It’s like my feet have never seemed to touch the ground. Perhaps they have grazed, or tiptoed, but not fully felt the weight of my soul in the movement of steps, leaps, or even laying. It’s a strange place here. Humans, people I mean, are so peculiar and particular about themselves and things around them. Somehow I have gotten so used to the world inside my head that I think sometimes I mistaken it as the only world in existence. But now and then I will get glimpses of what my human eyes see, human skin feels and so on.
I am a very easily cold person, temperature-wise that is. And sometimes now and then even emotionally. Or a more honest description would be I feel nothing at all but a dull emptiness — coldness. The closer you are to the equator, the center of the earth, the earth at all rather than the sky, the warmer it all is. The moments I do remember my feet feeling like they touched the ground, everything made more sense to my human mind. My human soul was never from here, yet I don’t believe it was ever meant to be alone either. The soul, I think, is meant to merge with the human and dare neither be without. But how does a disconnect even begin to occur? Somehow a thread came loose and I was never told it was not meant to be concerned for, and there it began to unweave.
Just as the feet of my soul never merged with the feet of my human, it seems I have never quite touched the ground. So as I sit and wonder, when and where have I felt at home in this body in some amount of space I preoccupy? And I remember: the first time I got my own room when I was eleven. Before that, I had lived in a crowded house where I was never to be left alone. (Except in the bathroom which still had high stress level since I didn’t know who would be coming to knock asking if I was done.) Not only that but that child me felt it to be loud and busy seeming. Most of whom I lived with didn’t speak English and needless to say didn’t speak to me anyway. I was, if anything, left feeling very much in the way; a nuisance which they were obliged to take care of.
Anyway, I remember that very first moment I had with my room once I finished arranging everything the way I wanted it. Everything seemed so pristine as I layed in my own bed, looking around my lightly decorated room humbly dazzled thinking, “this is all me, and only me.” And really, I didn’t have a lot of stuff at eleven not even a full closet or full drawers. But nonetheless, I had a say in how I wanted to express me. I don’t believe I had a moment before that to have my own space or any room for myself to exist as I was. It was almost unbelievable and I was filled with gratitude and warmth. As I draw upon that moment, I also recognize that in those times I felt grounded, I was also alone. Not lonely, but alone of others. I didn’t have to be cautious of someone commenting on what I felt like doing or need to listen for someone to come around the corner of my small square bedroom. I had the chance to have a door between me and the world rather than feeling completely watched. In those quiet moments of my bedroom, I could sit in funny positions and no body could stop me. I could think whatever I wanted and not have to worry if my thoughts were showing on my face or movements. And I could cry and pray and say whatever without being judged or told to stop. Before that, I didn’t feel such a freedom. And I am aware that this all sounds so extravagent for simply having my own room, but it was my moment of feeling at home, safe, and relaxed yet excited to start feeling and being me.
With having connected to that, I then begin to recognize that I begin to feel moments similar when I am alone in my recent life as well. I feel it the most when I am alone in my entire house. I couldn’t feel at home in another’s house even if I were assured I was alone because truthfully I would be paranoid of being walked in on by surprise. With my own house I can at least hear or sense in some way if someone is about to enter. And by now I probably sound crazy with all this and paranoia but most people don’t come from such a home life or maybe just aren’t as sensitive as I am or, both.
So now, I have come to my next step forward after reviewing my progress of what little grounding I have found for myself over the years: I need to make my own space and fill it with me energetically, thoughtfully, and then make it all visible. I will make a home inside of myself so I can carry it with me as I travel out of the door, on the street and in a crowd whether I know them or not. I know that is a very far reach but I just can’t live without any grounding anymore. All in all, spirit sent me a message in my dreams saying that foundations should be built on love or else all else falls apart. And in those moments I had my own room at eleven, I adored the space filled with me and love for me. It felt like my first breathe of life and I breathed love into my being, both my human and soul. It has been proven necessary to reconnect with that home within myself, as that seat of self love.
Thank you for reading this as this was a very personal writing as all of my writings are but this is a very large step forward in terms of revealing beyond my broken parts but honoring who I am under the rubble. My writing skills may be very rusty so please be easy on me. My wiriting is more than a means of opening up it is also my art so this comes directly from my heart I hope you know. Peace and love, for I am coming undone