ir a principal |
Ir a lateral
Freshly ripped wings from my back,
at least I can walk
like a man still bleeding;
I cannot fly
missing wings once attached.
Trail shivers in the air
it follows you walking away
it follows as if I were following you
but I cannot lift my spirit
as you stretch out the horizon
and mark the path in my ink.
I'd follow it to find you
but I feel you are
not to be followed;
Instead, I step into another way
clean of knowing;
maybe walking along
I'll see you in my periphery
an empty sky between us.
Before I named it, that was it.
Those abundant skies are beyond
the vapor in my lungs, but there's closer.
The reflection in the puddle on the sidewalk,
the tears behind the water.
I did not cry to be heard, nor seen.
Before I named it, that was it.
Now it's just words on a canvas,
the paint about a picture of regret.
Now it's a second guess, mistaken
for the way it could have been
but taken as the nail that bled.
Before I named it, that was it.
Heaven's doppelganger's wish fulfilled,
directions misremembered, spilled
coffee, blood, thoughts on the carpet;
and leaves. Now, I've forgotten.
So now, I can remember again.
June has been the most eye-opening, emotional and insightful month of the year so far. It is because of conversations that I have had, both with others and with myself. I have begun to see my fears for what they are, and in this quest for inner peace I have had to realise how much baggage I carry wherever I go, how doubtful I am of what I do and why I do it, how self-limiting my mental dialogue is and how ashamed I am of it all. As "Bohemian Rhapsody" sings, when I look at myself, I see a silhouette of a man. A shadow. There is a light behind me of course, which is why I can see through the darkness to make out an outline. And self-consciousness begins, and self-discovery continues as the silhouette disappears to reveal the truth. Will I like what I see? Will I be joyful, as I have been promised?
I wish to recapitulate some of the conversations, from memory, focusing on their impact upon my perception.
At the start of the month, university courses were ending. Exams were on the horizon so it was time to prepare for them. I was able to concentrate as much as I needed and I am thankful for that. I was to discover things about myself I never realised. I was to face fears and uncover a silent vulnerability that had been building up in me like a balloon, empty inside but occupying my space, my consciousness. "A Course In Miracles" had informed me of the truth that I would need to come face to face with my past, to let it go. I had not expected the difficulty this would bring. I had been much more attached to my fears and grievances than I had realised. I was in search of peace, as we all are on any level. And to find peace, I must accept the moment. I seemed unable to do that. I was lost in my own thoughts, and as I shone the light of consciousness upon my 'problems' so had they intensified and curled within my person, as if in fear. The emotions of course came along with that and turned the whole ordeal into difficulty. Nonetheless, I went on in my quest.
I had begun talking to a friend, a good friend to whom I had not talked much before, about my plight. He decided to make the connection with another friend to whom I wasn't very close yet, and we began a three-way conversation that would last hours a few times a week. It is here that I opened up my wound. I had begun taking off my plaster, and the metaphorical blood started siphoning out. It was difficult to express myself how I had. I told them about a couple of moments in childhood from which I retained my emotional scars. Moments that I hadn't let go of. Baggage. Pain. But finally I was placing them in the light to be cleansed.
On the 8th, I had what I might call the most emotional conversation I had ever had. That night I had two conversations, one with the twosome mentioned above, and one with a dear friend who I was trying to understand, and in doing so trying to understand myself as well. What began as a simple conversation about how he was doing, turned into emotional release, of pain that I held with me. I don't know how he took it, but my despair blew out its dam and out flowed out my hurt. I felt myself vibrate within at how ashamed I was of what I was expressing and I was very conscious of how it might make him feel to know how I felt, about him but more so about me. I wondered about it for days afterwards, if it was really the right choice to share things with them. They are there for me, and I love that. I appreciate it deeply. Gradually I shed my skin and tried to understand what was hurting me so much.
I went from being "easy", two of the three calling me that although I not really understanding why, to a point where I felt "overemotional". If one were to judge by the content of this blog, one may discern that I am quite sensitive. I have been empathetic in the past so that may have evolved with it. I discovered that I had problems of my own, that I had believed in sacrifice of me for the other. I had not really known happiness for what it was but instead as a dependency on other things, things that 'brought' happiness. That's difficult to understand, I imagine. I realised my focus had become split among what my mind wanted to what God wanted to what I wanted to what others 'may' have wanted... Only one of those is true... God, what the hell have I been through?
