Security: Analysis

An internal investigation of security, what represents it to me and why, then a 'wounded' image of the same thing and why/how that security could be or has been an illusion. I did the background on Tuesday and the writing later that night, but this captures a lot of what I feel as a result of Natasha Richardson's sudden, shocking death (& numerous others).

writing says:
strong image:"Not the size, not the grandeur of facade or furnishings, but the existing of a "my space" place. As a nest, as a haven for dropping my 'out there' postures & play-nice politics ... I need the security of such a place as balance, a grounding & launching pad (both) for my emotionally, intellectually, spiritually & artistically nomadic soul. Mental journeys sometimes create a stress & disorientation level every bit as real as those physical. Jet lag takes the form of habit bumping reluctantly along behind the awareness & pursuit of change, like overweight baggage. For me, the assimilation of my processes takes place during my down time away from the journal & studio -- while mopping, folding clothes, washing dishes, taking out trash, purging closets, cleaning the litter box. Basic & necessary physical tasks that occupy one part of my mind but leave another to its own pondering devices. This is when I have the most AHA moments. This is also why I have paper & pens in every room of the house, like some people have TVs or boxes of tissue. routine chores also replenish my muse, give her time to nap & go window-shopping & blow bubbles. wounded image:
I've moved so many times in my life that I hold no more illusions about the permanency of anything. Or anyone. Everything & everyone is on its own tidal path -- here now, so now is the time to be grateful, be aware, take full note, be in the present. People get laid off, move away, withdraw; jobs can't be relied on; money is a whole other illusion' homes, cars, clothes, stuff -- those are truly only things & maybe I'm lucky to have them now. But I don't consider them 'mine.' & no person is, no people are, 'mine.' No ownership, just gifts delivered to me. I would rather, always, lose all the things (big & small) & retain the people. If I lived on the street, this wounded house would look good to me. It's all in my perspective!