if only all this hate were love

I cannot get this dance out of my head, it's been haunting me and it frustrates me that i do not have the means to let it be more than a mere figment of my imagination. i want to uncover the intuition that makes moving possible. The last month has been this everyday discovery and research on intuition and moving and being moved leading to good days and bad frustrating days. i ask myself what the point of all of this and why am i obessesing over this, i envy those who can shut up and just dance. why i just can't shut up. the work allows me to overcome everyday psychosis, i wonder if this is reason for pursuing it each day or something else lies beneath all of these.
if only all my hate were love, i would be floating and listening to nursery ryhmes the way children do. why do i keep having dreams about my childhood images. rows of sampaguita flowers, again. lately, i been returning to this places and temporal holes in my head, as if haunting me trying to tell me something. sorry, i cannot put my finger into it, i dont want to ignore it but i dont have the tools to deal with it. to purposely put on rose-colored glasses could be a good solution to the inexplicable frustration over everything. growing exhausted from swinging emotions of back and forth motion, from the deep recess of dark tunnel to light-foot grip and letting go of reality. i cannot decide. if only all this hate were love, then i have gone beyond my narcissist self. how much i love myself that it even makes me sick, like something sticky sitting right below my epidermis, the only way is to sweat it out each day and get rid of it only to wake up the next day with the same sticky feeling. this is better though, at least 12 hours of freedom. i live for those 12 hours of freedom each day.