Let feelings be

There is something on me, something I am feeling and anything that would allow me to identify it, to see it for what it is is away from me, behind a curtain- the more obvious and literal things I already understand.

It was a feeling, then it became a thought because I’ve had to distance myself from it to try and figure it out.

It’s an idea now, I’m trying to visualise it, make an account of it with words. It needs an irrefutable story, with plot points that I can lace together to understand what and why this hidden thing is. I can feel it so strongly, but I can’t even describe it allowed.

What has happened and why has the memory of it walked out and left me, leaving an imprint that wants to be something more than it is, as a concrete thing, as The thing itself?

It is just a feeling. But why do I do that with feelings? Feelings are not always thoughts, not always stories. They’re felt, sometimes that is all. There is no explanation sometimes. There is no thing that exists more profoundly that feeling is tied to, no thing more credible that aligns itself with feeling so that feeling can be put in a box and labelled. The feeling itself is real enough it needs no story of why and what it is to support it, to validate it.

As someone who has been creating 5 w reports for her feelings for ages, who believes in her cynical stories even when she doesn’t, this is all getting old really, this pattern and habit of analysis. I’m an analytical person so I struggle, I’d try to embody logic even if it could kill me- things cemented and inarguably real. It’s natural and it’s fun to do. But it’s for safety reasons, mostly. I can get carried out to sea by things and spend a lot of time away with them, in ways equally idealistic and cynical. I can get taken out and away by feelings that arrive without explanatory excerpts.

Head banging analysis, the soul destroying type, is the anchored buoy. And it has saved me as many times as it has limited my life. But I’m drawn now, at this point in my life, to intuition. I’ve wandered over to this side of things, and I want to reject it and run, but now more than ever are those feelings in my life that have no story, no reasoning, no saving grace context. A feeling, a knowing, without a thing that has happened to allow it to stand tall in the way it does. If I allow a feeling to be felt rather than observed at a greater and greater distance the more I try to understand what it is and what it is doing, it can write a story of its own, eventually with time and maybe some watering, if I let myself feel the feeling diluted with nothing.

Things will be how they’re intended then, my life will be as it was intended. Why would feelings have been given so much open space to roam in my life otherwise? Why else would I be so emotional? If the feeling is left to be what it is, taken and accepted as it is, it will give me things the stories I could try and write won’t. Big things that are both felt and seen. I would have to trust feeling and resist the temptation to rip it open for meaning, to force anything on it or out of it. Because the truth is I don’t know very much. But a feeling that persists without justification is one that has seen and heard things I haven’t, an observer of many storylines. Of course, feeling always has a story, it’s original one that sits hidden behind the curtain sometimes revealing itself, sometimes not, a story one mine will never stand up against, written by the greatest author of all time.

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