Tall tales and lessons from the mattress

Tags

mattresses, Procrastination, sore back, tall tales, Truth, Yoga

Oh, I used to tell myself, I’ve always had a bit of a sore lower back.

Yep, I’d nod to myself, it must be this whole getting older that’s causing me to wake up most mornings with a sore back. On those days, I’d just better jump out of bed and into a yoga pose or two. That’ll fix it! (It does, of course)

For sure, I’d remark to my reflection in the mirror, I’m not sleeping so well and that’s because of stress/Hashimoto’s/my sore back.

Uh huh.

Tall tales, people. We tell ourselves all kinds of things that we’re sure we know are the truth, right?

But we can be mistaken.

Two Saturdays ago, I woke up with an aching back (again), determined to do something I’d failed to do for the past THREE YEARS: go and buy a new mattress to replace my 12+ years old one.

There’d been dozens of reasons that I’d put it off.

Like… Mattresses are expensive, after all. My current one is okay, isn’t it? I don’t have time. I don’t have the money. I’ll just put up with the one I’ve got a little longer…!!!

Until two Saturdays ago. I charged into a mattress store, determined to find a solution even though I still didn’t really have a lot of money to throw around.

I lay down on a few different styles until I made contact with one that made me proclaim: well, this is different!

And I discovered that the store had one of those interest free payment plan deals (cheaper than whacking it on your credit card!).

Within twenty minutes, I’d bought a new mattress. Finally. After years of procrastination.

A week later, it was delivered.

The very next morning?

I woke up without a sore back for the first time in F-O-R-E-V-E-R.

I also noticed that I’d woken up a few times during the night. Not because I was uncomfortable; it’s just that I was used to having to re-position myself to get comfortable  over and over again throughout the night. I’ll have to re-train myself not to do that any more!

Guess what? This habit borne of discomfort, was disturbing my sleep!

Since then, I’ve been spending as much quality time as I can in my new bed, almost crying in relief at the difference it’s making to my life.

That place where I rest my body and mind for eight hours a day? It is now Awesome to the Power of 100.

And the lessons I learned from my new mattress (which can also apply to almost any life circumstances/situation) are as follows:

• It was well worth the effort to track down a quality new bed.
• Amazingly, finance options that work for you are usually available these days if you can’t pay cash.
• Stuff that’s happening in your life that you think is being caused by certain things – that might not be true and you don’t even know because you haven’t looked hard enough.
• It’s worthwhile refreshing/renewing/shaking up all of the important things in your life, on a regular basis.

This also brings to mind the time when I really, really needed help with PTSD. I sort of knew I needed help, but I didn’t know what kind and I was hesitant to find out because I thought I couldn’t afford it. So I just didn’t get any for years. In the end, this was not to my benefit.

Then, when I was getting sick last year and falling into a horrible depression, I told myself it was “just” PTSD re-surfacing. But in fact, what was going on was that I was physically ill with an out of control auto-immune disorder that was wreaking havoc in my body.

Some things, they just aren’t meant to be skimped on.

Like a really good supportive mattress, or your physical/mental/emotional health.

And there’s always a way to get what you need, but you’ve gotta get out there and investigate the options!

On that note, I’m pretty sure it’s time for me to once again marvel at the wonders of my amazing new bed. 🙂

Wishing you joyful states of rest and the right kind of care for your body and mind.

~Svasti

xx

Happy New Year & final #reverb10

Tags

#reverb10, Air Bourne, beer, champagne, cobwebs, core story, Growth, Healing, honesty, learning, Love, New Years Eve, Service, Truth, Yoga, You Am I

A little of last night's liquid joy 😉

Happy New Year, everyone!

Isn’t it wonderful to be here on the first day of a brand new year?

I hope you enjoyed your new year’s celebrations, whatever form they took.

For the first time in too many years and perhaps not entirely wisely, I decided that I’d go out for the evening and get down with my funky (??!) self. Haha. So I ended up at a live music gig at a Melbourne landmark, the Espy Hotel. The line up featured You Am I and Air Bourne, lots of awesomeness there!

Much fun was had, ridiculous amounts of beer were consumed (after the champagne I drank at home – I can’t tell you how rare such a boozy night is for me!) and many insane tweets were sent (if you missed out on those, consider yourself lucky!).

