Where The Bus Stops

A loud nothing, detonating
aloud; proudly I believe
I can resuscitate my own,
before it kids with who I see ahead.

Echoes bantam on the sidewalk.
I'm running tip-toed through the fray
that I can hear but I bet that guy
who's waiting for the bus cannot;
he's got his iPod in his ears
listening to sprockets turn,
living something dead
until he's one with what he wants.

I wonder if his music's mine,
at least in like, so that we can
at some point, be together and not
exchange glances that avoid.

Looking into his eyes,
I see myself speak, harm done,
yet not in the conversation,
because he's waiting for the bus
and frankly, I don't know where he's off to,
another station on his mind map,
searching in the struggle of signs
for himself, as he moves right past.

The June Silhouette

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.

To Irk The Sum

Irk: Poetry about love, I could be writing. But you know what? I'm not.
Sum: Yeah, I know you're not.
Irk: How do you know I'm not? You're not even looking at me?
Sum: I know I'm not looking at you, you don't have to talk to me in that tone.
Irk: So then how do you know?
Sum: Well, you can't really write anything about love unless you've experienced it.
Irk: And why do you assume that I've never experienced love?
Sum: Because you just got defensive and said what you just said. You've never experienced it, you don't know what to write about, and besides... if you really sat down to write something about love you would think long and hard and longer and harder and then give up and talk to me about it and we would have a conversation like the one we are having right now except I would pace myself better and try to not have run-on sentences.
Irk: Your wisdom, or lack thereof, bores me. I'm telling you I know what love is.
Sum: Oh you do? Well... what is it?
Irk: Why should I tell you? You're probably going to annoy me once more with your useless banter and return the question back to me like an unqualified psychotherapist.
Sum: Thank you for that pathetic attempt for an insult, but you don't really expect me to change the subject now, do you? What is love?
Irk: You're full of something, you know that?
Sum: Yes, so are you, that's why we are here together.
Irk: We are not here together, you are here with me, for a good reason I imagine.
Sum: Maybe. What is love?
Irk: Maybe... that's all you have to say?
Sum: Stop avoiding the question. What is love? Or maybe you don't know but are too pathetic to admit it?
Irk: Excuse-moi, but if I was pathetic I wouldn't have such clever self-conscious dialogue to entertain you with, now would I?
Sum: I don't know. I don't care. What is love?
Irk: Please, let's not board the apathetic plane lest we crash into the sea because we stop caring about living.
Sum: Don't worry, I don't have enough money to purchase tickets. What is love?
Irk: I'm not worried, we cannot fly anyway, we don't have passports.
Sum: No further distractions. What is love?
Irk: Agreed. Love is.
Sum: Lovely.
Irk: Is it now? Do you know what love is then?
Sum: I was asking you the question, you were answering. No cheap psychotherapy, tyvm.
Irk: Ok. Then do not interrupt if you want to know my answer.
Sum: How do you know I want to know your answer?
Irk: Well you are asking me a question, are you not?
Sum: Am I? Am I now? Am I?
Irk: Are you?
Sum: Je ne sais pas. I don't feel like I was asking you anything.
Irk: Maybe your memory was shot down by your feeble attempts at humour.
Sum: Possibly.
Irk: Yes.
Sum: Mmm.
Irk: Mm.
Sum: M.
Irk: Did you just say M?
Sum: Yes, yes I did. Appalled?
Irk: I would be if you didn't expect me to be appalled. I see you are, so I am quite ambivalent.
Sum: Serious? How so?
Irk: I don't wish to bore you with the details like you have been boring me with your questions for the past unspecific amount of time.
Sum: Well that could offend me, but it does not.
Irk: I'm glad, no words can hurt you.
Sum: Nope, I'm invincible.
Irk: Yes, and so am I.
Sum: We are.
Irk: I am, you are, we are. All three pronouns we can use to describe our isness.
Sum: And isn't it funny then how we can never really point a finger to it?
Irk: I haven't quite been able to laugh at that yet. Not yet.
Sum: Really? Don't you think it's funny?
Irk: That we go around in circles?
Sum: Isn't that conversation? We take turns speaking?
Irk: Yeah, you talk, I talk, you talk, I talk, and from the point of view of the collective we both talk and that is our conversation and it goes in circles because it goes from me to you to me to you to me to you to me to you and it goes on and on like that until we stop.
Sum: Right. You would rather be doing something else?
Irk: Yes. Feeling.
Sum: You want to write poetry, don't you?
Irk: Yes. Poetry.
Sum: About?
