May 08, 1999
Peering into More Dark Tunnels
Wind's four quarters, air and fire
Earth and water, hear my desire
Grant my plea, who stands alone
Maiden. warrior, mother and crone
Eastern wind, blow clear, blow clean
Cleanse my body of its pain
Cleanse my mind of what I've seen
Cleanse my honor of its stain
Maid whose love has never ceased
Bring me healing, from the east
I hurt. And it's so fucking pitiful of me. I need to seriously get a grip on reality. When you manage to disgust your best friend with your pitiful, clinging ways, you know it's time to re-evaluate your views on life. I hate feeling this way. I keep wandering into this. The same damn situations, over and over. It's like part of me is afraid to be close to someone in the same town, or as if I don't deserve a real relationship, so I develop a bunch of pretend ones. And when one falls apart, I crumble. Sometimes I feel so distanced from the real world I think I must be psychotic. But then, that would just be me overreacting again, wouldn't it?
Southern wind, blow hot, blow hard
Fan my courage to my flame
Southern wind, be guide and guard
Add your bravery to my name
Let my will and yours be twinned,
Warrior of the southern wind
I'm so angry. At myself, at others. I don't know if I'm sitting here crying in pain or fury. I want to scream, I want to hate everyone and everything I've ever come near, and I can't. I want to hurt something the way I hurt. But no one's to blame but me. I made the choices I did. I'm a coward. Even now, writing this, I'm backing away from the anger I feel.
Western wind, blow stark, blow strong
Grant me arm and mind of steel
On a road both hard and long,
Mother hear me, where I kneel
Let no weakness on my quest
Hinder me, wind of the west
I don't know who will hear me. I can't think of a single soul who would actually be able to understand how I feel. The one that I thought might, didn't. Or didn't want to. Or had better things to do, like talk to his girlfriend. When I get this frustrated, this angry, this hurt, I have a hard time expressing myself without being so bitter and self-loathing and self-pitying that it turns people from listening to me. So I throw my rantings up on the wall and let whoever wants to read them do so.
Northern wind, blow cruel, blow cold
Sheathe my aching heart in ice
Armor 'round my soul enfold
Crone, I need not call you twice
To my foes, bring cold of death
Chill me, north's winds frozen breath.
I'm tired. I want to put walls up that let no one get close, but I can never seem to manage it. So I open myself up and get hurt, over and over and fucking over. I wish I was cold and hard inside.
Wind's four quarters, air and fire
Earth and water, hear my desire
Grant my plea, who stands alone
Maiden. warrior, mother and crone
--"Wind's Four Quarters", Mercedes Lackey
