I am fucking long winded.
I believe that yes, we are subject in one way or the other, to our minds. However, our minds are entirely wondrous, magic-making machines. I believe in mind. I believe in the connection between the mind and the brain and I think this connection poetically parallels the connection between God and humanity. They are perhaps one in the same- different in context and shape and form perhaps, yet both part of the same mind field.
Yes, so it’s all in my brain, but that is in fact, contrary to disappointing- that is MIND BLOWING. That the entirety of my existence can be created within a small lump of matter- what does that suggest about the meaning of matter? How is that not MORE mind blowing than anything else? That something special and unattainable is giving the matter that exists in my brain the ability to create ALL THIS while the matter that is in my liver cannot. What is so MAGICAL about my brain cells that can produce that? Ok ok. So if you tell me that my mind exists in a field outside my own conception or power and that it is part of some cosmic conciousness…then that is fucking cool. And if you tell me that the entirety of my human existence, all of my wildly complex memories and tastes and smells and passions are all stemming from a small sum of cells…WHAT does that say for the power of CELLS? I mean come ON. That’s fucking SICK. Brains are MAGIC makers. Brains are God. The collective unconcious is God. OK! Tell me it’s all in my head I’ll say that’s the MOST insanely magical explanation you could give to this world. My brain is my soul. My soul is my origin. Everything seeps from a spring that is a web of CELLS. So CELLS are CREATING my reality? FUCK YES. That’s fucking unreal. Stop thinking that that is reductionist thinking- that’s fucking magical thinking. Either mind exists or it doesn’t exist and if it does…then holy SHIT aren’t you excited to be alive? To be able to whistle within a web of fucking conciousness? And if mind doesn’t exist…then what the FUCK is going on. And why would you ever WANT to believe that we are just deterministic automotons? What does that do for you? Materialists are pussies.
And then my Dad showed up. And then I dropped out of outer space and into my own subjective pain. How fucking glorious is it that we can care?
And it never rests. It never quite rests on any one place. I was feeling an infinite number of things coarsing through me. Trying to get out. Trying to get in. Forgiving from above, hating from underneath…staring with my eyes and trying to see someone I knew…trying to recollect ANYTHING and at the same time being FLOODED with memories I had forgotten were ever mine. And you were there and I looked into my green eyes in you.
And it’s nothing. I keep trying to think of some words to describe this utterly unnameable experience and nothing rests on anything it just keeps moving and pulsing from one feeling to the other. It’s literally everything. I was sitting there and I felt the most surpreme pain and honest healing and wild strength all at the same time. I feel energized. I feel exhausted. I feel like I’m being pulled in all directions at once. I feel emotional. I feel like crying. I can’t stop shaking. I feel whole. I feel one and connected with myself. I feel older. I feel wiser. I feel like a child. I feel like a fourteen year old girl. I feel like everything is ok and I don’t even want it to be okay.
And everything is so innately wrapped up in what I want the experience to be…what I want to procure from it…how I think I’m supposed to feel…how I remember you once made me feel.
I feel shaken. I feel not quite alright. I feel like I have not quite arrived in my skin yet. And yet I feel so connected. I feel sick. I feel really sick.
And I was sitting there looking at you and I thought oh gosh you are such a child. You are a little child in a man’s body. And I don’t recognize you. I don’t recognize you at all. But at the same time I know something SO deep is connected. And I saw DEEP connections I’ve missed and withering loose ends and such SCARS. Such deep SCARS.
And it was just a life. It wasn’t my whole life and it wasn’t his whole life. It was just this life we had together for this moment.
And he told me…she isn’t you. I know you think you were replaced…but she’s not you. And he told me she’s sixteen and fucking told me about all her troubles being a teenager and I wanted to scream. How dare you speak to me about getting her ready for her homecoming when you MISSED EVERYTHING. You missed. Everything. And YOU did it on purpose. You chose to leave and NEVER come back and then you try to piece it together by saying oh I’m here for my new daughter, aren’t you proud? That hurts. More than anything. You could ever say. Talk about ANYTHING other than the daughter you replaced me with. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?
He does not heal me. I heal myself. You shake me up and wake me up and I heal.
And I do not hate you. I forgive you. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to let go of my scar. It’s something that I HAVE. And I get to keep. No one can take it back. No one can heal me. No one knows what it’s like to have MY personal pain. So let me keep myself. And let me give it away. Let me transform the energy into power and use it.
And it was adolescent pain. And some part of me is over it. And that’s sad too. It’s sad to know you’ve let your pain go.
At the final moment…it’s a choice to let go of your pain.
And even now…I’m TRYING to hold on to it. I’m TRYING to make myself feel angry. And I don’t really. Because what are you left with then? I don’t want to just be okay. To just be okay.
So I have all this boundless, ferocious energy now. And what do I do with it? Which avenue do I take it down? I want to feel it all. I want to feel the rough edges and the anger and the pain and the loss and then I want to let it go. And then I want to funnel it into openness. Into fearlessness. Into forgiveness. And I want it to lead me back into a deeper connection with myself, with the world’s pain and with the stars that surely cry as well.
