"Looking through my soul,
Not my eyes.
Vibration draws,
Patterns to your light.
Your energy collides,
It speaks to mine.
Beautiful whispers,
Colours intertwine." - Unknown
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BAD MEMORIES ARE SOMETHING LIKE SCARS , and sometimes they try to make you change who you really are.
Do not allow your unpleasant evocations to define the character that you are. Because when all is said and what's said was meant , it's only an agglomeration of recollections that doesn't deserve ANY of your consent.
Your brain is more likely to recall the negative commodities you've endured rather than the positive. This is just a fact of matter unfortunately to how the flesh's psyche is cultivated ; to dwellth upon negativity instead of positivity. It's a way of poor nature. The Most High always told me , "Look not unto the times afore & release the past , for this place is temporary. Thine's soul will be the only thing thus truly that lasts." And Lo , though I am a humble being of righteousness , it can be a difficult task to do just that , which is more than fully understandable. Facing these forms of demons head on doesn't make the mission any easier.
I yearn to forget my past and the remembrances that bring forth agony. Yet , I cannot seem to leave them behind thus forever it lasts , contradicting to what my father has spoken. I am not my bad memories , no they do not and will not ever start to determine who The Maker of All Things created me to be. Nonetheless , reliving these instances doesn't make it easy.
Sometimes , I question God. We're not supposed to but , I do. The thing about that is we are allowed to ask and ponder with curiosity , but in reality we are made not to DOUBT him. So still it remains I wonder how my father witnessed me walk through life's hardships and not try to see me through. Why didn't he save me? Why didn't he spare me of these horrid memories? I would request that he bless me with what I deserve which I'd believe to be is mercy upon thy soul ; but I am naive and foolish in thinking I'm owed anything at all. What have I done or forged into existence that even gives me the audacity to feel this way? Why should God ever have mercy on me? Yet toward my betterment and in my benefit he invokes divine favor upon thee anyway. He reprieves my soul instead , in hopes of seeing another day. But if I knew of then what I know of now about the why, I would never give power to the traumatizing events I've experienced in my life , by and by.
"Hello?" I answered my personal line.
"I-I-he's done it again-I-I'm scared he's-I'm scared he's gonna come back-an-"
"Ms. Margaret, where are your children?" I queried her , sitting up out of my alaskan king bed feeling the need to start readying myself and cut the downtime I had short abruptly.
"I-in the d-din."
"I'm on my way over. Stay on the phone. I'll put myself on mute." I replied stoically yet with urgency , jumping to affirmative action.
