Too many words.  Too much time with too much talking.   I am not letters and numbers.    I am an ever moving rotating changing nebulae of a combination of innumerous elements, causals and vortexes.

I cannot be measured by inches and instruments, nor with words or a voice.     I must be experienced.  Too much mind equals Stupid.

Why do we love dogs?  Because they don’t talk.  They must be Felt.   Words can be a defensive fence.

Phone talks and mail words do not love create, nor allow.   They are not closeness, they are not touch, they are not Grok.    You may love something they said, but that is not them.    You may hate something they wrote, but that is not them.    They may write something, or use words that confuse you and send you back to the hollows of your inner world, where old spirits haunt and tell you lies.

But that is not them.

By not sharing face to face, you never give it a chance to be Real.   How can Words tell who you Are.  How can Explanations fill in the True Colors that beam from your being…

It’s all about the Is-ness.

(And isn’t it amusing that I use words, to explain that words can’t tell it…. ?)

Who they are is everything, and everything must be tasted and smelled, heard and touched, with eye filling floods and sensory overload.    Energy fields will tell you more than a million words ever will.

And the body electric does not lie.  But the brain can….

Words lie.  Words say three things at once.  Words are mis-interpreted and mis-heard, mis-remembered.  We all just live inside the collection we call our brain, and without shutting it down with other senses, all is only thought, and subject to mismanagement.

You are a kind and gentle Bear with an Arrow in his heart.

Until you decide that Trust is appropriate, maybe even beneficial, there can be no surgery, no release, no sharing of essences with another.

As long as the List is reviewed,  your Interviews conducted, your Tests and Grades awarded,  there can be no pure touching.

The guard is up, the protective filter scanning the horizon for incoming…             The ammo ready for release when needed, the foxhole deep and quiet.

Never mess with a wounded bear.   Even if that bear has asked you if you might be able pull the arrow from his heart.   Surely he knows it will hurt, and just as surely, he knows it will feel better when it’s out.   And Yet…….  He will misinterpret your intentions,  miss your signals, and retreat when least expected.  He will growl at you, in between those occasionally long and soulful moments of genuine contact.

One will find it hard to interpret their intentions, and it is likely they are having just as much difficulty themselves.

They may ask or need explanations, then complain about so many words.  Pain confuses and confounds.  It makes it hard to trust.  And it makes a body want to go away and hide, where none can make that pain any worse than it already is.

And you are left feeling unheard, mis-taken, un-seen.

Trust is not something easily won….. it Never is, but when Pain sings too loudly, it can step in and make decisions for you, without you.