[WORKING TITLE]
Personal writings, pre-framework
May 14th, 2016. Two months sober. This is living inside the frameworks I write about before I had a framework to but them in. This is the body seeking integration for its experience, the thoughts looping, looking for an anchor. I share this to remember what it feels like and where I come from. In gratitude and trust.
I. Lonely
The silence is lonely. Its presence latches on to me; sometimes it feels like womb, sometimes it feels like tomb, it begs me to fill it up. As I brush its nonexistence, I cannot help but spill my soul into it; it is a vessel.
It comes to wake me up, to remove the weight of the sounds I drown in daily, the momentum that must keep moving, the collections of life lived and gone from anywhere but my mind. Locked and hidden, free and seen, crammed in any crevice the memory has left, my energy is flooding into the nothingness to beg me to make it be.
Make it be what I will— opening into the sunlight, exploding into color, shaking the air, creating, breaking, smashing, burning, anything— but the silence screams “Do not run! Just listen, for I am nothing, nothing but what you will have me be.”
My faceless friend, you want life, and life, it is not lonely, so I understand why you call to me. Each moment, if I listen, it speaks the future, it speaks the present, it speaks the past, but always says, “Will you hear me? Life is all I want to be.”
We sat there staring, staring into everything that we are. We felt our skin; the flesh that binds a universe into a human. A singularity of the Great Ocean that brings the silence on its waves to wash at our feet. My love, my perfect mirror, the way we reflect what cannot be seen, I feel my heart molting, I feel my breath seeking the words that will invite the silence to be heard. As we fall apart, it stops screaming; it has come alive. And it sounds like love, pure love simply in becoming a part of eternity.
We speak with our lips, we divine with our minds, we dance with our souls, we burn with our heart, and we weep with all of it. We cry; we are forced to realize what has always been true— that another moment identical to this one, or any that came before, will never be in the present again. We cling as if to never let go, we squeeze tighter and totally because it is not just our bodies we are trying to hold. Still, there is beauty in the pain, as we clip the old growth, we see it is only so that new life may grow.
My lover, my partner, my friend— we have weaved our beings into an inseparable truth; we have created the divine in our love— the Sacred lesson, all is one. We have created a miracle. Though the silence this time born a new moment that tore the mind from its false place on the throne, let us retreat to our hearts, let us nourish our souls with the truth that is ours.
In this moment I write I know we will live forever, for truth never dies. I remember and reflect on the craftsmanship, which bore such a work of art. The love, so much love in each moment, even when we stumbled, and we hurt, and we chipped at the mold. I’m dying to hold you, but living to perfect the creation we forged with our souls.
As my mind ceases to produce words, my fingers stop summoning letters to the page, my eyes stop seeing from the tears that blur them, my breath gets caught in my throat, I know I have touched you. With the few things I could possibly convert into language I will say this, I love you so deeply that I met God himself in our moments together; and I feel you, I feel God; the silence is no longer alone.
Thank you for what you taught me,
• • •
II. Root
It has to be rooted. The knowledge, the understanding, swirling like clouds above, and equally far away, it has to condense to fall in droplets to the earth. The stars, they tell centuries, millenniums, stories, prophecies, our fate, but their message can remain as distant as they are. The light is pouring in, washing our skin and our souls, but it alone does not bring life. Without roots, without branches, without leaves ready to ingest it, it simply scorches the surface and hardens the shell until it’s stiff and cemented like our bone.
The trees grow no taller without the roots that support and nourish and anchor them to their home.
The trees grow taller not dreaming of touching the sun, simply blossoming and expanding so its light may seep evermore into their leaves and their being.
The trees are not hoping to one day break free of the soil, but to thrive and to grow.
So once you touched the sun, and it melted your body, it freed you from stone; but then you were gone, and it meant nothing to the ground beneath your feet.
• • •
III.
Racing, racing, faster and faster, it’s out of control. My mind feels like a super computer on speed, with no answer yet, but a heavy sense of earth-shattering impending doom. And I reach out to her again, as I have to her, to ease the pressure. Take this ticking time bomb, you can never disable it, but at least slow the countdown so it won’t explode quite yet. This overwhelming tightening in the chest— something’s wrong— I’m crazy— I’m absolutely insane, but it can’t be for no reason. Or at least reassure me there is no reason, and its my own insanity rearing its ugly head again.
I’m falling apart— is it my own codependence, my own ugly voices rearing their heads? I can’t see clearly but maybe you can help me see what it is not so I may look at myself more deeply and heal the wounds that are leaking.
I loved you, I trusted you, I did the absolute best that I could; I sincerely believe that. Please, just for a moment, speak to me. Help me find solace, help me find peace. I am lost and confused and terrified.
If it is my own mind I am losing I’d rather know it. I don’t know that knowing would help or heal, but without clear awareness of the issue, it is hard to fix. I don’t know whats wrong with me, or I do, its slightly dependent on you. This could be a moment to see my intuition and trust in myself, or it could be a humbling and returning to a center of acceptance, but as it is, it is neither. It is stranded, it is sacred, it is sad, it is lonely, and desperate.
• • •
IV.
My greatest fears, I am not in control. She loved me with her body, with her mind, with her soul; and maybe she’ll forget me. Why—
Every piece of me, everything I had rallied to give me the courage and clarity to remove the extinguishing and draining of my soul. It had been thought and discussed for some time, but the pain of being together was still less than the pain of stepping into a new place. I would not choose freedom, not yet, not today.
• • •
V.
I have seen your sorrow and I have seen your light, but I have not seen my own. I envy your beauty, I hide from your truth for I do not acknowledge my own. Your candle is burning, sometimes more brightly, sometimes more dimly, but I disregard the light of my own. I have not met my soul and so I blame you and grow angry because you have met it and love it as I have not been able to. Letting you go is not just saying goodbye to what I have known. It is letting go of the only person who has seen my soul and loved it, it is letting go of a teacher who nourishes the parts of myself I do not feed on my own.
Is it wrong to realize that I cherish the way you look at me and see me, that I desire for it because I do not know how to see me as you do?
• • •
I am not the same person who wrote this, but I am the same being. They live within me, and I live within them. I am the silence and the one that shapes them, and I am that which watches both become.
A remarkable meditation about the flow that forms life as it is. The drawings were the most remarkable and several remind me my own drawing. As in the case with "Roots" there is something powerful about the fractal quality of the formation of plants. Plants move, flow, after all, but do so too slowly to be observed by the human eye. And so also we become something different than what we were when we created in the process. And the same is true for observation in Heisenberg-ian sense.