my teleology

My mind has been at it again.  Since starting medication I am on mute.  I see the pictures go by, the scroll of motion but no sound is there.  Closed captioned isn't an option on this dated vessel of mine.  So I have sat in silence as ideas fade in and out.  Ideas, thoughts, musings and down right affirmations of this or that come in my head.  I am unable to use those images.  They sit idle.  The ability to spill them out of the can on to paper or type is impossible.  It is harmful to me.  My present and future.  I am not equip to write a poem to my daughter for her to swoon over as an adult.   The possibilities to tell prospective customers the reasoning behind my song and dance of spinning fabric into a purpose is lost to me. 
I trier...

One word in a book sends reason down my spine.  Its taps on the beak of my chakras its drizzles on the top of my clouded head.

I am reminded about being.  Why I am here why I should try.  Why I need to push through this mask of webs.  There is no ambition.  No spark.  You could dance a thousand candle sticks around me with no threat of ignition.   I am like two sticks that need to be worked and worked before you see that spark.  Even when I did see it what is the catalyst.  Where will it attach itself.  How will it grow into a glowing light that you can see from your view.  The foundation I need is there.  I can not see it.  I can not dream it.  I can not imagine what it is.  When I do see it this time I must capture it.  Hold it captive until I can harness its power to sustain my being.  To create a beacon that a person, an object a metaphysical light will see to fan the flame.  It must be kept alive like a torch. 

That one word got me remembering my nerdy and embarrassing musing about theology, philosophy and the great minds that lead.  They saw a path through a dense forest, decided to create a path with the smallest of steps.  They moved pine cones and needles one at a time.  With no disruption to the collective.  No crumbs were left behind.  They knew they were not coming back from the depths they set out to unleash. I head down that path often.  Well I used to.  I strapped the boots on tight and went walking.  I read their teachings.  The ancient carvings on the stones upon where they sat.  I sprang from those words, my own thoughts.  Now I don't see the path.  I forget it is there.  I don't even search for it.  I want to get lost in those woods again. 

I have crushed my telos.  Stuffed it so deep within walls of modern medicine and covered it with the memories of being a bullied child.  That the world would make me feel awkward and strange if I went on about the mysteries I believed were worth the voice.  To my dismay my husband is my audience, as I have no tribe.  He is a simple minded man that chuckles at my words and has not further input on the matters.  It is not a conversation that leads to a discussion opening doors to further realms of interesting notions.  It is not his position.  It is not his fault.  I do wish to sit around and talk nonsense with someone.  Someone smarter than me.  Someone who can juggle a dozen sentences coherently at me and have me scratching to get a grip.  Someone to break my damn.  Open me up to a flowing river free to carve out centuries of fluid principles and concepts. 

My mind has been at it again because I tried to quit medication.  Both thyroid and seizure.  I put the sewing down and pranced around my home.  Cleaning, organizing from a long constant snow covered winter.  I felt a veil lifting.  I read the simple word telos.  I took vitamins.  Drank alkaline water and walked a mile or two.  Then I got sickly.  My head ached by eyes were unfocused.  I was sleepy.  I am back to square one.  I will never drink that water again.  I will set my medication back to normal and try so very hard to try.  To push it all aside.  To write to live, to fuck whatever anyone may think.  As of now they are not thinking of me at all so there is nothing essentially to lose but my telos.

My mind works.  It just needs to be fine tuned.

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