There is a story -
Everyone has told it to themselves and heard it told by another deep in their mind.
The characters are common, though the landscape seems strange, but it is what we all see when we spin in slow circles -
A wrinkled world we cannot even imagine contained.
Indeed, it is within our imagination that it unfolds further, unspools steadily,
Unwinds readily and does not stop regenerating but continues revolving round the center of ourselves.
The story is that of a wanderer, a quest-maker, a dream-seeker, climbing hilltop after hilltop,
Discovering the equal awe and frustration earned facing an ever-renewing horizon.
In this fable, are there many players as it often seems,
Or but one person, encountering reflection upon reflection of herself?
Is there a sole protagonist,
Or an infinitely fractured single soul, creating one Self, one Whole?
In a photograph of old friends smiling I recognize myself - in a squint, in a grin, on his face, on hers.
A man on a mountain, he is familiar to me:
I remember him, though he is an actor in an advertisement for a calling plan;
I remember him, as though he is my own brother, and more!
As if he lives my history and acts upon the impetus of my thoughts.
And it is everywhere I look, this mirror, this shiny stone against which the light bounces and bounces,
Through which even my anger and indignity are refracted tenfold.
I recognize myself in every act of war: I do not like it,
But in moments when red is the only color in my rainbow I do understand it.
There is a chamber in my brain where a mathematicial appreciation of order and efficiency lives:
In this chamber shaped like a temple I feel an awe quite like reverence
Watching twin towers crumple where they stand - the extraordinary power of an exercised will.
In this ephemeral second I am incapable of judgement; I see no right and think no wrong:
I am only a column of quiet, humbled respect for the formula of Think plus Speak plus Do equals Results.
But are we content to have the heat-warped line of our horizon remain forever fission?
Or is it possible, indeed probable, to apply the equation to fusion
And build a ladder to God?
Or better yet - can we take gravity out of it altogether,
Think of the spirit sideways,
And reach out our hand to wholeness,
Surrendering our attachment to the science of subtraction?
We are hiking hills;
We see swirls in the sky where the wind is made real and where light peels from the face of the stars.
We pull apart rocks with our hands without blinking as long as we think of them as metaphors;
We endeavor ever forward, pulled into the ebb and flow of vertigo,
Thinking maybe despite it all we can outrun the sun, stun everyone, and fly off the face of the world.
I haven't been there in a long time? is that perhaps why this great blue funk hangs over me. Do I feel rejected from that which I do not want to claim? I can have it if I want, but I never take it, and yet if it ever left I would feel so abandoned. Is this abuse of power? Is this taking for granted that which I have?
useless shit. that's all I have to say. Just an endles stream of babble which in the end means absolutly nothing to anybody. it's all a waste of time. So why do I bother doing it? Because I don't have anything better to do with my time.
...bought a ticket for a runaway train...like a madman laughin' at the rain... little out of touch, little insaine....It's just easier than dealing with pain.
and everything seems cut and dry... day and night... earth and sky... somehow I just don't believe it.
don't judge me until you have walked a mile in my shoes You can't even begin to imagine what it is that I have been through and how it has affected me. You can't even begin to imagine how what I fear is mixed so tightly with what I long for. You can't imagine the way it feels to be home on a molecular level, to wonder back and forth between the gate. It is a conversatoin without words, a simple sharing of all exsistance. I wander that gateway, I yern for it's knowledge, but I know I am illequiped to deal with it. To handle the view society will take on me if I dare to blaspheme thier beliefs, thier truths, thier illusions.
I want to go so badly. I want to just slip away, in my usuall way and be so caught up in the conversation that I forget to come back. I am more comfortable there now. I can see it as my home and not just a wonderous place to visit. My body seems more at ease with out me. I think perhaps that last time I could have left, but for the dear sweet angel who kissed my cheek. "it will make you better" I came back only to smile at that wonderously simple belief.
ha ha ha, there is so much I can think of that I would like to be able to say, but when I start to write it out it comes out all wrong. I think perhaps it is that 4th step. depression. I guess I don't really care if I post anything, because I believe it won't matter anyway. There are few that can stand beside me, grasp my hand, and hold me from the casm of despair. But I rely on those few. Thier laughter is what keeps me going. Thier love is what lights my way. Without them I am certain I would have turned to a small amorphous blob of uncaring gelationous tears. I admire the way they put up with my shit. I couldn't ask for better.
