The Tales of Virago-- A Beautiful Mess

     Today I was asked to come face to face with the things I have been dishonest about. The things I carry in my pocket. The things I protect. The things I bury. The things I have justified, or believed for so long as just practice- and tried to rationalize as okay when all along they have done nothing, but rob me of my freedom, and design. Leave me void of the life I have been called to live, and envelop me in a veil of darkness that oftentimes keeps me awake until 3am questioning my own decisions.     But still- I swear that I am right  Ed is right.      On my list I rejoiced because things I struggled with, and addictions I justified and hid have been chains that have been broken even in the last six months since I performed this exercise. But then, I looked long and hard at this little orange sheet of paper that stood before my eyes. At the words that stood before what was only my two eyes, or so I thought for all of a spli...

    Precarious. She sat precariously teetering on the line of O.K., numb, and desperate for quite some time, but did not realize what the tipping point would be until she had pushed it beyond the boundary. It happened so quickly, and looking behind her, she wonders where the time has escaped to.      She opens herself. Surveying the contents, as if they were a disheveled drawer that contained all the contents for which she had been looking for. They were there all along, but she could not seem to find them, nor could she begin to grasp them or remember how to even use them. Fog: A paralyzed state of mind, and sense of perception. Feeling detached from oneself, in a distorted sense of view.       It is in these moments, she casts her gaze within herself and draws upon obsolete emotion, that objects her to dark matter that only propels her further away. Or worse yet, she reaches within herself, and looks at the outer veil to ...