The Abandoned Self

As at Sept 13 2025:

Flowing as an electric buzz across the back of my head from ear-to-ear, and more infrequently sparking through the membranes of my heart space, is the tug to show up here, to invest a little time into the me who created and maintained this site and those attached to it over some 8 years.

I feel a tad abandoned by myself and wonder what I should do about the feeling. I have had a multiplicity of hopes, goals or anticipations, now stored in a selection of plastic crates and IKEA drawers, which call on occasion to be undone, finished, discarded or kept for the sake of being able to say to myself that I did try something of living. Not to mention the cost of the outlay in materials and time. What do I do with that?

I live in a rapidly revolving precession of days which feels timeless, with an echoey quality reminiscent of a vast hall prepared for a banquet which no-one was available to attend. Am I both relieved and confused by the outcomes of my life? Yes, yes I am.

I still speak the language of stars and spheres daily, communicating into the spaces between to unseen recipients and companions. I have not been otherwise unproductive, keeping knitting needles and crochet hooks moving, filling a drawer with socks and making things to hold things. I go outside, smell the flowers and air - sometimes rich with the moist decomposition of neighbouring bushland and I can imagine simple days by campfires buried deep in the wilds of a land separate from human industrialization, urban housing development and freeways.

Above any other veil-thin thoughts is the acknowledgement that I may be actively engaged in waiting whilst not thinking too hard about what it is that I may be waiting for.

Sept 21 2025:

Ha, I came here on this date to add something, and then - distraction happened apparently, so I write this on Oct 21 2025 as a note to myself that I did show up a month ago, although briefly.

Oct 21 2025:

So here I am in a new paragraph to see if more words will splatter out onto this backlit page.

I begin to share some thoughts around current happenings or upcoming events in my life and soon delete. I know the significance of privacy when confronting a rapacious world running its simulation models in a closed system experiencing energy deficit. If you speak too loudly in open spaces about your current wails or woes (and joys) there is a heightened probability of some entity, or consortium of such, sending waves of chaos, calamity or even mild constant irritants to press those emotions into a fragrant lifeforce ambrosia and slosh about drunk on your turmoil. I do not wish to be something else's wild rave.

So what can I share with you, Dear Reader? What words might nourish us both?

2025 is progressing much how I anticipated it would, how my People foreshadowed it to be. The basics were that it would be a year of not much up until September, at which point to 'be ready for the rockiness, the spike of not so nice', and to 'watch out for it'. September did indeed have more 'hug a plushie' moments than the months preceding; not so much because of real-time events but the energies our orbits moved into. It felt like the rails of a dangerous ride had fallen off and all the molecules of life were in free-fall. With it came the haunted wailing of tormented worlds - lamenting broken masts and torn sails, comrades lost overboard and riches missed on unpredictable currents. Such is the ambient theme of this human living, constructed with rivets forged under constant pressure to make more, be more, go further.

Rise higher, evolve, ascend, cleanse, heal, purge, understand, be whole, love more, give more, enjoy more, experience more - how to exhaust the fading gasps of creative energy pushing us out of this evaporating world.

I have been hitching a ride on the Mothership of 'Not Doing'. Not doing anything about anything much. There is not presently a vast well of 'do it' manifestation matter available for molding life pathways and lasting experiences. All is in Transit - avoid anchors to building, to projects, to concrete life structures and long-term plans. The World Machine is shaking violently so piling sand, grain by grain, into soft castles on trembling shores is an outlay of force best not expended.

Oct 30 2025:

... Aaaand back again. I am going to write this post to its end eventually. My back-brain says that there is a little speck more to add, so I wait with fingers poised to catch the words as they tumble by.

Overriding my life is a recurring desire to 'be somewhere else', 'doing something else'. Like a sock in a washing machine I twist about on swirling waters in a rinse cycle which has been stuck on repeat for years. Time passes, the body ages, I come up to gulp at air or sink to the bottom and taste the detritus of life's messes. I try to remember those moments of hanging out on a line and feeling the joy of an early spring breeze in golden afternoon light. But always I am looking for the other sock.

Is this normal? Do you experience it as well? I put it down to the movement of this galactic region of consciousness in a state of constant shift and upcycling to reach unmarred plates of reality. We can't settle because the substance of the world is unsettled - grains of sand in the howling cosmic winds and crashing forces of celestial bodies in changing orbits.

Well done if you and Yours are maintaining that facade of static existence in and around your habitat.

Peace and calm understanding to you Dear Reader. I make an appointment to come again and hope to see you here.

Published on: The Nothing in Between, 03/11/2025