I lied today. The most absurd lie. one I couldn't figure out why I felt I had to do. but I knew I could not go. And damn my pride I couldn't justjust tell them that I had a funny feeling about it. for that would seem far more absurd then a simple lie. I wanted sex, I have a weekness for the pleasure. I was so afraid. and pleasure calms my nerves. It allows me to relax within the confines of my mind. lasting ever so much longer today than I was ready for, I communed with the powers, I call them friend now, but like any friend we have our differnces of opinion and it is hard for me to let that go. We shared our concerns and then I came back but my body seemed unready. I knew I was there and I could struggle in vain to tense muscles, stiving to make them work. although a few individual cells shorten there was not enough to move. If one had been watching close they might have seen my arms tighten, they might have seen my finger twitch. They might have known that I was conciously there, aware of each movement, each breath of air, and the ever familiar tingling that sits upon my fingers like restless animals. If one had been watching they might have been able to feel the voice in my head screaming at me to move, and the desperate fear stuggling to make it happen. but there was only a brief moment in which someone was there holding my hand, checking my heart and then allowing what needed to happen to happen without them watching. oh how I wanted to answer to say something, anything, to even be able to open my eyes and see him looking at me. I want to be in control, but perhaps that is the lesson of it. I am grateful that I listined to the intuition, and perhaps someday I'll simply be able to accept the absurd reason of "it just doesn't feel right"
I'm not feeling alright today
I'm not feeling that great
I'm not catching on fire today
Love has started to fade
I'm not going to smile today
I'm not going to laugh
You're outliving it up today
I got dues to pay
i am intrinsically no good
i have a heart that's made of wood
i am only biding time
only reciting memorized lines
and i'm not fit to touch
the hem of your garment
i have no love but only goals
how very empty is my soul
it is a soul that feels no thrill
a soul that could easily kill
and i'm not fit to touch
the hem of your garment
i am intrinsically no good
i have a heart that's made of wood
i am only biding time
only reciting memorized lines
and i'm not fit to touch
the hem of your garment
Frustrated angry crying. I feel like that is all I am at the moment. I want to kick and punch and scream and cry all at once. and even more so I just want to be left alone.
There's noone like you. You rip my heart out more often than I can even offer it, and yet in my arrogant ignorance I offer it again and again trying, begging to make amends. So I have never gotton on my knees and appologised for trying my best when I had no idea how to tell you how I felt without hurting you. I didn't know. And I'm not sorry for giving you all I could at that time, what I am sorry for is not knowing how to do it right. You yourself has stated how it has given you precious knowledge and wisdom that you could never have gained otherwise. And I have tryed so hard to make amends. To start anew. Giving out my heart in a guesture of honest friendship hoping for nothing more than your willingness to once again be my friend. All you do is take that guesture and hurt me. The pain is unbearable and yet I walk into that wall, knowing it will pummel me. I continue to think that maybe this time it won't be there, that it won't hurt. I never walk around it, always right into it. Unlike anyone else, you can make my tears fall so easily. I'm sure I'll try again. I'm sure I'll be hurt again. It's a cycle unending. I have gained so much from you. I honestly admire you. I honestly adore you. And my heart honestly breaks wishing.
wow, upon rereading part of this blog it is obvious that I am in the depression stage of grief, I am humbly mystified, baffled, and torn apart thinking all is lost in the department of what was during the time that wasn't. I can't bare to remember and yet I can not possibly forget. I seek the understanding and yet feel it hopeless to try to comprehend. but there is light at the end of my tunnel as the epihanys strike like lightning making things dark and unknown visible for a fration of a second and words that were meant as someone's grief, felt for me, illuminate what it is that I have strained in my dark abyss, struggling with freedom, to make out the outline of. I know now more than the outline but have only seen it for a fraction of a second and as the light is no longer flashing brilliantly but the thunder rolls around me I begin to question if I saw anything at all.
