can i force it if i need it? or am i held hostage by my own heart?
i think about this a lot sitting on the stone, empty floor of a cage i don’t remember entering. there’s this voice, rattling around inside my head, bouncing off the walls.
i keep thinking it’s you. i guess i’m wrong.
i used to believe i could find the key to let myself out. if only i fought hard enough, kept my head down, paid my dues.
i used to believe in a lot of things. a lot of people.
i used to look in the mirror and see hope. i didn’t notice the hard, shiny collar, slicing into my oxygen supply. do i hold the leash? does anyone? or am i hallucinating, crumpled in the corner on the bathroom floor, trying to soak up the cold from the tiles like it’ll cure all my ills? i don’t know anymore.
i’m knocking on my ribs, calling out for help, “can you hear me?” i guess not. maybe my heart decided it would hurt less if i didn’t feel as much. you can’t break what you can’t find, right? boy was that fairy tale wrong.
i am a broken mask, crumpled and muddied by others’ boots. i am a forgotten newspaper ad, empty rooms never viewed. i am the only cry you cannot hear in the dead of night. a howl so lonely you’d almost prefer fear.
because nothing hurts more nothing soothes less than lonely love letters from death.
instead, find yourSELF then find the purpose you have currently
purpose, purpose, purpose it’s bloody EVERYWHERE
and believe you me, i get it! i have bipolar depression. not having purpose can kick up some scary questions, mind states, and thought processes. but how can you find what you’re meant to do if you’re actively ignoring and/or out of touch with YOU?
one of my favorite phrases of all time is, “know thyself”.
many people dislike this phrase because it expects us to know ourselves in and out, they reason. which, if you’re a human being, you know is impossible. but i think that sort of thinking is akin to throwing the baby out with the bath water. knowing yourself is a GOOD IDEA. what triggers you? what pisses you off? what do you enjoy? love? hate? what brings a smile to your face? when do you know you’ll get impulsive? what are your weaknesses? strengths? desires? values? goals? plans? consistent behaviors and decisions? when we’re upset, we tend to want to change or fix someone else. but often times, changing ourselves to grow into who we want to become, will give us a far richer life. one where we’re not so focused on, and magnifying, all of the things and emotions which upset us. those never go away, of course. but knowing yourself allows you to live from a more stable foundation. to actively reach for what you want with clarity of mind, body, and feeling.
but its fluid. we are, after all, human. who we are today will not be who we are next year. we are not who we were last january. we just aren’t. change is a constant. whether we’re growing in a direction we want or not, is up to us.
so before you get caught up in feeling like a terrible person, a loser, an idiot, someone without ambition or know-how or a reason for existing… poke at who you are. poke at who you’re becoming. at what angers you. what fills you with joy. how you want to impact the world. how you want to better yourself and help others.
a funny thing happens. it gets easier to choose what you want your purpose to be, or to recognize it. and never forget, your purpose changes. just like you.
rose petals keep bubbling up in my throat making it hard to continue consuming the sounds in my pillow, every time i flow over
the hollow in me doesn’t understand why it exists
this ache, this terrible wanting hands tied behind my back as i stroll through the pews, the time cards, the aisles
clock in, clock out footsteps, late nights, seating for one and this madness, this fire, with nowhere to burn, flames licking at the witching hour hush, before the night hears
breathe in, breathe out lace for fingertips haunting my dreams slipping through the cracks, walls built long ago beneath sturdy hands, rough with love letters and salt
molten center, quivering with its unspoiled, unconsumed, untouched and i’m screaming honey demands to what feels like closed heavens
i am feathers, choking thorns to ash i can, i want, i crave open
Want to know something pretty cool? While on my journey of learning how to become a sound healer, I learned about the Sound-Light Bridge. And it’s dope.
it goes something like this…
Musical notes vibrate at a frequency. If you multiply the note times the speed of light, you get a color. Take the solfège scale. Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, (and the repeating note) Do.