So here we are, the final #reverb10 post, and the first day of a brand new year. It’s been really interesting writing about personal topics based on other people’s questions, and fascinating to realise as a result just how central and deeply ingrained yoga really is to my life.

It’s also been a wonderful discipline to write almost every day and though I doubt I’ll keep that up for daily blog posts in future, I think I’ll aim to do some personal writing each day now. Coz it really helps keep the cobwebs from forming.

Core Story. What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world?
(Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)
~ December 31 prompt

My core story is a delicious cocktail (vodka martini, anyone?) of these things:

• Being of service – using whatever skills I possess to help those in need.
• Healing – myself and by extension, the way I interact with others
• Growth – change is always possible if we really want it enough.
• Learning, always learning – may I never stop!
• The giving and accepting of love – this heart of mine contains endless amounts of the stuff…
• Yoga – my saving grace, my teacher and my bestest buddy.
• Honesty – I’ll answer stuff honestly even if it’s not always to my advantage.
• Truth – the seeking of it, speaking and living it.

Reading back through my #reverb10 posts, these ARE the common threads. It’s all pretty much where I’m coming from as well as where I’m headed.

May your New Year be bright and full of love!

~Svasti xo

My head on Tuesday

Tags

illusion, Meditation, Spirituality, Truth, Tuesday, Yoga

I’m guessing I’ve probably read this somewhere, or it’s from one of the many teachings I’ve been privileged to attend- I forget – but in any case I’m paraphrasing.

So I’ll keep it short.

What’s been flowing through my mind for much of today, in a yes-I-can-relate-on-some-level-and-not-just-intellectually, is this:

There’s nothing that we can think or feel…
that’s not in some way an illusion.

So many constructs and ideas all stacked one on top of the another. How often do we operate on a mistaken idea? When we think we know what we saw or heard, but it turns out to be something else entirely?

I’d say that’s kinda all the time.

If that’s true for specific instances, then it could also be true for everything, all the time. It’s just that as we inquire more deeply, the ideas we’re investigating become wider, much more subtle, less blatant.

But they’re just ideas, all the same.

Welcome to the inner workings of my mind on Tuesday!

~Svasti

Uselessness

Tags

anti-heroine, bird eggs, blood kin, fairy floss, Family, helpless, Surrender, Truth, useless

Sometimes we say stuff, just to try and fill the gaps with a kind of explanation, even if it doesn’t make much sense. Not when you examine it properly.

What are we running from anyway? Are the words just a way to put some distance between things that cause us pain? Are they better than silence?

I’m a little confused and constantly surprised with all the strangeness, although I don’t really get why… I mean, if there’s one thing that’s predictable…

Can’t help but think of tiny baby bird eggs and how easily the shells are crushed. Which in a way is good… makes it easy for those tiny new birdlings to peck their way out when its time… but also means they’re quite fragile right up til…

Sand with crumbled sea shells, crunchy underfoot. So flimsy and yet remains in one piece, somehow. A piece of a larger whole. Thankfully. Well, at least for the time being.

The ache is heavy, dragging, spreading, stretching. Taking up space in my chest cavity leaving way less room for my lungs. Making it harder to breathe deeply.

Can’t blurt out what I really want to say, it’ll upset people. That’s not what I want. But what happened to being able to be really honest?

Perhaps it’s against the rules (no matter what they say) in this strange world where planning for the future is given higher priority than seeing the world straight up as it is, right now.

It is easier, sure, to just… not. Apparently.

But then I think – wow, it must look all-so different as you survey your version of this story.

I don’t belong here. But I can’t really get too far away – your story needs its anti-heroine, doesn’t it?

So you paint me shades of your discontent. A vagabond, in need of a proper frame of reference. According to you.

Tricky, tricky, fairy-floss-like melt-in-your-mouth confusion and not quite there-ness, and then, oh, just then you’ll say what I wish you’d said a while back.

But seems those words never come out when they would’ve been useful. It’s easier to look like you might be helpful, without having to potently act in that capacity, ever.

Alone, alone, alone. Always alone. Sitting around that table but there’s no warmth in your embrace. It’s a kind of a game.

And it’s silent. Can’t say those words. Just have to learn to say nothing. But then, that makes me like the rest of you, not what I want at all.

I’ve no idea what you think of this mess. Help is only help when it’s given freely, not when you make me beg.

