isn't it?In the water we are all a massive misaligned battery, imagine what we could generate if all at the same pave and thrust, none of us know our real power, or perhaps a lucky few. Channelling that into creative thought and action and creation, how wondrous would that be for us all, what an earth we could be? Like that planet on star trek TNG where the people live for hundreds of years and they spend their vast time as apprentices; learning an art, a craft, and these pursuits are valued.

Get strong I guess. Get stronger. There's a storm here.

Peace in.