Vulnerability And Stuff

There are days when I feel very vulnerable. It's like my heart is outside of my body.

What comes to it in pain, hurts more.
What comes to it in hope, lifts more.
What comes to it in fear, scares more.
What comes to it in joy, elevates more.

I can't explain it better than that. And on these days, I do try to put on the armor I wear every other day; the one built from the iron of sarcasm and the teflon of experience. But it's futile. My body may be wearing that armor, but my heart's outside of my body -- so it's outside of the armor as well.

I try to protect it with my armor-covered hands and arms, and it works for the most superficial interactions. But anything more, and I'm feeling. A lot.

It's on these days that I try to write. The more I write, the more I understand. The more I can push out of the way. The more I can put on paper and into folders and out of view. The more room I can make inside me to put my heart back where it belongs.

The writing I produce during these times, I do not share. It's rarefied material; having very little use to anyone besides myself. It's too delicate. I can't put it on the shelf for fear it might be bumped. And I've been having these days a lot the past little while, and that's why you haven't been hearing from me much lately.

But it's this writing that forms the basis for the stuff I actually do publish later in life. I go back to it, visit it, dig through it for the bits I know I can make something useful out of, and go to town. So I trust that when things level out and I get the chance, I'll be hammering you with tons of material, all drawn from the lessons I've been learning the past 6-9 months.

I look very forward to it. I hope you do as well.