it's a psychic attack. Revisited October 11.( a new place to drink hot chocolate in Hayes)

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No wins today, but words are back.

Today was horrific, despite all my best imaginings. I did not win and so I fell, and the reality was set, and and I am stuck with the full horror of it. This blossomed into a breakdown of sorts - tears and curses against god, all of which proceeded from my blocked little hovel of a brain. I woke up and battled through meditation to feel the low sit of the equinox near. Only now just remembering that  it's not just the end of a year, but a whole new body of a decade that is forming. I am struggling with all the bits of me that crumble, scattering at the bottom of my floor; the place where tides lap and dip and soak my outlooks; the crumbs of damp bread scatterings that make no sense. So there is more rage and blame, and silence; and I am called to trust with patience. But I am ripped and torn, by directions that leverage hard, with their non paying fates that hide and square the corners. It's all nonsensical when it's quiet. But there has been good. Apple cider vinegar, and bilateral suprapinatus armpit holds. Hands over ears, that rake down the turbulence, till there is yoga and tai chi again. Both of which caress and serve to boil me down. The way I fear, right now, is that there will be no return to fullness, and that nothing good will ever happen again. Meanwhile I am mesmerised by the bits of me that have fallen. But today I did make a patch, the markings of a new diary and the first rough scribblings.  So there will be something tangibly physical to offer to the coming of the new year.  MB