Chinese Bamboo

So much has happened I don't know where to start. On the surface nothing's changed. It like my soul is mimicking Chinese bamboo.  Once the seed has been planted, you see nothing for five years but little shoots. That's because all the growth takes place underground. Deep below the earth, a labyrinth of a root system is reaching upward and outward. Then, at the end of the fifth year, it shoots up to a height of eighty-two feet!

For years and years nothing's been changing on the surface of my life. I work the same two jobs day after day, wear the same smile, speak the same words, but all the while the seas within me were turbulent and dangerous. I, on a raft held together with frayed rope.

 Chinese bamboo. All the work took place deep underground, all these roots reaching outward and upward, waiting for the day they would breech the cracks in the dirt and dare to stretch for the great blue sky.

After seven some odd years of living in a place that was slowly killing me, I'm moving. I'll quite both my jobs and find a new one. Leave two of my cats, which will break my heart. But my soul has been a crippled beggar on a street corner somewhere far away, and no one's thrown it a cent. Not even I,who's passed it by day after day. To deny it this one request would shatter it, and I'd become one of the many trudging a black and white road with light-less eyes. The living comatose of the world.

Neverland would bare it's gates to me.
Starts would turn their backs rather then face my empty gaze.
Colors would all run together and be dirtied, and dulled.

I feel like, finally, I'll have the space to become who I want rather then shaping myself into the person everyone needs. It's a wonderful thing to be human, to realize that, while your part of that infinite spirit that touches all life, your also  unique as one autumn leaf from the next.

If God, eternity, spirit, were the night sky, we'd be the stares, flickering and dancing across it's smiling face.

I feel like I repeat myself, again and again, in the hopes that someone can decode my brain. It used to be such an obsession. I wanted to meet someone who could sit down with me and understand the universe spinning, and growing, and breathing between my ears. I wanted them to know all about it without having to explain a single thing. They could pull up the blinds and look through my eyes like windows to another place.

Eyes are windows.
I'm always looking.
Always glimpsing strange new worlds.

Do any of you understand my ramblings? Or is it just gibberish put on paper with a pretty flourish?

This is how I think.
How I speak in my mind.
I won't change it.
Not for anyone.

Someday someone will decode it.

Do you ever write the way your mind speaks to yourself? Or do try to put on a face, become someone else entirely?

Comments

  1. Thank you for sharing. Beautifully written and expressed.

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    1. Thank you for reading. :) I'm glade you enjoyed it.

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  2. Melissa Rose, always enjoy reading your thoughts. When the sprouts appear, the wait is worth the growth! Life's pains, frustrations and disappointments can leave us bitter or inspired. I hope you continue to choose inspiration! :o)

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    1. I will ALWAYS choose inspiration. lol To choose anything is unthinkable. As always thank you for reading. :) When things slow down a bit I'll get back around to reading your words as well.

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  3. I have tried for most of my life on and off to have a 'face' but it never holds up for long, and never brings me what i want. It is truly a challenge to speak your mind in the way you want to , and the reason i think is fear of hearing nothing back - no reply. Being yourself is liberating!

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    1. I love that. Being yourself is like a deep breathe after holding it for so long.

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