And it’s never going to be quite where you want it or how or give you quite what you think you want…it will give you what you need. Because what you need is what exists and what exists exists.
So okay. Strech out in both directions. Maybe that’s only way to make it grow.
Let the beast out.
And if it’s gone then let it be gone.
And there will never be release from this jar of candied, broken hearts.
Your pain is a gift. Transform…not even just the pain…but the way you see it. My pain is my presence. It is my gift. And it creates me.
Have all your selves of selves meet each other, shake hands and meld. Sew yourself back together.
And it’s not about sorry. Sorry does nothing. It’s about acceptance and forgiveness.
And I could never progress until I ACCEPT and FORGIVE MYSELF. I did something wrong. I did something wrong.
And nothing can be lost.
And the image of me falling in my head…I just realized…is not about loss. Falling from grace. It’s about LETTING GO. Falling and trusting the air to make you fly within your liberating FREE FALL.
I feel clear again. Weightless.
I just screamed and yelled and cried and stamped the floor and went running and I purged and purged and purged and felt things flying out of me.
And now I am all of me. Every bit of everything I am. A child. A poor human. Someone falling through space, suspended.
And when I forgive myself I get closer to Forgiveness itself and I can then forgive everyone else. See myself in every one else.
There is no formula for healing or dealing with anything as wild and untameable as a human heart. It is an element of fire. It is an element of all elementals. It is the source of the source. The piece of our brain that is untouchable by logic. It is guarded with boundless flames and flowing tendrils of garden gnomes that keep this one piece of your mind utterly impassioned. It is the piece of the piece of the mouth of the river. The whole and the part and the objective of the subjective. My heart is my soul is my brain is my mind and they are ALL words and metaphors for the SAME unattainable syllable. I can never find the word for what I am.
Now stop postulating and go ENJOY your life.
Let go of it ALL and see what is left.
And oh fuck he called me honey and I wanted to slap him.
And there was this moment where he said he was living in Arizona and I said oh I had no idea and he said…isn’t that sad? Isn’t that sad you have no idea where I live? That’s sad isn’t it, how disconnected we are. And I couldn’t do anything but hold back tears.
I am growing a great orb within my chest that speaks all languages and all of them come from the same place and return to the same place and it is an ocean of love.
I exist within a styrofoam box and dormlife dreariness and arcadia sweatshirts and sheets over couches to decorate the hard wood seats and moldy microwaves and something of nothing.
It never quite moves from the origin and it never quite comes back to the point of departure. The universe is expanding outwards and time is shrinking back in on itself and I find myself living backwards from the bottom up and with the insides of my heart draped like war paint over the sinews of my synapses. You can see right into my head when you look through my navel. You can charge right through my skin when you touch my soul. If I ever find the right word for what it is I’m never trying to say, I think I’ll finally cease to be. I’m dissolving into matter. I matter in my mind. My mind matters within the scope of matter. And I find always within the confines of forever. Those words touch each other in the darkness. All this robust wood carries my name in its letters and says take my reflections of light and cast them back on your Christmas tree. Light it up with pieces of me and cartridges of you. And what a family should be. And what a family was. And what the FUCK does that word even mean family. What a fucking construct. What a fucking piece of the American dream.
We create these hoops so that we can measure ourselves so that we can know whether or not we made it. We painted this idea of family so that we have a marker. We either make it or we don’t. But NO ONE makes it. The image is a faded photograph and we are not painted faces we are embodied children that grew up to find Santa Claus was never real. Give me love and give me family but take away the words and pictures. My dad never loved me enough to call me his daughter so let me have Christmas but let me drape a real tree in my divine light. Not a plastic shrub in store bought fantasies. Give me love don’t give me presents wrapped in bows. Everything looks too nice nothing feels too weighty. The presents are just empty boxes. Give me your presence not your pretense.
How would you like it if I rolled you up in wrapping paper and gave you back your plastic heart?
It feels good to shred you again and again and all your money clips and scoundrel skin and dirty laundry but I cannot get rid of your eyes. These green eyes. The only thing you ever gave me and they see you in vicious technicolor. This year though, these green eyes are turning gold at the center. They are mine not yours.
You with your perfect bag of gold and clanking sin. Pirate plunders and seafoam restlessness. You go because you do not know how to breathe. You move because you have no bone structure. Your spine is made of twine and you speak rumblings of a dirty dishwasher cleaning nothing but your own shallow running shoes. Keep running. Let me know when you find you’re not going anywhere. I never said goodbye dad.
I think you might just not exist.
I am full bodied nothingness.
Yeah yeah. There is no truth. I know I know. I get it I got it I have it. There is no truth. We are subjective beings in a pool of mindpuddle. Give me a paddle I’m rowing towards existing.
And all I can say is…my life happened once.
Yeah yeah yeah get the words out.