Loving people in my life, it seems, is often a game of peeling the onion. Remove another layer, I just have to keep on shifting my viewpoint, because I’m never quite in the right position and that gets painful after a while.

Always, I try to forget what’s been, just to trust again afresh. But you never have anything new for me, just the same old same old…

I don’t belong here.

Where are the others like me? Those who don’t run from, but towards wounded people?

Certainly, I won’t find the answers here amongst blood kin.

Never have. Never will.

~Svasti

What ya wishing for?

Tags

Anywhere but here, Broken bones, dandelions, Healing, living in the moment, modus operandi, Post-traumatic stress, progress, PTSD, Reality, Recovery, Swine flu, Therapy, Trauma, Truth

No matter how you cut it, there’s always more ways to slice and dice anything. You can take the tiniest sliver, and if you have the right tools, cut it up again and again. You can make shavings of slivers and get all microscopic about it.

What’s that got to do with anything? Umm, nothing. And everything.

It’s just that y’know, measurement is highly relative. So is progress.

Where do we really ever get to, other than right where we are at any given moment? We’re just where we’re at, period.

The wanting of other things, that’s where we get ourselves into trouble. Wanting to be somewhere or someone else, or another version of yourself – thinner, wiser, funnier, smarter and so on. We want to be healed. We can’t forget the past. We reminisce of happier times. Want to be on holidays again, go back to places we’ve been.

Anywhere but here.

Or, we think of where we want to get to – being in love with someone wonderful, being a parent, healthy and whole, nicer teeth, earning big money. Or, just more simply… we look towards a place where we’ll be really happy.

Trying to just live in the here and now is difficult. Western culture is set up to either think of the past or look to the future. There’s really not much here and now in our lives at all.

Sitting on a tram surrounded by strangers, most people are thinking about getting away from such close proximity (BTW, did you hear Melbourne is now Australia’s Swine Flu capital?). At work, we’re bored or annoyed or looking forward to lunch or going home or socialising after work.

We’re rarely living in the moment, but it can happen: riding a push bike consciously, getting a massive fright, meditation, having a really intense meeting, seeing an amazing live band or dance performance… these are just some examples.

When it happens, for seconds or minutes (if we’re lucky), we feel intensely alive.

Some people get hooked on that, and then get into adrenaline-based activities. Although, it then becomes less about being in the moment, and more about the ‘rush’ we feel afterwards. And looking forward to the next time.

During the worst of my PTSD, where it wasn’t so much ‘episodes’ – more just one long waking nightmare, day in, day out… I wished away much of my life.

Truly, I believed it was possible to wait out my trauma. I thought I’d get better over time, like healing a broken bone – sure it hurts for ages, but eventually it gets better.

And while I waited, I shut down the rest of my life. Just sat there, waiting. But never in the moment. I was too busy thinking about that unspecified time in the future when I’d be okay again.

Never worked out that way of course. Turns out the source of a lot of my pain was about avoiding. Didn’t want to be in the moment at the time (quite understandably) and didn’t want to know about it afterwards, either.

Thing is, to start to move forward and just to begin the healing process, that’s exactly what I had to do – get very present and very real with the pain, the terror and all of the rammifications.

Its the polar opposite of our standard modus operandi: dropping out of reality.

No wonder healing feels so scary and hard at times!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote a draft of this a little while back, but Brooks’ recent post reminded me it was there, casually sitting in one of my writing files. So I looked it up and thought… yeah, time to come out…

~Svasti

Freshwater

Tags

Anxiety, Broken heart, Fear, Freshwater beach, Harbord beach, Healing, Heart, Love, Love story, Manly beach, mermaids, Northern beaches, Recovery, sandstone, Sydney, Truth

I am awash. Deeply, soulfully and to the bone. I’m surrounded, but not attacked. I am sinking, yet rising too. Opening painfully, my heart speaks a thousand stories at once, most importantly it tells me – Thanks.

Not that I really did anything. Although, I didn’t realise just what sort of load the ol’ ticker had been carrying. As usual.

Yet somehow, the pressure’s been undone.

What remains surrounds me like a warm bath, with ever-so-gentle caresses, asking no questions, and breathing so much easier.

