HIGHPRIESTESS

MY EX-LOVER FEAR

How could the thing you loved to do, the thing you could not help yourself from doing constantly daily, as a necessity, as a hobby, as your life dream and goal, suddenly, you couldn't bring yourself to do it whatsoever. Is it because of all the endless letters I wrote my ex-husband in jail. Sometimes 3,4,5. letters a day. I remember when I stopped. It didn’t feel like a completion. It felt more like Jayz, you know like” I was gonna get right back”. (smh) It has been ten years now, and this is the first thing I’m writing. (hmm) I don’t know if its because he was able to get phone usage consistently and we can hear each other’s voice, so there was no need to write, right. (lol) Great fkn excuse huh. How the fk did make it ok to not write for 10 years and blame it on my ex-husbands phone privilege. I call BS on that shit. I say its fear. It was fear that allowed me to not write for 10 years and I see that now. We can give anything a reason make it all sound good and shit, collect false data, and conduct bias forums of our peers or (“friends and followers”) to reassure us in our confirmation with validation for our unnecessary bs. Who is “we” right? (misery loves company) I thought we were talking about me (hmm deflective ass self) (smh). That’s it right there. Defectiveness the deceitfulness of it all. Lying to ones self on such a large scale, manifesting unwanted situations in grandeur to keep one occupied all to avoid that fear. You see its like running and standing still all at the same time. What is this fear that would allow me to attach my thing, my skill, my joy, my peace, my therapy, my hobby, my outlet, my life, my purpose? Am I running from my purpose? (wtm) Maybe I attached my gift to something that gave me so much sorrow, so I decided to put it down. Maybe I was so overwhelmed with the adventures of my own personal life, (should’ve made for great material) that I couldn’t take the time like had invested in the 3,4,5, letter days of the past. Or maybe I was afraid of what I might write. Where it may take me and what it may make me do. The decisions my writing will cause me to make. 10 years. I did not even know it was ten years, till just now when I had to count to put it down here. A whole decade of my silent conversations, thoughts feelings, epiphanies, visions, dreams joy, pain I carried it all. (weed became my journal with so many words, only inside my head) Why not put the words down, get them out, face them. What was I so afraid of? Maybe the truth was in the words the writing. It would paint the picture I was trying to avoid, showing me what I did not want to see. Exposing the lie I was telling myself to keep my real future (future or purpose?) at bay. Holding on the toxicity that had become my life. Which I had grown so accustom to, so familiar with. I had come to a place of mastering the bs, making it make sense in my land of lies and self-deceit. Becoming the fox and calling the truth of my life sour and convincing myself I never wanted it anyway. (interesting) How could I not, I knew not what it was I was casting away, running from, denying myself. Just knew it was so big so huge that it created such fear, that I created a whole world just to keep me from obtaining this great thing. This thing that I am so fearful of losing, or failing, or being disappointed, of this power I have yet to know. (hmm power you called it). It feels so powerful, so forceful yet tranquil an easy like a flow. Like a silent tsunami of unseen passion rushing, coming with an abundance of love, and what appears to be no more patience, no more strength to keep it held down. It has to be released, it is not a choice or an option, the damn has been broken by force, an here are the floodgates. Like a passionate fire, doing a dance of seduction, submission, passion, and battle all at the same time. Running from an invisible fire that only I can see, (then, it’s not invisible) only I can feel. Only I can know how it calls, me haunts me chases me, yells out for me to stop the shit already. As I pretend to be a victim of my circumstances for fear of change. So, here we are, we sit, and we write. (about time?) Maybe, this was always my master plan unknown to myself. Maybe I set it up this way in my past life. Maybe like Frida I was living out my adventures so I can write in truth (so, no fiction?) I write this on this great day. 2/2/2021. (9?) I start fresh. I start over. I move forward. Confidently unsure for what the future holds. Proving I am not psy after all. I can do this. (you got some gangsta in you, lol) I can do most things. I have learned that. Once I make the decision to do so. Is this really it. Has my superpower been activated and I have to go out and fine my tribe? (will they find me). I all feels so great as I sit here tapping away at this laptop. It feels so larger than myself. Like the largest, loudest, craziest, silent blast of what is to come. Not just in me writing again, but just in life. It’s something about facing fears that sends walls all around you, your whole surroundings crashing down (less crash more like a slow glide) exposing all the different paths to take and options that abound (ignorance can be bliss, or redundant) It’s, like Alice in Wonderland when she ate the cookie (but more like Empress in Paradigm who smoked a spliff) now that fear is no longer there to lean on, to stand on, sit on, lay down on, eat on, sleep on, get busy on, chill with, fck with, smoke with, cry with, laugh with,( you were in a relationship with fear, that’s why you aint got no man now)(lmfao) (smh). Fear was what crutch, my confidant, my companion. my protection, my excuses, my reasons why not to do anything/everything. My procrastinations, my depression, my stagnation. My poverty, my loneliness my sadness my disappointment my ego, my struggles, my pain, my laughter, my tears. So many tears over the last ten years. Tears to fill the Nile river (you could renew irrigation in that area again). I can remember when I came out of myself (like the ghost of Christmas past came for me on a tour) I saw myself, busy as hell, running around and taking care of everything and everyone, but shit was not getting done in my life, in my world. I was not getting done in my world. (literally my husband was doing a bid 15 to life lol … smh) That was me running and standing still. Keeping myself occupied so I would not have to work on my goals and dreams always too busy. As soon as I take care of this for this one, or that one, (just never this one) and I was great at it. I would rise to the occasion and conquer obstacles (for the people, they loved it). I felt special, (used but special) and reigned triumphant for them, over and over again. These great accomplishments and feats, yet I was not fulfilled (well it was not for you, it was for them, you just did all the work). I have come to learn, not to do things with the expectation of another. Have an expectation of yourself, that way only you can disappoint you (it still hurts like hell) and you will not have to play the victim (a skill I have mastered) So we write, we begin today. We release all that has been within, withheld, confined, and we step into our new self, our new path. Still unsure, unaware of what’s to come, but determined to keep going anyway. It appears lonely this new journey (that’s because of the paradigm shift.) I was always lonely even in the rooms I tried to keep too crowed to notice (I always noticed). I go forward with no expectation other then challenging myself to be authentic to me. Activate my superpowers for me, move forward with me. Oh fear, oh ex-lover of mine. You come to pay me visits from time to time. I chase you away then grieve over your absence, because you have taken with you all your excuses which I come to rely on so much for my day-to-day procrastination and Stagnations and idleness. I realize. It was all about me, all about right now. Starting fresh and moving forward without fear and the clarity of knowing it will not be clear till its all over, and that’s ok. I know that now.