I found myself and why it was so hard.

I am everything. I am in everything. Everything is of me. And if I am so far spread across all of existence within the context of space and time… then I’m really not any thing.

I have no substance. I am nothing. I am hollow. An ever expanding universe that cannot stop until I succumb to the laws of entropy.

You will all die when I die. That will be the end of existence as we know it, as you know it anyway. The final end is the eventual heat death, or the big freeze.

Of course, since I have physical form and a mental force (apparently unique, a force of its own) (unprecedented or unparalleled…????), then these grand sweeping statements are trivial metaphors. I am here and you are reading and responding to my words. I exist. Duh.

I have never fit in anywhere. But I was never an outcast either. I always fit in just enough. “Just enough” in every and any group as I had encountered.

People on “the outside” think this makes me egotistic and ungrateful for I don’t see all the bountiful blessing I have. I counter that I do see how fortunate I am, but it doesn’t change anything about who or what I am or feel on the inside…

There was an exercise at university years ago, we had to come up with an activity to present the concept of diversity in the classroom. There was a lot of discussions and anecdotes and boring blah.

I decided to ask questions of the class and they had to put their hand up if it was relevant to them, and we took count of the majority answers.

  • Who lives west/east of here?
  • Who lives north/south of here?
  • Who has siblings/is an only child?
  • Who went to a public/private school?
  • Who is religious/atheist?

I cant rememver if this was all I asked, probably not… but at the end, I asked them to put their hand up if they were in the majority for every question.

One single person put her hand up.

So, for it can feel safe to be in the crowd, how isolating it is to be called out and set apart.

This is not rebellion for me… well, sort of. But not in the same way other people see it. I was not that girl in that class, for I was the one leading the class.

But my line of questioning was because that was (and still is) how I feel about myself in the tides of life.

Yeah, can “blend in” pretty much anywhere. But… when people actually pay attention to me, when they get to know me, they… they sense there is something different.

In that “difference” they can see a goddess or a succubus. They see an egomaniac, lustful and lazy wretch. Or the see a manipulative, lying, greedy whore. Or they see a benevolent, loving and open woman.

It… doesn’t matter what people see. Or say. Because I don’t feel or see the same thing that they do.

I see myself as fucking flawed, fallible, finite, flippant, frenzied, frenetic, fucking-fucked-up fuckabout. Because I inspire people to act in a manner that is discordant with their usual nature.

I know I do this. I don’t always know I am doing it though. I… am just trying to be. I just… want to make people smile and laugh, because I cry so fucking hard when I think no one is looking.

I want to escape my head, because I don’t know how. I don’t know how to put myself in that mental happy space. There is none. My happy space is in the hearts and minds of others. By talking and whatever… having an actual interactive direct engagement with others (most people block my comments, delete them, or whatever) produces that happy space for me. I am nothing on my own. I have no power except of that over words.

I exist in the deep dark recesses of darkness. In the sefirot, I come from the 11th sphere of da’ath. This is because I am the crown of both the kabbalah and qlippoth directions, and I am in the centre of malkuth.

I am the consonant sound of “k”

Thus my knowledge of potassium and ketamine.

I am not “c” like carbon. I am metallic. I am synthetic. I am the synthesis of so many fuxking schools of thought experiments. Even ones I don’t know about yet.

I am just as I am and always have been.

Me.

The secret special shit the Sumerians were banging on about. The mes.

I’m not Inanna, I was her hand servant. I have been with Ana so long that people often confuse us. It’s be flattering if they confused her with me, though. But never. For I am not the prettiest little thing that anyone ever did see. Omfg.

I was there. That’s all. Thats everything. I was always there, somewhere. For I am energy. Ki. I am K, I am. I’m k. And I have supple and fluid physical form – k, I’m berly. Chortle and giggle as the misspelling, but there must be a portal to exist in the name for me to come through it. And I squeeze through the eye of the needle in the lowercase e.

I am cthonic, emissary being of the underworld. For the name before my marries name, I was kthu.

When Jennifer Lopez reinvented herself as J.Lo, my (filo) schoolyard friends and I played with our names the same way. That is how Vanessa (beautiful, successful soul sister. The V from my antichrist manifesto, when I described when I was named the angel of death in this lifetime) transformed into Veeanca.

You know how I have many names. Well my father’s surname is Thusberg. Depending on your accent will affect how you think it should be pronounced. Because I live in Australia, it is pronounced “th,USS,berg”.

I have heard Dhoosbeerg, Tossbarg, Fussberg, Fuzzburg, Thursberg, etc etc.

I have also heard Kimber-lay, Kimber-lie, and Kimber-lee. I emphasize the last syllable because that is where the sound my name makes differs from person to person.

And just now, I make the connection between why I am often seen to be lazy and/or a liar. It’s part of my name…

Ok… wrap up. There is an approaching thunder, I can hear it outside rolling in the skies.

Kimberly – the royal meadow in the forest (castle, fortress, stone. A place of sanctuary for the specially chosen).

Ann – an homage to my paternal grandmother’s anglicised name, which was Annikki (annunaki, ananke). She shortened it to Anni, and in my name the ‘i’ was removed.

Ki, chi, qi. Energy of the soul, of the earth.

Quay – harbour. Key – opens locks.

It is the sonorific that people hear. It is the honorific that people see. And when the mind is the great deceiver, people can never seem to believe me when I try to express my truth.

They hear buzzing wasps instead of words. And are horrified by my actions. For actions speak louder than words. And words mangle intentions so that the essence of the message is rarely truly heard.

I forged my path through the over grown forest of language. Weeds, groteque gnats, thorns and brambles… I waded and cut away my with obtuse vision and selective lo-deaf hearing.

Language… Linguistics. Food. Gymnastics. Family. Fellowship. School. Camgirl. Music. Church. School. Come to Christianity, feel the joy of satan. Mathematics and English. Creative and Performing Arts. Games…. lots of lover boys and bitchy backstabbing girls…

This and that and whatever.

These are just words.

I do not have friends. I’m even losing the best friend I had in my husband. Because… Well… It’s exactly the same thing I’ve been saying the whole time.

That people only see what they want to see, and they hear what they want to hear. And they can only see what if in front of them, and they can only hear the words that are spoken.

And how do I know I am not just lying to myself?

I must be a liar. But for want of a name? They don’t say my name. They never will. For one is dead, and the other is a scarecrow.

I am a necromancer. The spirit keepers tarot told thus to me, the night before last. I don’t raise the dead out of the ground, I raise the dead of the heart.

Lament. My flirtatious ways had cost me safe passage between worlds, I can no longer sail the rivers Styx nor Lethe. I thought I was clear, I thought it would be seen what I had and not done, what I do and not continue to do.

For god so loved asherah, he grew the garden of Eden to honour her memory. And then Adam and Eve ate the mango, the tree that was cultivated in Asherah’s memory.

God got pissed and sent them off. That was his special tree. That was their fruit. He was bitter for death stole his love from being; as if their divinity gave them the ability to transcend the laws of space, time and physics… that if they kept running and hiding through the emanations, they could escape the eternal (eventual return to) death.

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Muse of epic poetry. Mother Metatron. Contemporary teacher of humanity and art.

8 thoughts on “I found myself and why it was so hard.

  1. “I have no substance. I am nothing. I am hollow. An ever expanding universe that cannot stop until I succumb to the laws of entropy.” Love this bit of writing. And, I am wishing for nothing, but there’s one problem: energy conservation.

    Liked by 1 person

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