Kinda like this one endless summer day, when, living on the northern beaches of Sydney (paradise, and hardly anyone heads further north than Manly, the least stunning of the beaches on that peninsula)… I strolled the fifteen minute walk to my local – technically, Harbord beach, but colloquially known as Freshwater.

Not very large, as beaches go. A smallish but perfect cove dwarfed by rugged sandstone cliffs, tucked around the corner from north Manly’s shores. Crescent shaped, regardless of high or low tides. And, for a stretch of sand and water not far from the big ol’ city, incredibly beautiful and clear.

That day was one of many lazy Sundays I joyfully wasted inhaling the glory of the world.

It was soooo warm, but not too hot or humid. Just incredibly pleasantly warm. And Freshwater on that day (but also many others), lived up to its name: fresh and clear. Not too salty. And perfectly bath-water warm.

Even better though, since this bathwater never gets cold, doesn’t leave you shivering with a sudden need to get out. And the sun is pleasantly shining. There’s no wind. A perfect beach day burned into my hard drive, filed under “utter perfection”.

Ahhhhh…

I tarried, swimming lazy laps the length of the beach, floating and doing back flips. Strolling the edges, spying on fish schools and lying across the smaller cliff flats, soaking up the radiating warmth, easing tension from my shoulders.

Stone, sky and water and I was blissfully happy, wanting nothing else. Perfectly content just to be.

And while it’s not quite like that now, there’s an evocation of that particular day going on. Not that I’m trying to get back there, just, remembering the comfort it gave my heart, broken as it was at the time.

Actually, I’m convinced my heart’s been broken for years and years on end now, never really healing as I plunged headlong from one inappropriate romance to another… and reaching the end of that line with a violent punch in the face.

My heart, while it’s still managed to break since then (but not over romance), hasn’t been available for the past few years either – and to this day it wears its ‘Closed for Business’ sign, truth be told.

But finally, its telling me stories, many stories, and I’ve pulled up a comfy chair, cat on my lap, having grabbed the largest pot of tea I can muster, to sit there and listen…

~Svasti

You’ve come a long way, baby

Tags

Asana, bird’s eye view, Blogging, Depression, Fat Boy Slim, Happy blog birthday, Healing, Meditation, Nataraj, Natarajasana, Post, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Retreat, Spirituality, Therapy, Trauma, Truth, Unemployed, Yoga, yoga teacher training, Yogasana

For years I was totally hopeless with balancing asana in my yoga practice. I’d wobble, fall over and enviously look at others, wondering why I couldn’t do what they did.

Then some time ago, wobbling through Natarajasana (dancer pose) I had a realisation that changed everything… You’re not just trying to balance on one leg – you need to stabilise yourself by engaging every little piece of your body!

Oh! Seems so obvious in retrospect, but for some reason I really didn’t get that, until I did.

In turn, this taught me something important about life, in a very practical (not theoretical) way: Nothing in our lives is disconnected. Nothing.

Funnily enough, I’ve had this realisation many times – during meditation, from reading books and listening to dozens of lectures on the matter too.

Seems we don’t get it, until we do. Nothing is disconnected.

We’ve come a long long way together
Through the hard times and the good
I have to celebrate you baby
I have to praise you like I should
~Fat Boy Slim

For those of us consciously trying to heal our inner wounds, with our fragmented selves desperately trying to keep up… we’re often so busy focusing on the trauma, it’s hard to see the bigger picture.

Just for now though, I’m taking a bird’s eye view, trying to see the lay of the land, so to speak.

Why? Well, today marks the first birthday of Svasti! Hip-hip-hooray!!

To quote my last post, this blog grew as something of an impulse – a very strong desire to save my sanity. A much needed space to expel the violence, sadness and struggles I’d been dealing with all alone. Screaming into cyberspace seemed like a good idea, and I was right.

Blogging I’ve found… is sort of like travelling the world with an entirely different perspective. Instead of seeing museums and temples and the like, I find myself surveying the inner workings of people’s minds all ‘round the world.

In the process, I’ve made a lot of friends and learned plenty about myself and others.

Such as: There’s no simple cure to PTSD or depression. And there’s peaks and troughs to recovery. The peaks make me feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. The troughs make me feel like checking out of Hotel de Life.

Healing is not a one-shot deal. There’s no magic pill to solve all my ills, or anyone else’s. But the more we express, the better it gets (in the long run, if not straight away).

