everything is so grey and so still, my heart so still, sufficating. too many thoughts that should not be, should not exist. there is no air, even if standing by an open window. i can’t take the whole breath, my lungs so grey and my skin and my eyes, pupils not changing, narrow and still. trying to catch my last breath, trying to understand. m.
Always our wars have been our confessions of weakness.
What is my worth, if I cannot be attractive? What is my worth, if I cannot attract attention? What is my worth if I am not dainty? What is my worth, if I am not skilled in the kitchen? What is my worth if I am not soft-spoken? The language of feminism was meant to answer those question by reminding women, and men who live outside the self-prescribed boxes of gender, that your worth is inherent, it arrived when you were born, it stays with you long after you die.
Silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing.
To offer no resistance to life is to be in a state of grace, ease, and lightness. This state is then no longer dependent upon things being in a certain way, good or bad. It seems almost paradoxical, yet when your inner dependency on form is gone, the general conditions of your life, the outer forms, tend to improve greatly. Things, people, or conditions that you thought you needed for your happiness now come to you with no struggle or effort on your part, and you are free to enjoy and appreciate them - while they last. All those things, of course, will still pass away, cycles will come and go, but with dependency gone there is no fear of loss anymore. Life flows with ease.