In the soliloquy of one’s life where do you see yourself. What is yours about? Do you even know what drives you or do you hitch a ride on somebody else’s dream and hopes that you both end up yearning for the same thing. It is hard to determine exactly how one feels in any given circumstance. To live you life with such strong fever that you are no longer distracted by the impounding views of others. I mean nobody will perfectly fit into that mold that you long for. Our journey was never meant to be that easy. If it was we wouldn’t have all these cracks in the pavement or manholes with no covers. Just a Sunday’s drive away from serenity.
Do you know what you stand for? I mean without a doubt dig your heels in there is no way you could waiver unless of course it is so blatantly obvious that you may be wrong. We all have to believe in something. Our life should waste down to one or two things. To sum up a life in a sentence or two can you? Or is your life so dilute and convoluted that you have no choice but to become a yes man. You have to. You are unable to stand on your own two fit. Your wishy washy response to all things and your ability to have a strong opinion and stick to it will be the source of a great amount of discontent. No your true center and stick to it. Waivering is one thing but I wanton disregard of your purpose and all hell well ensue.
To know the truth and to feel the truth are two entirely anomalies. Without one there could be no wondering about the other. Inside of all of us lies then natural instinct to detect when something feels unnatural or could potentially be harmful. It is rare that we follow those feelings. Those feelings that lead us somewhere that we should be going that feels so unnatural to listen to. Take that dark alley. Your insides are saying take the longer route home but your ego is saying just go down there. It is way shorter and nothing will happen. Nothing will ever happen to you. Your tummy will tell you otherwise. If only we slow down and take the time to listen to ourselves and what it would take to make us happy. But we are on this fast truck of disillusion that has rotted away at our insides. To live simply while being able to process all the sources of information that are being thrown at us. Seems like the all time recipe for disaster if you ask me.
Why you may ask am I having these thoughts. What made me get to this point where I am wondering what it takes to be happy. Does it mean we listen to ourselves or ignore the voices and allow the misinterpretations of those pollute or own minds. How far do we go to be liked by all? Are we able to sort fact from fiction and do what is right or do we follow the crowd that is right in front of us at this time. I think about an incident that happened just recently. I was told to ask the validity of one’s character by accepting the opinion of another’s as being fact. Something to sit right in the way that it was all dealt with and handled. In one sense I was told he acted appropriately for the false information that he was provided and in that case his behaviour was just. But were is my justice for my family being led out to pasture. Like a lamb waiting to be devoured by the sheep. The value of another’s thinking and desire to defend his family has now indicated to me who and what you think is important. My family was victimized and bullied on-line by false accusations. My thinking is a sane mind would want to talk it out civilly in order to be able to say we all acted appropriately. Nobody has the right to insult another and insinuate violence with only false facts to feed their fuel.
Having compassion for all of our fellow humans and their life’s journey would solve a lot of our problems. To be able to think in somebody’s else’s head for even a moment would give so many of us a glimmer of hope. If somebody is angry at us it is usually just. We are capable of offending other’s without even knowing it. The how or wow evades us because we don’t know how deep the fibres run. Take the insinuation of somebody close to me hurting a child. I am a mother. I have a small child. This accusation is bold. This accusation needs to be dealt with. It has to be handles with kid’s gloves and a compassionate heart. If these statements are true then they deserve their time to be heard. If they are false then that is a WHOLE other ball park. When it was said I know one of the outcomes. You see somebody even closer to me had this happen to them. Their Dad was accused of hurting a very young minor. He maintains innocence. The courts found him guilty. He went to prison and was sodomized by the guards. Left barely able to walk. That is the storey.
I wish I could say it ended there but there is always one last chapter. What happens next is the son decided to jump from a 26 storey building. Yes he was high at the time of his death. Both physically and mentally. We will never know the true reasons why he jumped. I used to think that he did it out of feeling shame for what his dad did. There were rumours that he did it because the voices started. Undiagnosed bi-polar. Reading through the letters of the torture and pain that was the Dad I read the words that lead to so many questions. There seems to be a vague indication of guilt on the pages. Hidden amongst the letters seems to me that he amounted his lust for young girls because of his mental illness. He even indicated that he thought that it was handed down from father and son. Both in his generation and from his father’s.
I have to stop with that storey as it takes us to far away from the message of this one. When the accusations were made about my husband I needed to get to the truth and immediately. There are ripples to everything we do. The butterfly effect. That is my passion. That is my life’s purpose to serve and protect. My family. My heart. My son was all that I was thinking about when all of it was happening. There is a 1% you never truly know somebody so I had to at least listen to their side. But when it came to that little human you are going to have to bring friends because I will never let anybody tarnish this little being’s childhood. Not me, not you and most certainly not the words of a begrudged stranger.