And given human nature is how it is, we find resonance in each other’s words. We discover we aren’t alone. We’re all connected. So, what we write can benefit others. That’s a good thing!

But I’ve also learned the assault I started writing about was only a small part of the story – a kind of bookend really, to a certain era of my life. An era I’m learning I need to write about. That’s all connected, too.

In the last twelve months I’ve: started therapy, quit a stable (but soul-destroying job), spent five weeks in spiritual retreat, conquered the worst of my PTSD symptoms (although I’m far from symptom-free), gained and lost another job, had a second niece arrive, found new friends, started yoga teacher training and struggled with a very morbid attack of depression. And I’ve spent the better part of this year unemployed, surviving on a fraction of what I usually earn.

Seems I’ve been shedding one skin after the other, kinda like an onion and with just as many tears.

But none of it is disconnected, I’m convinced of that. Where we’re at is a result of where we’ve been. There’s no plot device that led me down this path.

Gotta say this much – it’s a glorious place from which to find my balance in life, and I know I can do it.

So, here’s to the next twelve months in my/everyone else’s journey.

And thanks everyone for reading!

~Svasti

Response to BlissChick – part 2

Tags

abuse-o-meter, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Depression, Family, Fear, in-utero, Internalising pain, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Relationships, Repression, sex trade, Trust, Truth, Violence

After my rather long comment on BlissChick’s post, I wrote up part 1’s post (which was kinda hard to write)… but she also emailed me some other (rather confronting) questions:

In psychological circles it is said that abusers are not born but MADE. So I wonder (not knowing anything about your home life as a child) what kind of environment your parents created in order to turn your brother into an abuser?

I don’t remember much of my early years, just tiny splotches. But I do remember my brother never liking me. It seemed to start when we were fairly young (he’s only two years older than me).

Perhaps this will sound new age-y, but I have this theory:

My brother was the next little being to inhabit my mother’s womb after the grief, illness, anger, sadness, stress and loss she experienced in giving up her first son. Never having had permission to deal with it openly, I believe much of her pain was simply absorbed.

I’ve had my own experiences with the body internalising pain… I know this is what happens.

So, in-utero my brother imbibed suffering as he grew. Marinated in it, really.

And what must it have been like, for my mother? Being pregnant again after that first time? She once said when we were little, she was always afraid someone would come and take us away… this fear must have affected each of the three kids that followed, right?

Also, my brother was part of a soccer club from a very young age, and in the 70’s/early 80’s, Australian soccer clubs were dominated by masochistic men and boys. He grew up as part of that culture, every weekend for years.

My parents I believe were just… too involved in their own lives and pain. They didn’t see what was happening in front of them. They weren’t equipped to handle it. They’d never been given the appropriate tools themselves.

Do you have to experience such things for yourself in order to recognise what’s going on?

I don’t know if something else happened to my brother or not. If it did, I don’t believe it happened in my parents’ home.

I also wonder why they enabled his abuse of you? That is what they did — they enabled.

These two sentences were very difficult for me to read. I truly believe they were unaware.

When I’d go to my parents and say ‘my brother hit me’, how could they work out how bad it was? That it wasn’t the usual sibling rough-housing (it never happened with them in sight)?

How could I understand what to tell them? What could I measure it against to give them some context?

People will claim they had no idea what was going on under their own roofs, but 99% of the time, they are lying (perhaps not even consciously so). The other 1% you have to ask HOW and WHY they did not know? WHY were they so utterly self-involved that they did not see your pain?

Because it was their job to love and protect you.

A little voice I don’t want to know about whispers in my ear… it was ongoing, though. It wasn’t infrequent. So why didn’t they stop him?

My dad was the youngest child with two older sisters and I don’t believe he’s ever hit a woman. My mum has a younger brother and I don’t believe he hit her either. Why then, was my brother allowed to continue to target and bully me?

I don’t know! It’s a question that pains my heart, and I have no answers. It makes a part of me feel raw and hungry and empty… it makes my lips purse up and I want to just stop thinking for a while.

How could they put up with my complaints of constantly being used as a pummelling bag? Then, it’s not just that he was physically abusive. But verbally too, and viciously cruel at every opportunity.

But, I was off with the pixies a lot. Did I just withdraw? Did I make it harder for them to know the truth? Should they have known anyway?

