Resistance

I have a resistance to writing these days. I find it really hard to type correctly. Keep having to go back and correct my words. Correct my words.
I skim over what I read.
Last night I listened to a video introduction . It seemed too long with too many words.
I lose patience when I hear people talk. My second violinist repeats and repeats and repeats the same litany again and again. Yet again, I listen, because I might miss something.
It is something to be concise? To say what wants to be said in as few words as possible and as simply as possible? Or am I impatient?
Perhaps the act of saying,using as many words as possible to speak maintains all this. Using too many words, without being concise, is a love of hearing oneself speak as words as constructs as energy.
Yesterday, I procrastinated in the morning, avoiding completion of my taxes. Finally filled in as much as possible, yet have to wait until Monday for another form. I cannot allow my self to have the feeling of this tax process being a burden that I carry with me until it is done.

I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to not want to write here today.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to become impatient with words.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to be impatient with writing , with words to the point where I cannot type.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to be frustrated with the use of words, so linear, so time consuming, so slow.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to be impatient with listening to tohers ( I wrote tohers instead of others???)

Lately, I feel like a “her” and not a “self”.

It is the passivity. Listening is passivity. The feminine, the her, the listener, the support=emotional wupport ( ok- I wrote wupport instead of support twice!)
Woman support. Woe man.
Woe is me I have to do these fucking taxes. Money.

Not enough self direction, too much impatience.

I do move between inaction/passivity and action/aggression-enthusiasm. As though I psych my self up and then move. I did this with the task of facing my taxes.

I also have to go to Boston for a rehearsal. Worry, that I will have to support, as in the last concert, the cellist wanting me to constantly “look her in the eye”, the viola player not connecting. I want to play but not if I have to make eye contact and send out some fucking “vibes”. I mean the sound is physically there, it is the “clay”, the play with this is the thing. And not to say that eye contact is bad/good. The hiding of the sound one is making does not work. A quartet is four people working intimately.

I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to feel that I cannot speak, write, find the words.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to ping pong between passivity and aggression, between serving and demanding.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear being accepted by the quartet members.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to feel burdened by passive listening.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to continue to have thought about this man.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to enslave my self to the nature of a female, out of habit, out of fear of changing my role and facing the con-sequences of my life???
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to fear walking from the sequence, that is the pattern, that is my self as energy.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to grow impatient with the sequences of words.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to feel that the words I have do not express what I want to say.
I forgive myself for allowing and accepting my self to suspect that I am really afraid to walk from the sequences that I am, that I know, that are my mind.

Which actually means I have to give up my mind, I have to give up the sequences. Passive movement as linear/sequential thought.

I am not my mind.
I do not allow my mind to be what it is that I am here.
I am not the passive feminine role that accepts the sequences of words and their need for validation and acceptance through compassion.
I am here
I am life as breath as all as one as equal.
I must stand up and walk away from resounding sequences of words and not fear rejection in the leaving of the passive feminine action of compassion and patience to listening and supporting words that are the expression of thought, emotion and feeling.
I , as self, actually stand and walk from this limitation, fully aware that I lose NOTHING but a mirage.
I turn and face the infinite.
I am here,
I am breathing
I am not a role

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About rebeccakarlendalmas

Desteni I Process Equal Life Foundation livingincome.me eqafe.com
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