I'm happy to say I'm coming back around these parts, though it's something long overdue on my side, and for many reasons... Reasons I will not go into in depth in my blog. However, a portrayal of my conflicts in a figurative and flowery story of sorts seems appropriate with my return, and so I make this entry... An entry about beginning to mend broken bridges.
Close your eyes, Little One, and imagine what I now describe..
A pair of hazel eyes fall closed, lines of worry drawn about them as wrinkles in the skin over the neutral tone of the voice the owner of the eyes perceives.
A place of peace and happiness.. A place where your presence is felt like a finger's touch upon a silken sheet - perhaps not always distinctly known, but sensed all the same.
The environ changes to suit the days, all-inclusive and singularly exclusive as required by your need... Rolling fields of sun-kissed wheat spread out before you, golden and heavy with spikelets that dance as the breeze rolls by and carry in their movements a soothing pattern not unlike that of ocean waves. Forest abounds as well, starting near and going out as far as the eye can see. Each tree a tower that offers sanctuary, boughs laden with verdant, green leaves to shelter you from the heat of day and provide a place of cool, calm rest. Mountains can be found near and far, each a precipice where desired, or a gently sloping obstacle to be overcome with persistence. And water, running and still, the sliding, melodious tool of Nature which brings with it life and healing.
All tools to be used at your discretion in your enjoyment here.
An expansive collection of creative expressions, each individual item among them a seed for you to plant so that it can develop into creations of your own. Writing methods, styles, reflections of thought and emotion, feelings, poured onto pages and pages of text. Life, to touch, to feel, to know, to join.
Why did you turn your back on it?
The eyes flutter open at the question, briefly dispelling the image conjured by the words. They look, searchingly at the voice's source, a bit laden with guilt and with sorrow.
Many have walked away, you know. Many often do from social hubs as time rolls by. Days come and go and we remain constant while ever-changing. It is the nature of the beast, Little One. I see your fears, the flames that dance across the surroundings I've designed, licking at the sheaves of wheat in the gentle, golden days before their harvest, drying out the spikelets all in turn to leave behind only smoldering husks, shells, dry, crackling. They consume the forests too within your fearful mind, enveloping the trees and climbing along their leaf-laden bows to light each growth ablaze in their anger, weakening the paths of shade and littering them with burnt remains. The mountains are blackened from their passing, devoid of life and of reward, in place naught but ash and worry. The waters run less and pool less, driven back by the heat, drying up so that now there remain only empty pockets and strange veins carved in the earth where ponds and rivulets once were found.
A frown draws across the lips of the eyes' owner as she casts her gaze down, to the ground, and wrings her hands. Fingers interlock and twist before releasing, and she murmurs, "Much of my fear is my own creation."
Indeed it is, though it speaks volumes that you can admit that. Do you know what the rest is, Little One?
The hazel eyes turn up again, still heavy with worries and concerns. The question is held within them.
Illusion. Illusions of things you would hate most coming to pass. The very things that prompted your first entry here so long ago. Insecurity. How long have you been away? How likely is it that everyone would begrudge your absence? Don't you see how absurd the idea of it is? Networks here are made, like bridges of stone to span the waterways, vines connecting in the leaves. Two forces working together to span gaps of all manner and definition. Why would people grudge the intervention of the outside? Why would they grudge your choices? Where is the trust you once spoke of so highly?
The eyes turn down again as she questions herself, looking within for answers that she might be afraid to find.
Sure, some bridges may have been broken, perhaps beyond repair, but others remain. And as yet there are many you've not tried to mend. For what? For fear of those involved in their original creation? For fear of yourself? Trust, Little One, and try again. It is the way forward in your life. It is the road that leads to growth, and perhaps reunions.
She nods, letting her eyes fall closed again to draw on the security offered within the world of her design and that of others... Others she once knew well, and will try to know well again.
There are many on Elliquiy I love dearly (it holds as true now as it did throughout my time before my absence) and have missed in my time away, but only a few who I feel I have truly wronged by my absence. My reasons for leaving when I did were not small ones, and the things I have known since then (including irrational fears about my writing partners hating me for being gone so suddenly, so long (twas close to a year and a half, by the by)) have been trying to say the least.
My hope is that I will find many happy reunions here, some new friends, and perhaps some healing between old ones. Time will tell, but in the end, Elliquiy is a unique atmosphere, and one I've sorely missed and am happy to return to.
I look forward to see you around, and perhaps striking a conversation with you or making a story together.
Added January 15-2011:
As a bit of an addition to the actual entry.. It's funny how much worse I tend to make things out to be. I suppose it comes from living in the atmosphere I did growing up, but I always expect ridiculous reactions to the slightest of things. The two people I mentioned I felt I really wronged have talked to me at this point, and they - to their credit - are both warm, supportive, and accepting of me. True friends and lovely individuals. Thank you to them both if they happen to read this.
My next blog entry will be a bit less.. melodramatic *chuckles a little* but then again, I really can't express the kind of anxiety I inflict on myself in anything less than a story-like format. It's one thing to say 'I worry'. It's another to say 'I feel as though I've ruined something beautiful', and another still to put either of those things into a story that might let someone else have a guess about the way you feel. That's enough for now though. On to a brighter day tomorrow and many more opportunities to write about the things life shows me.