A Letter for Understanding and Communion

While I can scarcely claim to be a "good" writer in the sense of communicating clearly and simply with consideration for the reader meaning, feeling, event, etc., I believe that I do leave the reader with an impression that reveals my state of being along with occasionally an "entrance" into the nature of the subject matter and the universe that I and the reader in fact share.

Many times I fail to make clear that I do not feel strong; that I (often literally) am shambling around trying to find a definite place within myself to which I can commit energy, will, effort, affectionate (often an undeveloped quality) attention. 

I really really just want you who read this to know that I am writing as if I were in my final hour.  This is what I decided to do with this "final hour":  write a letter.

That said, I was trying to believe that maybe there will be one way of freedom.  I wanted that because I was wondering for a long time why it is that no one is interested in loving a pig.  I have to love a pig because that is what I am.  At least two other people who shall remain nameless have referred to me as a pig in my presence.  What effect does having the self-concept of being a pig have on me?  I feel that I do not like it.  I feel that I cannot believe that anyone would want to like me.  I really have no words for it.  Somehow you will have to know that if you consider yourself a pig then it has deleterious effects on your relationships with real people. 

To return to my question of why no one is interested in loving a pig, I can see that firstly I would give off an air, so to speak, of unapproachability because of slovenly habits.  You can certainly admit I have those.  Secondly a pig appears greedy and without sympathetic emotion.  You know that pigs feed constantly from a trough whatever they are fed.  This causes contempt in humans. 

These facts led me to consider there being one way of freedom because then I'd feel that no one had freedom.  I wished to deny others freedom.  I didn't care because no one I knew thought that freedom was anything but getting your own way.

People who are not happy are also not interested in what the stupidity of life makes hostile.  I did not have to be hostile.  I might have, for instance, decided that no one was particularly satisfied, but then that would have interfered with my personal pursuit of satisfaction.  Not that I thought that through but I certainly needed to believe that I could be whatever I wanted to be.

No one is free if I have all these feelings that I have.  I know that I need to release this pain.

Okay, so there's happiness, there's pain, there's being a pig.  I saw this as my own problem.  Now I need to make sure that no one feels afraid that I am trying to be another Process.  (I used to reduce everything to the process of production a la Marx).

This now takes a turn toward what it is that I want.  I want hope, freedom and love.

I am a child of the Goddess and of a mother who was gentle in her ways much of the time.

Now, in my mind I am making this whole letter a matter of whether there is anything that I can do to be changed.  And the only way I can see that happening is if I have love. 

The problem is that I often do not feel love when it is there, and I often do not give myself love.

I really hope that you who are reading this will say happiness is what is peaceful.  I suppose that is tangential. 

I wanted to make the people with whom I co-existed in a kind of exploitative fashion for eight years at transie house my priests, my being the superior being.  This does not include Rusty and Chelsea:  I was in relation to them as a cruel predator of thought and feeling.

This is love:  I said men are a goddess because I wanted to be loving to my boss:  Jack.

Now I know where this is coming from.  I am trying to make everyone know that my father dreamed that I was his  reason to be.  He could not conceive that his pain did not apply to everyone.  He had pain about his failures and his mother dying young, and no doubt was angry at the universe for no reason that I will ever fathom except he needed his place in a world that is free.

Now I will say because of this fact, I love family as a way to be a moron, i.e., dreamy, free, studious, good, adolescent.  I changed my own life without knowing that I had to be my answer. 

This is getting into philosophical territory.  I cannot be an answer to myself.  I have already said there are no answers.  So, what does this mean?  I really think that I feel like creativity makes this world safe.

I can only be creative in this moment by knowing that the Goddess has a lot of love.

Her will is:  (My will must be):  girl, be free.

Plea is for patience.  I am learning this is what is strong.  I also must know hope.  (Not because I want to must I, but because it's part of the life I chose.)

Maybe this letter is simply a way to begin understanding that someone ((Me:Julia)) is a hallowed rope of womanhood.  That is:  I capitalized on drugs.

Money and patience are not peaceful when made into shame and cruelty.

I guess this is all:  shadow self/bright self.  My bright self  made me know my own freedom; my shadow self made freedom know me.

I love this dream.

I am what I am because there's streams that carry people's lives and I am facing the wrong way.

Does anyone still have a boat to merrily row?

Hallow, Home,
Tallow, Loam.

That's my being.