Irk: Oh, you know, something that I can write about. Something I can express and look at and see how I feel about while I write and while I read it later if I get the chance. Something about nothing in particular, but something nonetheless because nothing in particular is really worth talking about unless it is something relevant.
Sum: Care to elaborate by giving an example?
Irk: I don't wish to elaborate because that would mean longer sentences. So I will be brief. I'm thinking... I'll write about love.
Sum: Love? Oh, and you know love?
Irk: Who doesn't?
Sum: You know about love?
Irk: Yes.
Sum: You want to talk about it?
Irk: Do I look like a teenager who just witnessed a shocking event in their life?
Sum: To be honest, I don't know what you look like.
Irk: Well, I do.
Sum: Can you show me?
Irk: Nope, I couldn't even if I wanted to. But you already know what you look like.
Sum: Yes, but I want to know what you look like so I know who I'm having this conversation with.
Irk: Yes, but you don't need to look further than yourself.
Sum: This sounds quite profound.
Irk: Sounds can be deceiving, just like appearances.
Sum: So then, what can we trust to be true? Oh, please tell me!
Irk: An exclamation!
Sum: Oh, oh, oh, oh!
Irk: Fear not, I shan't change the subject to Shakespearean England.
Sum: I am glad.
Irk: I am, too. You are glad. We are glad. All three pronouns are used.
Sum: Correct.
Irk: I wonder sometimes... who I am...
Sum: I wonder that sometimes as well.
Irk: Have you found an answer?
Sum: I don't know what to tell you. I know the answer already but it's like I want to check it with something and every time I try to find something to compare it against, it doesn't quite match up.
Irk: Is that so? Why is that?
Sum: Well, let me elaborate. There are others that I see around, and I try to get to know them and I make friends with them and if we are good friends then it means I am closer to finding a match to who I am. Then there is money, which I try to use and buy things for myself and when I have these tangibles I try to see how I feel when I have them.
Irk: And how effective has this proven to be?
Sum: Not very, I still don't have an answer.
Irk: You know why?
Sum: Yes.
Irk: I do, too.
Sum: Have you had much success in that department?
Irk: Kitchenware?
Sum: We are not in Briscoes. I mean with the question of who you are.
Irk: Yes. I have had as much success as you.
Sum: Somehow I don't believe that.
Irk: Neither do I... and I was the one that said it.
Sum: Why did you say that?
Irk: Je ne sais pas.
Sum: You should write your poetry now.
Irk: I should? Why do you say that?
Sum: Thank you for repeating my question, we have once more arrived at a common point in the circle.
Irk: We are always at the same point in the circle. The Earth moves. We don't.
Sum: Sometimes I don't even think we are on the Earth.
Irk: Why?
Sum: Because we don't move. I would expect that, if the Earth moves, we should move with it. But we don't. We seem to be stuck.
Irk: You know... you have a point. I feel stuck, too. Frozen in a loop.
Sum: You should write your poetry now.
Irk: Ah, you remembered that I should be writing my poetry now.
Sum: Yes, I do retain some memory.
Irk: What should I write my poetry about? Perhaps a memory?
Sum: You were going to write about love.
Irk: Yes. Do I know anything about love, though? You were doubting me sometime ago.
Sum: Doubt is a bitch.
Irk: No doubt.
Sum: I won't bother you with the question about love then because it would take you too long to answer it and we would end up back here again without an answer.
Irk: I might have an answer for you.
Sum: You might.
Irk: I might.
Sum: So, this love... is it grand?
Irk: You know already.
Sum: Remind me, so I know I know
Irk: Well, it's not very grand. It's not taller than Everest, smaller than a pea, juicier than a pear.
Sum: So how do you know anything about it if you want to write about it?
Irk: I know it, somehow. Inherently.
Sum: This is a new development, is it not?
Irk: No, it's the same question and answer, phrased differently, giving the illusion of originality but actually hiding behind the same thing.
Sum: That is wonderfully simple.
Irk: We are copies of each other because of it.
Sum: How do you think that makes me feel?
Irk: How I feel, but I could lie to you and tell you a different story. Then I would be inventing a narrative.
Sum: Then it would be original, would it not?
Irk: Would it? It's a copy, but it looks new. Is that new?
Sum: Je ne sais pas.
Irk: We do, we just don't want to know it yet.
Sum: How does it make sense to not want to know something that we already know?
Irk: It doesn't.
Sum: Are we waiting for Godot?
Irk: On the surface, if you had met me about an unspecific amount of time ago, I would have said yes.
Sum: But now?
Irk: Just now.
Sum: Now?
Irk: Yes.
Sum: So?
Irk: I was telling you about love, was I not?
Sum: Might've been, yes.
Irk: Ok. Well... Love is.
Sum: I hear you.
Irk: I'm glad.
Sum: So am I.