Author: Colleen (leena)
Disclaimer: Not mine never were... but you knew that
Whatever: please read this its short. If I get encouragement I may write more. (so you may not want to do that) XOXO
I know people wonder how I know so much about so much. The less confident ones like to believe that I have a 'God-given gift.' I don't know about that. I'm not sure anything is "God-given." I know that having a solid factual base for any information I believe I may someday need did not happen by accident. I read. I read everything that I want, some things I don't and nearly everything that I know nothing about, or do not agree with.
When considering life according to fact, it is almost more important to deal with that which one does not agree with. This is true only because if faced with the failure of my own beliefs I hope that I could at least take comfort in knowing I was at least right about what was wrong.
Intimidation is also something that did not happen by accident. I suppose that being tall I naturally intimidate some people. The true intimidator is always confidence though. I don't know where I got that. I know myself. Usually. I generally read others well also. I got that way early in life. My parents were not the greatest of people. They were my parents. I don't fully understand those people who hate their parents. I don't know how that happens. My parents were human. They made mistakes. I make mistakes. I don't fault myself, and I don't fault them. Its not that I don't understand those people who hate their parents, I have taken a psychology course or two. I just don't identify with them. I don't read that very well. Not that anyone could tell, my ineptitude is the glory or another.
And in saying that I do not at all feel conceited. Maybe that is because it is not at all true. Truth is an ultimate source of discomfort. I can cover almost anything but the truth. Even when faced directly with it I hesitate before fully opening myself to it. I do not hate my father. I am not capable. I do not know of anyway I could be. Who could ever hate the creator they never really knew? And what child understands, knows the parent. The child I was may have resented the man that my father was, may have blamed my mother...
But I was not a victim. I am not damaged by years of meticulous abuse. I believe in the shades of gray. I believe that people can hate and love simultaneously. I believe that there will come a day when fact can reign, and I will be at peace with the world. As far as I can tell all society does is muddle. People hide what they think others will see as wrong. Live for yourself. Live for what gives you the will to live. Be a contained, developed human being. I think that in knowing and loving yourself you truly become the person you were meant to be.
If I were ever to analyze myself I would scarcely know where to begin. I would be lost in the layers that I don't try to uncover. I am fine. I exist. I am happy. Why should I be bothered that a thought that began with god landed me at the foot of my father? Why should it concern me that I praise realty and fact yet cannot find any within myself?
God did not provide for me my knowledge; he gave me a situation to escape. Fantasy intrudes upon my psyche, reality composes my thoughts. Neither by gift nor mistake, but by necessity.
Disclaimer: Not mine never were... but you knew that
Whatever: please read this its short. If I get encouragement I may write more. (so you may not want to do that) XOXO
I know people wonder how I know so much about so much. The less confident ones like to believe that I have a 'God-given gift.' I don't know about that. I'm not sure anything is "God-given." I know that having a solid factual base for any information I believe I may someday need did not happen by accident. I read. I read everything that I want, some things I don't and nearly everything that I know nothing about, or do not agree with.
When considering life according to fact, it is almost more important to deal with that which one does not agree with. This is true only because if faced with the failure of my own beliefs I hope that I could at least take comfort in knowing I was at least right about what was wrong.
Intimidation is also something that did not happen by accident. I suppose that being tall I naturally intimidate some people. The true intimidator is always confidence though. I don't know where I got that. I know myself. Usually. I generally read others well also. I got that way early in life. My parents were not the greatest of people. They were my parents. I don't fully understand those people who hate their parents. I don't know how that happens. My parents were human. They made mistakes. I make mistakes. I don't fault myself, and I don't fault them. Its not that I don't understand those people who hate their parents, I have taken a psychology course or two. I just don't identify with them. I don't read that very well. Not that anyone could tell, my ineptitude is the glory or another.
And in saying that I do not at all feel conceited. Maybe that is because it is not at all true. Truth is an ultimate source of discomfort. I can cover almost anything but the truth. Even when faced directly with it I hesitate before fully opening myself to it. I do not hate my father. I am not capable. I do not know of anyway I could be. Who could ever hate the creator they never really knew? And what child understands, knows the parent. The child I was may have resented the man that my father was, may have blamed my mother...
But I was not a victim. I am not damaged by years of meticulous abuse. I believe in the shades of gray. I believe that people can hate and love simultaneously. I believe that there will come a day when fact can reign, and I will be at peace with the world. As far as I can tell all society does is muddle. People hide what they think others will see as wrong. Live for yourself. Live for what gives you the will to live. Be a contained, developed human being. I think that in knowing and loving yourself you truly become the person you were meant to be.
If I were ever to analyze myself I would scarcely know where to begin. I would be lost in the layers that I don't try to uncover. I am fine. I exist. I am happy. Why should I be bothered that a thought that began with god landed me at the foot of my father? Why should it concern me that I praise realty and fact yet cannot find any within myself?
God did not provide for me my knowledge; he gave me a situation to escape. Fantasy intrudes upon my psyche, reality composes my thoughts. Neither by gift nor mistake, but by necessity.