JHem

The most mundane questions are the ones that have right answers, ones that go nowhere. The most fun questions are ones that have no right answers, ones that make you breathe new life. Would you ask questions to reaffirm that you're right, or would you prefer to ask a question of inquiry as a gateway into the unknown?

What if there's nothing bad about being lost? What if being lost is being honest? Maybe things don't come into acceptance until we become lost. Maybe it's when we lose ourselves that we come into being. A type of becoming. When there is no more me, there is no more other. Like losing yourself in play or another. A being, a becoming of emptiness. Nothing good, nothing bad, just nothing at all; Everything harmful, everything loving, just everything together. Everything with nothing; nothing with everything.

Past wounds healed so easily By words of sweet empathy Time passes by Things change No longer the same Guilty of being insane Contaminated by dis-ease With no one to hear my plead As I fade away Into nothingness Cries so loud My world crumbles In the palm of my hands Screams so silent I've become absent In this dark lament Is there a reason For this breathless agony? Is this my goodbye? So alone Casted aside In a dark corner Of my mind Wishing to reunite With the love of my heart But all that's felt is the dark As I'm held by this cold night I've fallen from heaven Losing my place My home Neglecting love becomes torture Disgrace takes away its nectar What was once therapeutic Decays into poison A wilted souls whimper for attention

Sometimes It's hard to believe That it's worth drawing another breath It's hard To remember That pain is all around And it's okay To not want to be here Anymore It's okay To be with pain Of being alone When the screams are loud But silent In the absence of being heard When the tears Form a river Or dry It's okay to feel emptied Of being Dead Just hold out your heart For it to be held So you know Love is here It's okay To be afraid To want to leave Love is here, with you Be gentle with yourself Hold yourself near, dearest Look yourself in the eye and see Love is here, with you, sweetie

http://christagallopoulos.com/poetry/#comment-93 Poetry ~ the perfect excuse to drop our awareness from the endless judgement’s of our minds to our brutally honest heart. Listening to the hearts cries, screams, rage, lost, love and gratitude, you almost find that what is written is a letter of recognition to who you are deep down, both the loving and painful sort of poetry. Giving your heart a voice to know it is being heard, to know it is being tended to, to know it is being held. A love letter you give yourself.

Why must I learn to love myself before I learn to love others? What if loving myself means allowing myself to love you; loving you is me showing love to myself by giving myself, and also the beloved, heart opening intimacy with arms reaching out to one another for an embrace that comforts one to the point of healing the pains of inadequacy. Why do people feel they have to split love into yours and mine; why not ours? Better yet, just leave it at love? Not I love or you love, but let's just sink into silence at love...

http://christagallopoulos.com/knowing/#comment-88 ... The idea that there’s a divide in one’s whole being, a split from the mind and the heart. The heart’s been abused to the point where the ‘rational’ mind must step in and create a barrier. A border to keep the heart from bearing anymore pain than it already has. There’s this split… there’s the side which the bearer of pain lies in secret, the side of fear. Then there’s the other side… the side of intimacy… the side where the heart tries to reach out to, but the wall the mind puts up draws it back. The knowledge of past hurts the mind feeds the heart creates a split from what the heart yearns for, creating unease and anxiety from the possibility of never being able to hold close what it cries it self to sleep at night for. Each time it reaches past this internal barrier, the body becomes breathless, a shock rushes through the soul, causing the heart to skip a beat as it is instilled with the dread of everythin...