Each is a note. Do = C note Re = D note Mi = E note Fa = F note So = G note La = A note Ti = B note
Something interesting happens when you multiply these 7 notes, individually, by the speed of light. You get: C note = red D note = orange E note = yellow F note = green G note = blue A note = indigo B note = violet
Why is this interesting? If you take a look at the 7 main chakras, they go like this: Root Chakra = red Sacral Chakra = orange Solar Plexus Chakra = yellow Heart Chakra = green Throat Chakra = blue Third Eye Chakra = indigo Crown Chakra = violet
Big whoop. It’s the rainbow. Right? …… Well, if you take a look at the corresponding notes to each chakra, you get: Root/Red/C note Sacral/Orange/D note Solar/Yellow/E note Heart/Green/F note Throat/Blue/G note Third Eye/Indigo/A note Crown/Violet/B note
Look familiar? It all lines up: Do is: C note x speed of light = red = root chakra = c note Re is: D note x speed of light = orange = sacral chakra = d note Mi is: E note x speed of light = yellow = solar plexus chakra = e note Fa is: F note x speed of light = green = heart chakra = f note So is: G note x speed of light = blue = throat chakra = g note La is: A note x speed of light = indigo = third eye chakra = a note Ti is: B note x speed of light = violet = crown chakra = b note
Chakras have been around for, let’s say, quite a bit. They were first referenced in the Vedas, a sacred spiritual text written sometime between 1500 to 1000 B.C. The sound-light bridge? Discovered somewhere in the 1800s.
And every time I wake up, look in the mirror, take a breath, the hinges around my tear ducts start to break. Someone keeps crying at night, leaving breadcrumbs from within my soul. There are demons and memories and pains eating them before I can see.
There’s a voice farther down that path, you’ll hear.
Yeah You’ve heard.
It coils about your ankles, holding you in place. The silly putty of your heart jumps to please it’s palms. Betraying any nonsense your mind or soul offer. They hide then, small and childlike, alone and bleeding, in the recesses, far behind the grove of trees you used to play within. No more sunrises. Sunsets. Instead you cower within the confines of your castles, diamonds. Porcelain masks that keep the chains at your throat from noticement.
It’s an empty promise, that path, you know.
Yeah You know.
All the petty words, empty shells, carcasses ripped out and left to dry in the noonday sun. Don’t worry. The tide will come in, wash away all the signs, all the proof. Wash away their footprints, but their words never leave the space in between bruises on your back. Pockets filled with safe numbers, tongues lashing at your drop in armor, accidental glimpse behind the paper mache curtain. Mustn’t let them know. You’re human. Your banquet room filled to the brim with their laughter and guests who watch you when you head to your room. Lock the door. (Sometimes that doesn’t help though, does it. The cracks in the walls of your spine let them in just the same.)
You didn’t choose this path, I know.
Someone picked you up, Sat you down, Pointed. Slid their fingers inside your brain and switched it off. Gouged your eyes out and clicked ‘play’.
Did you notice? Those weren’t fingers. They were claws. Leaking with the blood of another.
Do you want to know a secret? There’s a fork in the road. Crossroads inside the darkness.
A pair of scissors, lying on the ground below. Pick it up. Cut the strings. And then you’ll know.
You left the breadcrumbs, a maddened wild thing inside your chest. All that time kneeling, taking the knife, only made a monster of your heart. They didn’t think about that. How fragile a child. How horrific, how unstoppable a monster. And you know all their shadow puppets. All their truths. You are the keeper of secrets when you’re weak. But when you wake. When you wake, hands dirty with the yeast of your memories, demons, and pains on your side, when the silly putty is long dead and dried, when the voice is booming inside your chest louder and louder than theirs about your feet, when the need for a sunset is greater than their diamonds, your hands become stronger than their chains.
You are welcome, then, wild creature, to breathe through your own lungs. Off their path and into the forest, find yourself. Then Then come find us. The wild souls, broken and rebuilt by the master’s hands. Our own.
Daphne Shadows 