Courage. Doubt. The first one is what I want and what is growing in me. The second is what I do not want and is decreasing. Through my conversations with the three, they correctly picked out how much I doubt myself. How much I limit what I do by how I feel. I have this filter that I send everything through and it comes out très sanitised and devoid. Empty, and I didn't like that. No one could, it's not who I am. How could I have been making this excuse? Because it was easier to than to be brave, to not let all my childish fears barrage the fun and joy of life. I am so glad they talked to me. I am glad I am learning to become more courageous, to choose love over fear.
Moreover, the conversations continued as June went on. I found myself consciously internalising my reactions and they would render me 'damaged' for hours at a time. I had been uplifted on a few days by my friends, but mostly I left myself in my own corner of the world to suffer because I felt I deserved that for lying to myself, for denying my past, for not allowing me to move on. I realised I wasn't on top of the world and that I never really wanted to be. All I want is love. Love. And all I can really have is love. I do not yet believe this, though I wish I did. It would solve all my problems. But I had also learned that my problems had already been solved ("A Course In Miracles"). I had stopped trusting it at one point but I returned my faith once I realised I was not putting my faith in it before but in my own perceived weaknesses. God, I confused myself, tied myself in knots then undoing them trying to sort out my life, my problems, how I was going to come through. I know I will, I have faith in that. I have undying faith. And faith has me.
I held myself as a person who knew who they were, but while I knew deep down, I kept forgetting. But the time to be authentic and remember is now. Now I am. I wanted to be the best, the hero, the one that receives the attention, the one that is loved, the one that has all the answers. None of those came true. I know that none of those is real. Love is reciprocal. So, its light guides to where I must go, where we must all go eventually. Home. I don't want to spend any more time in hell. I was as lost as everyone else was. Finally, love is coming and washing away my hurt and the sun within is rising. God... I may look like a silhouette now, but I am whole, and as the light grows so shall the truth become more apparent. I hope all my secrets will be exposed, not that there's many of them, but that the few that remain will be known to me and if it be willed, to others. But I want honesty to be my breathing and I want life to live in reality not in an excuse for it. I deserve the best, the only, the all there is. It is not too much to ask, because I already have it. And it's bizarre to say that because I don't understand how I can have something, but I only have it because I am it. Nothing else belongs to me but what I already have. Paradox, whatever.
Love is here.
The heart, a muscle that pumps blood and circulates it for us. Love comes from here? Does it run in the blood, from my aortic pump down through my arteries to my other organs? That's a journey that happens as I write this, and I'm not controlling it one bit. I like that. I don't circulate my blood, so I don't love either. It is choiceless, autonomous. Those three words then, the ones that are commonly spoken of as special, are a bridge. Uttering them means crossing the gap. But before uttering them, the bridge must already be there, traversed, for love knows no bounds. If love is, it is, and bringing it through the filter of words will not transform it. However, we may realise its presence once we utter them.
I'm not holding on to pain. My hand bleeds when I hold a rose by the thorns, and it's no more beautiful. I was cheated, ridiculed, bullied, embarrassed, probed. Wake up. Wake up. I've finally received the message and it's to let go.
In times of emotional turmoil, I've been told and I've told others to hold on. To weather the storm. To hold out until the pain passes. And I did hold out and then I had my respite of sunshine. Then the clouds rolled back in to rain again and I would toughen up. Somehow, pain was rain with a 'p' and I held on to it for dear life. Somehow I've learned that pain should be feared, that I should run away. I couldn't run forever, I don't have that stamina, and it shouldn't really be a surprise that I hold the rose in my hand and I'm still squeezing.
Resilient. On my 17th birthday, I received a gift from my friends with messages to me. The first one recognised that these messages may help me out when I needed them, help me with my resiliency. What do they say? You're awesome, you're a great friend, stay true and gold. I've taken these band-aids and held them in my hand, but I always let them go when I bled because the rose was something I didn't have. So I thought I needed to hold on to it in order to have it. I made a mistake.
And I'm not recovering. Watch the red flow downstream, gurgling out from fresh pits in the earth, along estuaries in the palm that fork out into the rivers lined by flesh; the blood is in no rush as it slowly coils about the hills, through valleys under digital cliffs and out, sometimes via cascades. I see it spill. Dot. Dot. Pool.
The rose is beautiful, it is unique and it doesn't hurt when I witness it, when I appreciate it. It hurts when I hold on to it, when I try to make it mine, when I think I need to have it. Illusion - I don't need it. I enjoy its presence and when it is gone, it shall be no more. This way, letting go doesn't hurt because what is here is as it is and when it leaves it no longer is here.
I pen this note then to remind me to let go, to let pass all that comes, to appreciate all I am given, all I receive, and all I give. So I'm not holding on anymore. I float. I am free.
I've thought about this for a long time. Now is right to allow what is to be here. Having it another way is denial, resistance. So let it be. I am free.
