Dangerous Compassions

night desires

There are night desires–they make night sense.  Then day desires often win.  Day is bright, more rational, and gets stuff done.  Flooded with light.  But night desires are where I live.

I worshiped the moon for a long time.  I feel like my real myself in fall and winter.  Truly, I feel like a different person in spring and summer, with all that heat and light.  The transition to spring always knocks me on my ass.  I get upset and lose my emotional stability.  It’s a panicked feeling like, “What’s going on?”

I’m working on balance.  Fall and night desires can have their own logic.  The inner world is where I live.  I do a lot in the outer world and shared reality.  Sure, I put on clothes and go outside just about every day!  But night is where my real house is.  Imagination is more real to me than reality.

sun couple

I’m feeling this so hard, lately.  What happens in my mind is more vivid and pertinent than what happens in the physical world.  If that sounds crazy, yes, you’re right.  It does feel crazy sometimes.  I’m crazy.  Art is kind of about that, right?

witch house

I’m the witch in the forest in a house made of candy.  My house doesn’t make sense, but no one else was supposed to see it.  It was for me.  I don’t care about tempting kids–I just like candy houses.  I never promised to make sense for you.

There’s a reason I didn’t talk for years.  Who would understand me.  And why lose the intensity I held inside by diluting it for others?  It was denser than bricks, heavy and concentrated like those blocks of tea used as currency.  Inside me I was filled with neutron stars.  Talking was pointless.

Sometimes I still think it’s pointless.  I’d rather touch, but that gets misunderstood and my heart broken.  The day world is more about talking than touching.  Both touch and language are used to manipulate.  But if I’m going to be manipulated, I’d prefer to be manipulated by touch.  Oxytocin is my drug of choice.

Sorry if I shoulda told you all that sooner.  That’s why I’m a writer.  The cloud-sky is not that safe a neighborhood, but where else would I build my castles?

Why should waking life be more important than dreaming life–who says?  I’m going back to bed.

I try not to listen to the voices I hear, but they’re actually kinder to me than most people.  They’re more respectful.  They’re more consistent.  And they tell the truth.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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