In death I wrote journals that spoke of goals I wanted to accomplish. I spoke of the promise if given a chance to live. I find this quite humorous. When we humans are faced with travesty we remember our faith. We are saved and sanctified. God’s promise is first and foremost and our prayers become daily rituals that were once gone in the winds. I thought that when faced with death I would cringe with fear. However, when it came time to fight there was a point and time when I embraced it.
These same feelings of inadequacy and anxiety come when I am on the brink of success. I become so fearful of achievement, I let go. I am afraid to fail, I am afraid of the added responsibility, I am afraid to follow through. Hence, the pep talk comes into play. “The Rebirth I like to call it,” I get fired up. I remember the cause, I remember my fight. Thus I am Reborn and ready to fight…
“Around and around I go…, this life of experience. Around in death, in remission, and back to the fight, around and around I go…”
I was 76 pounds of scar tissue to meat upon my bones. Forgetting the struggle from time to time I got caught in the winds. I was found out cold riddled with signs of my disease. My soul was dying and I had to die in order to be reborn. Grabbing hold to my shoulders I cradled my frail bod and whispered these words, “I want to survive.”
There was a time when I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t see much reason to deny the inevitable. This is my story, my reason, my life support, my cause. I survived, but many a time I must call to remember why. I get frustrated when things don’t go my way. I get frazzled when the winds pick up and threaten to close my lungs and stifle my breathing.
I write to remind myself of the fight and uphold my shield for I am at war. I write these words of encouragement, mentoring, and self-reflection as I recover. I also write my words of hurt, pain, and odd feelings as I am reborn. It is a daily fight to remember your struggle. Comfort comes quick. We take advantage of second chances in the blink of an eye.
0 Comments on BORN AGAIN THE RESURRECTION 10/31/2011 as of 1/1/1900
Lj is a feisty one. He enjoys ruff housing with his fellow brethren. Sadly, other children that cross his path become intimidated Little Jeffrey’s advances.
Lj, is an active sport, highly intelligent, and enjoys mimicking words and actions. He is a very impressionable 23 month old boy. He is a risk taker. He is excited about his new found ability to jump, run, and swing on dangerously loose items without fear. Little Jeffrey Jr. takes pride in launching large, sharp, and heavy objects at persons both young and old. His two favorite words are NO and MINE.
As we speak young Jeffrey Jr. has taken an interest in my journal entry and smeared Oreo cookie cream all over my gel pen words, while Baby Jordan contributes a bit of drool.
Active as can be their brains are growing at an enormous rate and it is very important to embrace their interests and creativity; positive or negative. We must turn the negative into the positive.
Although young Jeffrey’s hitting becomes a bit of a task, there is a very important lesson to be learned. Parents should cease from saying the word, “Stop,” Stop hitting, stop running, stop this or that. Hitting at this stage is his form of playful activity. Young Lj is simply expressing his sense of sociability. He needs to be taught how to play well with others, share, and communicate.
Also Parents keep in mind the act of hitting is learned. If you hit them, they will hit others. Encouraging healthy, playful activity with others is highly recommended.
I was sitting in the living room watching the kids at play. I noticed that the entire group of residents, were having a ball. My nose raised high to the sky.
I was irritated at best. The fact that the adults were engaging in such activity, was so irresponsible. I fought back the screams. I was close to tearing the whole lot of them from limb to limb. What idiots they were. Laughing joking having fun.
You see my point yet. Here is another. Last eve the family and myself were quietly enjoying a movie. Oh what peace, you could literally here a pen drop. The wonders of the movie "Toy Story," are amazing. I ran out and picked up every sequel. You could hear nothing, but small bits of laughter, and the crunch of popcorn munching in their little mouths.
About an hour into the movie, we heard some yelling just outside the door. It took one leap, from the couch just to watch the folk yelling and threatening to end one anothers lives. Everyone else stood at their doors in awe as well. Such madness! I choose to participate in, but the noise of the family and children screaming aggrevated me so.
The age appropriate thing to do was to perhaps call the authoritys. The noise was sheer disturbance of the peace. Althought the yelling in the home was abit much, no one was in danger. Its ok to relax once in a while.
Tonight is completely different for once in a long time. The noise is well over the civilized level. The children have no desire to abide by the rules. Inside voices don't seem to exist, and my smile is vividly bright. I found it age appropriate to spend some time with my family. I also found it fulfilling to enjoy the laughter and join in the fun.
It sure was far more age appropriate than to stand idly by and watch two adults embarrass themselves and their familys by fighting in the streets. I think its also age appropriate to know when its time to check yourself, and stand up for whats and right and wrong.
I checked myself about my irritation at good wholesome fun, and the ignorance of street fighting. It was needed, and the age appropriate thing to do.
I am close to the edge. My feet keep slipping off the curb. The pavement is wet. I can almost feel the concrete hitting my face before falling. The blow knocks me against a wall of glass. The glass doesnt break just yet, but its cracked. My hands are bloody. There are bits of glass burried into the palms of my hands. They resemble small diamond crystals glistening into the suns light.
Even though the space on the curb was large enough for me to walk freely, something was forcibly pushing me to the edge. I was so tired the tears welled in my eyes and my palms clinched into a tight fist. I was so angry i hadnt noticed the glass sinking further into my blood stream. The glass embedded into my palms was now a permanant part of my anatomy. I was nearing the end. The lights came on. I was fluttering around like a fish out of water. I was on stage. I didnt know how id got there but the lights were so bright i couldnt see in front of me. Everyone stood and began to clap. My performances was grand. The roses fell at my feet. The ground was in plain view. Confused and disorientated I stepped towards the edge of the stage once more. I squinted and blinked hard twice the room spun in circles. I couldnt stand all the noise. I began to shake my head and rub my face.
The glass in my hands cut me open. I was surpised by the fresh taste of blood. I thought this was all an act. A part in a play. Instead perhaps i was the puppet. I was breaking now. My face became still and my paonted lips began to stain with blood. My tears glowed in the dark, and my hands sparkled as i held them high towards the light.
The glass solidified in my face, and begun to crack. As the hardening took affect, i became startled, but befor i could panic my heart and soul froze like stone. I was looked inside and i couldnt fight or scream for help. Seconds later after my mummbling screams turned to a faint whisper. A operatic scream filled the theater. The sound resounding vibrantly across the audience, and well onto the stage.
My glass frame began to shake. I began to sway to and fro, as the voice approached near. An angry face appeared into the light. Screaming, laughing, and pushing me with her voice. I fell to the ground. I shattered into pieces. My breaking point had come to a head. It had destroyed me, and all that i was worth.
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