08/13/07 WE ARE THE STUFF THAT STARS ARE MADE OF

"Act with the authority of your 16 billion years."

My mother read me that quote when I was on the phone with her damning my frontal lobe.
Existential angst.
Me watching the clouds and trees and mountains is the universe contemplating itself.
We are ALL made of the same stuffs.

I am very envious of my friends who can go wherever the wind takes them. I wish I had the gall. I'm so worried about the sane thing to do. Reason, logic. Do NOT, Emily, let your heart rule. Because it will.
I am a coward. Safety only goes so far.

At the same time, I love my cat. I am proud of my little insignificant being, my job, my efficiency, my room.

I will be patient for tomorrow where I will make brides and their mothers happy with their makeup and hair. Or massage and relax hard working people- coaxing stories- love and trust from each one, giving all of my comfort and joy and sense of adventure to these perfect strangers.

At home I long to have conversations about the bleeding clouds and the overly ripe strawberry smells. Hold me in your arms and understand why I want to be wind. Let me know you are glad that I am flesh and blood. See my secrets in my eyes. My heart has so many scars, but once it is healed it will take it's place on my arm once again.
I will put this aside until I am well enough to dive into romance again. It is exhausting.

Existential angst. Nothing matters. It all is bliss. It all is suffering. It all doesn't matter. As long as the sun and the clouds and the stars are there, I am ok. I am here.