Moving Home

So I’ve moved into my parent’s place.

Phew.

Damn.

I thought it would be a phew. Just to say it.

There’s so much stigma that’s hard to release. Like it’s put itself in a cage in my body and festered into this…I don’t know. I’ll have to make up a creature. It has fangs for sure.

Shite. I forgot the fangs.

The thing is. I’m happy. I really enjoy being here and we had some coming together of life paths fights at first but they have melted away. There seems to be this respect for each other. We eat together and work together and it just feels like. 
Family.
The issue is I feel stagnant in the juxtapose of it. I’ve taken these life moments as in between instead of as a part of life that explodes it. Nurturement over pursuance.
Yet…I feel myself cleansing out reality to its deepest layer. Old formations of reality that were part of the fear in childhood are being crackled into, sparked into, as I see and feel the old places they sat in.
My environmental cues come from my oldest memories, and from my deepest paths. I’m drawing upon my oldest resources and thus reaching the parts of adaptation that might have even been held in fear.
Through it I feel…stronger…yet it is questioning everything as my own body questions every part of itself.

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