Thinking about this stuff, it makes me squirm. Does it matter if I ever know, or not? I kinda think right now it doesn’t matter any more… as long as I’m not pretending, and as long as I’m admitting to myself, that it wasn’t okay.

Whenever I see or hear about a woman who has chosen a partner who is or becomes abusive of her, I know (know know deep in my heart) that she came out of her childhood deeply wounded. Women who are raised in healthy households with healthy self esteem do not pick bad partners. They have an innate radar and can sense abusiveness in even the most charming people.

Today I read a post by a blogger I don’t know, via one of my blogger friends. And it really made me think. How do children get to the point where they taunt another person so mercilessly? She makes a good point – it’s because nobody stops them. They get away with it because they can.

And yes, I know my self-esteem was in tatters by the time I left home, aged nineteen. Through my own actions as well as those of others. But I think you’re right – had I been given a stronger sense of self-worth and self-love, I don’t think I would have let my first boyfriend treat me as he did. Nor do I think I would have ended up working in the sex trade.

Or, allowing myself, as you say, to pick bad partners. One after the other. To this day, I still can’t sense abusiveness in others. But those who are weird and wounded like me, sure, I can pick them a mile off…

Then again, my sister didn’t go through any of this. What was it in me that meant this was my path? My sister saw how our brother treated me and although he was mean to her, he never hit her. Just teased her all the time about her weight, resulting in a wounded self-esteem. But then, that’s bad enough, isn’t it?

Eventually wounded women who struggle and fight and put themselves back together again have even better radar. So do not fear. The work you do now most assuredly will lead you to a loving relationship some day.

I really, truly hope you’re right. I do. I get it when you say this is going to take a while. So far, it’s taken all of my life. If ever I can repair that abuse-o-meter radar, I know it’ll be good!

Of course, until then I know I need to keep moving. Like my therapist said, I can’t let the habits of my PTSD and depression, continue to lead the way.

So I have to try and reach out, to trust. And accept I guess, I might still get it wrong for some time to come.

~Svasti

BlissChick’s story

Tags

Anxiety, BlissChick, Confusion, Depression, Family, Recovery, Relationships, Stress, Truth, Unemployed

I am tired. And stressed to the eyeballs. I still don’t have a job, and very soon I’m about to be very, very broke unless the universe interferes. I’m working hard in so many ways, and I’m being assailed and tested constantly right now, on the planes of mental health, spiritual life, family and friends and… kinda everything. My belief in myself. The core of who I think I am.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that despite all of that, I’ve just read a marvellous post by BlissChick: Can I Get a Witness: Overcoming Depression through Story.

Go and read it now!!

There’s some highly truthful truths within that post, stuff I’ve thought about timidly under the covers with the flashlight on, but never ever out in the open.

Christine (BlissChick) and her partner Marcy (Ordinary Enchantment) really have got somethin’ goin’ on. Together, they’re a force to be reckoned with (not to mention their wonderful and wise pets). I hope some day I get as lucky as these gals, in meeting that person, where we just fit into each other’s lives. And support each other with strength and love when we need it most.

I read BlissChick’s post and I bawled, big heavy wet and salty tears. I’m gonna have to re-read it before I can coherently process the things that’ve touched my heart and soul so deeply at 1.30am in the morning.

But I want to say a big thank you to BlissChick for her post, honestly, and from the bottom of my heart.

~Svasti xo

A word to the world

Tags

Breathe, Freedom, Labels, No rules, Poem, Poetry, Relax, Truth

Take all your labels

Your ability to divide and decide

To make right and wrong

And feel so self-righteous

Try to put all that aside and see

I am not moved, not affected

I am not the things you say

Think what you will of me

But I just don’t see it that way

Breathe in and breathe out

Feel the spaces in between?

Yes, between your breaths

Is freedom if you pay close attention

Don’t you know all your issues mean nothing?

Don’t you get that being angry a thousand times a day

Takes you further from what you want most of all?

I am more than you can see

Eyes can’t be trusted with the truth

I’m playing a game that is no game

With rules that are no rules

Its a different playing field over there!

When you reach out in fear and anger

I’m saddened you think that’s all there is

This limited cartoon version of the world

With its extremes of light and shade

It never has to be one or the other, why not all?

Open, don’t close

Play it large, not small

Relax into accepting it all

~Svasti