I don't write much anywhere now because there is nothing to add.
My experience with the 'ultra-terrestrial' life remains unchanged. I am no more able to make a human-appealing story out of it now than I was 2, 7, or 15 years ago. Nothing new of note is happening in my life. People prefer to stay on their social platform of choice and I have not the desire to be there myself this week.
I have been reading back over my past blog posts and see written then what I think now. Most information that I could think of to write is signposting to content already published. I remain bamboozled by the lived experience that this interaction which has shaped and consumed my life as Sherri-Lee is the dullest thing on the face of this planet. A long slow crochet project has more moments of effervescence than being able to communicate the enigmatic signals and ideographic language of ultra-terrestrial, higher-plane-living civilizations; mostly because it cannot be shared and felt in reflection from another, and it does not lead me to experienced engagement with the physical world.
More accurately - when shared, the experience makes so few ripples as to be seeming to have no substance at all.
I want to create a book.
My brain is so dull from the flat-line of living that I can't think of what to put in it. I'm prodding myself to pull together my past works of script and word to populate some pages and it feels like sucking all the salt out of the ocean with a hand vacuum.
Why is my life feeling so bland? Probably because I am totally side-lined, on the bench, off the active register of life; which is possibly good because I have no GAF to engage with others much either.
Look, can you see? I am repeating myself here. I don't know how I could make it all any different. I get up off my chair and bounce around on my toes just to feel a bit more actively alive. I think most of you who are still following along with me feel a similarity - yes? My brain and body used to have a voice that told me what they would like to do or what would give them a nice and happy feeling. But they are silent like mountain rock and have been for several years.
Lactose free chocolate milk is about it.
I'm thirsty. I need water.
The living world of my environment does nothing to incorporate me into it and I have no self-bullshit left to cajole myself into trying to be a part of it. I have no lust for the life on offer, and I need to reconcile with that sensation.
I have learned to recognize when I am in a closed non-receptive state, obviously. It seems to happen after periods of receiving and receiving data from the exterior world which has no relevance or catalyzing effect on my own experience of living, and so in boredom and dissatisfaction I shove the world out and close my windows, latching those storm shutters securely.
I protest the enforced stagnation which I am encouraged to accept as living.
I can't take anymore encouragement. I am over being encouraged, because the results of outlaying after being encouraged to do or try something are so minimal I have to employ mental magic to see them. Years ago a prophet spoke over me amidst a vortex of supernatural phenomena saying "Your time is Now! No more waiting. A miracle is being delivered" etc and some more things I don't remember, I was too engrossed in standing upright within the power vortex that was swirling around me. And then I waited. And I outlayed, and I laboured, and I laboured some more, and I did the work and then more work. And I am still wondering what this miracle is. My physical world got smaller and smaller, I had less to do with the external machinations of humanity. Perhaps that is my miracle - to be uninvolved with the dealings of a planetful of lower density places of life.
Because I am so past wishing to be encouraged, I find myself not able to write words of encouragement to others. I'm feeling that we could just meet ourselves where we are, not striving to be somewhere more put together. Because I definitely am not - put together that is. Another day is passing, I am watching sunlight leave the clouds, feeling grateful for clouds, confident that tomorrow will be another fractal of today. I feel a need to accept this better. This is going to be my life for a long while yet.
It is a day since I wrote the preceding paragraph. The sun has already gone on to the northern hemisphere. This merry-go-round is getting faster and faster.
I don't even talk to myself as much lately. I start to speak or think and go 'this is so repetitive and not getting me anywhere different' and stop. And all the while my brain feels fatigued.
And it is another two sunsets since I wrote this preceding paragraph. So crazy.
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