Does lightning never strike the same place twice?
The body holds illusion, the body is illusion, and what we seek outside it is also illusion. Choose your illusion carefully and becareful when switching from one to the other. We all hate change, and it is hard to go back to something that is less than you have had. I know it was only a few short days that I was in the coma, but I expereinced a large part of eternity in a timeless sense while you all waited, nervous, sleepless, struggling to understand. I was at peace. aware but not anxious or tired or on the edge of darkness. I was blissfully caried in light. complete and whole but without solid shape. every molecule was my friend, every moecule a seperate being that made up the whole and I could see them choosing there paths, decideing how close to be to one another and weather or not to stay in thier familiar roles and repeat thier familair life and that familiarity making up the whole of what they were in, the larger picture. I can see them still every molecule that made up the tree and the two landscapes of vivid colors that only in retrospect seem illfitting. but more so I crave the feeling. There is no real word for it. It was all and nothing.
Perhaps now that I have had that experience I seek it's balance. the lows to match the highs. Perhaps that is why I crawl seekingly into the dark. Perhaps that is why I am so perplexed at the moments when I can feel the light, when I can cease to be here and start toward there. I know I control. That it can not be with out my say so, and that while I am afraid of it, I long for it.
[9/11/2002 9:28:22 AM | Mabel Jeanne]
My Love Affair
Yes that is right, I have a love affair. It is a love affair with the symbolised light and dark. I was in the light, clear and bold, staring straight at it's glory, basking in it's glow. I could not go and it could not take me. So we parted ways. Looking away I found the place I am at darker, and I am embaressed to see the light, so I hide in the shodows seeking the dark and yearning for the light. Like retna burn when I blink I can see it almost at is it were still there. I recieve notes from her too. She writes me little notes that are friendly and casual but there is always a little ps at the end that says "I still love you" I yern to go running back, to be engulfed by the bliss. But I dare not leave. For there is solace in darkness. And I don't know the way.
One must learn not to speak too soon. Only this one is accidentally self inflicted and although it does not make the physical side any better, emotionally it is more tolerable because I can silently yell in my mind at myself that I "did it to myself". There is something more noble about owning up without complaint to the consequences of your own actions. There is that very cliche feeling of having made my bed and having to lie in it (yes, I know how that is spelled). There is a very unnerving and helpless feeling when you can't look back and say, "well, I guess that's my fault" It seems unfair when you can't blame yourself, or even someone else. Perhaps it is because when you claim responsibility you own the event, in a sense you still have power, but more likely it is just that you can curse up a storm to release tension, anger and fear, and you can feel justified in doing so.
it is about bloody fucking time that i felt good again. As of this particular second there is nothing mentally or physically irritating to me, I make no garentees about the seconds that follow.
The confines of one's mind. . . why do we fear, envy, and admire it? What is it about soul that we long to know. Why do we seek to see into others souls and search for soul mates? And why in that searching do we all feel lonley? There isn't a person out there who doesn't have that "alone in a crowd" feeling at least every now and then. There isn't a person who wishes for more friends, or less friends, or deeper conections with those friends. We all feel alone, like our trials are the only ones of thier kind. We seek for someone else to open up and tell us that all those little "wrong" thoughts that we have are normal. That other's think the same things even if they, like us, don't want to. We seek reasurance that we are not insaine, that our thoughts and actions are not abnormal, but to keep from exposing that we tell noone of how we feel unless they talk about it first, unless they tell us about the deep seated thoughts that disturp thier peace, that makes them feel like they are alone, and that noone else feels the way that they feel. But without someone to open up first we all remain lonley and openly souless.
Where are you? The one out there who secretly shares those thoughts? The one who knows what is "wrong" and can tell me that it is normal, or at least that I am not alone. Can I not find you because I fear to speak first? and because you also fear to speak first? How will we know, perhaps we will pass each other on our cyber paths and simply remain alone? Our criptic messages although touching and oddly familiar still far enough away that we can not speak, can not find that ever ellusive soul.
Heading south is like falling, slowly sliding into an abyss that is only mine, where I wallow in my perfect little SEP field that I can not bare, but do not want to leave.
Sunday, September 29, 2002