hypnotized understanding of words

view from my desk, dark at 4:00pm

i have been writing for the passt 5 hours today to just unearth some thoughts that's been waiting to be put into words.  i can never get enough of thinking about that process.  that process of pondering and philosophizing and finally crystallizing it into a structured form through prose or any other kind of text.  i'd like to think i've broken through a half decade's writer's block and there is this calling forth coming from the voice of a person that's waiting to be formed.  

soleil she calls herself.  where did she come from?  from a neglected name.  a finer variation of soledad.  the name of a grandaunt who's name has been bequeathed to me.  laville an inversion of my mother's maiden name villa.  the family of whom i associate all my eccentricities to.  

why does the psyche come up with these things?  is this part of a writer's journey?  i've often read of writers having to "befriend" their characters who are actually fragmented pieces of themselves scattered in the many different memories of their lifetime.  

i start with the most obvious thought plaguing my mind which is the inability to be in touch with my real emotions, my perspectives, my freedom of speech which i had possessed in the past.  imprisoned by some kind of self-containment because of so many different things that i had to adhere, obey, accept, live with.  is this then a act of rebellion?  

no.

it's an act of discovering  peace.  that peace you find which understands that even if things do not make sense all these experiences are part of your life and make you whole.  a peace that embraces you so strong that you do not flinch when you see the grotesque deformation of your skin because the scars in your spirit were too hot like coal.   i write this in the middle of a rainy sunday succumbing to the lull of the raindrops falling down the window.  it's hypnotic.   and i hope i don't stop.