free flow the resistance

Feelings of inadequacy and restlessness.

I’m now able to sit in silence, with a half-smile across my face, acknowledging my emotions and fully being in the moment.

Not hoping it would be better, less, or anything else different than exactly what it is.

Searching inside for the thing that doesn’t come naturally, the one you actually have to search for.

Trying to connect with the higher self that does more.

The Resistance isn’t messing around, it means business.

I grab my choker a little too hard, try to come up with a metaphor. I choke on my own words.

The number of people rooting for me and their sincerity used to make feel all warm inside. It still does, but now the blood rush and higher bpm caused by trying to find the thing they’d need to hear, so they can keep rooting for me, accounts for a considerable portion of that warmth.

There’s no void, but I’m trying to fill one nonetheless. 

I wave at cops, smile at strangers, walk-dance away from people I don’t like. On my terms, I’m doing much better than most.

I’m not doing much, though. How many hours a day for how many days do I need to fight The Resistance to make it out alive and well? To make the art not so hard? To give my calling a call?


Written some time ago when everything was pointing me in one direction, but I was trying to go the other way. The signs showed up today in my cheesy writing, and they showed up back then in my everyday life.

If you’re looking for a sign, this is it.

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