A month for love, and all the words I can clarify. I can see the neat and orderly life that is required by her.My heart belongs to her words, and I hope mine reach her when she needs them.

No depth tonight. Just surprised at my strange luck. I find it doesn’t help in the least, where love is concerned. I think I get the picture, and working toward love seems appropriate. So, I struggle against my love no longer.

A sympathetic death is the smallest thing I can do for love. I reave the parts of myself that could allow such negativity to occur, and allow myself to fall to my nature. In doing so, the process begins to point out the guiding principles of my life, and I learn where I can change myself for my love. I see no need to worry over what my love does in the hollows I have opened, because she spoke her words with a strength, and love all her own.

I know my dreams sound strange,  but the truth is I can only see as far as I can understand. I see my dreams are many fold, and only she has gotten it right.

A friend of mine once told me of her classroom pet, a hedgehog named Lychee, and how it took a good 15 minutes to get him to relax after class. This concept seems to be my way, however I can sense through my empathy when someone is digging through my past in an attempt to dissect a dream that wasn’t theirs to understand. In truth I’m relaxed, and get prickly when I understand everything is pointed at me simply out of curiosity. I see an each of my life in front of my eyes, and it holds a frightening understanding. For me, paranoia seems to travel through my life backwards till an understanding is reached.

Completely turned around, the whole concept reveals my dream for what it was, a twisting of what was perceived. I worried I wouldn’t see my love again, and in doing so I missed my chance. My dream, fits together so perfectly and uniformly that I have a hard time understanding why I had two dreams at the same time, and what I experience, and see on a daily basis. My love is still there, and at times I can almost sense the tears well up in her eyes as she begins to understand. Every time I think of her I see the tears, and it tears me up inside. A cruel dream brought about by hate, and a desire to control an unknown idea.

My friend would understand my hesitation, and my love would cry if she knew why I hesitate. She seems too good to be true which caused a ravenous interest in those around me. Their question, what finally caused me to stir, and why? I can only see what I know to be true, and to honour these two ladies I must wait till I can soften my heart to calm their tears. I never would have thought I would so easily read lips, or get whipped. I know I’m probably starting to sound obsessed, and need to let things be. However I think I’ll stay quiet for a while with this comment.

Life is strange, and getting stranger. I want her to know I want to be there, but my path is taking me in a direction that may take some time to get back to her. Unless, however she wants to follow me down this unknown trail I seem to be conserving. My eye is set on helping those that feel trapped by what holds them back.

My emotions are mirrored in the world around me. If I’m cold my empathy brings me to cold. If I’m scared the same happens. Happy brings happy, and so forth.

So, I work on my Grandfather’s trail. A 5km. trail that leads out to a point of land, and back. Perfect for a good run, and there are even spots to lay down to take a nap. If you don’t mind the occasional bear, or can appreciate why a tail comes in handy when dealing with mosquitoes.

The downside. I may be becoming friends with the chipmunk’s, and am picking up their way of laughing.

Sleepless night’s are strange. I mean after working outdoors for 12 hours, I should be in dreamland. I find that I drift from emotion to emotion in my musings. I could feel a release into sleep from my love, and a few pleasant thoughts. I could even sense a shift into worry over something I couldn’t see, and my emotions shifted further. A lot farther, from this point in time. I thought of an old friend who in her sleep clenched her hands. Its strange to consider that she might’ve been thinking of me while getting ready for work. If that doesn’t fry your noodle, then this next one should. I think a tree I knocked over earlier is being gnawed on by a beaver. I’m told they eat the bark to fatten up for winter.

Now, however I need to try get some more sleep. The noodle remark, though quickly typed has stirred up a sadness. Maybe, I’ll listen to some chilledcow to help me sleep.

It just occured to me how thouroughly I’ve been meditating, but not on mindfulness. I’ve been using a self taught yoga meditation. Its been a very helpful tool while my concussion damage healed. There are a bit of left over concepts to digest, but the majority of them have been sorted out. Namely, the woman who stole my heart. In the last five months, my short term memory holes, have been strengthened by my overpowered long term memory. Now comes the arduous task of finding her again, based on her words, and a vision of her eyes, and lips. Those words I hold dear won’t be repeated by me, and are safe in her hands.