... I can't do it. I'm too rational for that. I know they will do what their deepest will is, what their ultimate rightness is. I'm not here to oppose the plans of Time, of the tao, to change the dharma. I understand (and I feel) when people want to leave. * I strongly suspect … Continue reading Descending into the Hades negotiating over souls. (Panic poetry.)
Your soul has left this house. I see this. I felt it a few days or weeks ago. It just suddenly became obvious, like a blatant and self-understood fact. * I don't know where it went. But the plaster has started falling off the walls in a few secret spots; the paint has started peeling … Continue reading Your soul has left this house. (Loss poetry.)
Late last year, perhaps in November, I decided to not be depressed anymore. A lot of crap had happened, and I was feeling crappy. I could sense myself going into the tailspin that I know really, really well – after hundreds (if not thousands? let me calculate the years) of repetitions. . Mindful, repetitious observation … Continue reading Is depression a choice?
A few days ago I bumped into an excellent blog by an a woman with (officially diagnosed) Asperger's (this one). In addition to that, after debriefing me about my family life, my therapist/coach asked whether my father is autistic (based on a brief description I gave of our relationship). And for the cherry on … Continue reading Asperger’s revisited. Autistic, gifted, sensitive, psychic?
Another snippet from a facebook discussion, this time initiated by one lamenting his situation of being not just an empath, but also gay. Knowing all this and more, I had to add my two cents, which I'm recycling here for the sake of preserving this personal document for posterity and those who can relate, or … Continue reading The queer empath and multiple outsiderhood
I live in your house now that you have died. We used to meet and part every summer, for 22 or 23 years. When I was a child, sometimes, after a year, I would barely recognise you on the level of emotions. After driving all night and crossing now mythic borders, I would receive a … Continue reading Letter to the other side. (Real life poetry.)
She certainly wasn't the woman of my dreams. But she knew very well how to wield an axe. And she made me paint. * * * Driven largely by yet another romantic disappointment, I set out to visit a stranger in one of the wilder regions of south-eastern Poland last November. I just wanted to … Continue reading The artist’s way: love stories in eastern Poland