Beltane has passed, the time of planting is upon us. Seeds for food, seeds for flowers, seeds for personal growth. 

Life goes on, it has pain and pleasure. Happy and distressed. The sun rises, the moon waxes, my stress rises and falls.

I find as time passes, the trials and errors of life weed out that which cannot manage beyond their tiny little insulated microcosm from that which moves and flows with the rest of reality. 

The former continues to make my stress mount and rise in brief and quickly fading spurts. The latter I find have rapidly become my favorite. They let me be myself. They let me change as I need, and accept me in whatever form I've flickered into. They help me keep my happy, in a time and place that I find so hard to find it. 

I mourn, for the passing of the old is the passing of a season, and love and affection lost.
I rejoice, for the growth and renewal being planted all around me, changes approach and I welcome them.

I grow, for my roots are strong and firmly planted.
I flow, for I feel the breeze and move with it.
I love, for my heart has found the depth and healing it needs.
I sing,  for I have found my voice.

So I suppose I'll post myself a nice little blog here. Maybe someday someone will read it and think "Hey, what an interesting person! I love reading what she writes, it speaks to me so personally." ... or, more accurately, they'll think "What a freak. I can't look away, it's like a trainwreck."

Either way, I suppose.

I don't know what this neverending quest for readership really is. A desire to be heard? Loved? To live forever? I know it's something I crave, like so many other struggling writers, musicians, performers.

I guess that's all... or is it just the beginning?