Trying to love.

I meditated this morning. Set my timer for 15 minutes and attempted to clear my mind of all impurities and live in that moment. Focusing on your breathing is a great way to lead into the meditation. There have been instances where I have had visions of myself, stretching out in this arena, everything white, there is no discernible difference between the floor or the ceiling, or any walls all you see is white, and I am standing, but my body is stretching, I feared these visions, because they were unfamiliar, I didn't understand them, I saw them as something evil, because in that realm I felt naked, bare, not even in the physical sense, but mentally, my soul was what I was wearing, nothing to protect it, leaving me open to any sort of an attack.

But today, as I sat crossed legged, my eyes closed, third eye to the sky, I felt this white world, I walked through it and I understood.

Control yourself. Control the world.

I want a friend. I've found that is what I am lacking in this country, I have friends, but I want a soul friend, someone to communicate with at all times, to depend on when needed, to lay with and do absolutely nothing, to understand and be understood. It'd be lovely if sex would play a role in these ministrations, someone to call a prototype, to make me feel at home when I am so far away from my real home.

I get easily depressed here, lack of culture, lack of truth, the willing blind all hurt me, bring my soul down, bring my intellect to it's knee's. I feel lost at times in this country, and it scares me, I am unused to this fear, but now my mere acknowledgment of it gives me power, if I can pin point the wound I can stop the bleeding.

I don't ask for much. I just want someone to exist. To feel like I have family here, there are so many words, people talk to me all the time, telling me they love me, that I'm their "fam". But how many actually mean it? How many actually sacrifice as much as I would for a stranger without question?

I want truth. So many talk, but never actually mean what they say, always telling me how real they are, how much they love me, how far they'd go for me, but never actually mean it. And the fact that I can smell the lies, I can see the falsehoods, all unnecessary, because if it any of it were real, you wouldn't have to tell me. I would see it. I would feel it. Words are useless to me.

I follow my heart.

My heart does not accept words, only action.

Everyone in Atlanta talks. No one acts. A painful truth in this city, that my optimism suffers greatly because of. I am never pleasantly surprised in this city, everyone acts just as expected. I have the lowest standards in regards to the nature of human beings, and most live up to them.

I just want a home away from home. One real heart to lay my head on, to whisper secrets to, to love, simply because it exists.

What a beautiful miracle that would be.