I am feeling and feeling and feeling that I am trying to feel like I’m not going to be swallowed whole by this.
Can the ball please no longer be solely in my court?
The only thing I can do is just lift my head. If I just focus on the sun and the air and the wind blowing around me when I walk down this street…It’s the same sun, the same bright star that has lit up all the days of my life and will light up all the days remaining. It is old light, even when it reaches my face. It is starlight, even during the day. We forget things. We get caught up in syntax and implicit connotations of the words we get comfortable using. The ways the like to subjugate and punish people for acts we all have within ourselves. The hearts and impulses and strengths and weaknesses we are all given. The way we all scold each other for “behavior” even though for the life of me I don’t know how to behave any other way that the way I behave based on a thousand trilling dominoes that have ticked themselves away and brought me to this place based on a thousand drilling neurons that have formed themselves into a path that my brain is drumming because of the structure that it is formed and forming in. I don’t know what free will is or where it resides. I don’t know how to be mad at anyone. Ever. I don’t know how to chastise anyone for anything because at that deepest core, we are all that tiny little starlight that is just a bundle of waves that was once a tiny fragment of something inside a single something. That blew out into the big bang. Universal perspective is the only thing that is helping me walk through these confusing days. Just this idea that I am so tiny. That this is so small. Because it seems quite big to me, right now. Glaring in front of my face. Staring at me through the computer screen. It all seems quite big and quite catastrophically meaningful. But it is small at the same time.
This is what I come to when I see my father. Because when it rains, it pours, downpours, thunders and hurricanes. Because I have seen my father once in 2 years and yesterday he came in the middle of this shit. And because I have always tried to make sense of it. And you can say that people are evil. You can write people off. But I see my father and I see this strange curling sadness inside of him and I know he is a human. We are all human. No better and no worse. He has a sad story, and I feel bad for him. He has to fight back tears all the time when he is with me and I know it’s real for him. People feel bad, of course they feel bad. People regret, of course they regret. People act in unspeakable ways and I’ll never know why and most of the time, the people themselves hardly know why either. They are just following the drum beat of the corroded brain structures their neurons are firing in. They are just doing the best they can do with the story they have been given, the strength they have been given, the truth they are living. And we can blame them. Or we can have compassion for them. Because they are always ourselves. Because we are always flawed, and small and wrong. But we try. And we try to heal. And when people rise towards the light, when people lift their heads, when people try to mend…that is a strong force fighting against a legion of structured neurons. When you can fight your own self, that is amazing strength. And when you cannot, you simply cannot. Richard cannot do any better right now simply because he cannot. I can’t hate him for that. I can only send him love and light and hope that one day he can. It’s easy to hate my father. It’s simple. But I don’t know what good it does anyone. When I can see without a shadow of a doubt that there is a terrible blue spark inside of him. That he has a sad story that he is living. And for some reason, some part of the universe is living out this story. It’s true. It’s really happening. I think people want to turn away from these things and just simply blame the people themselves because it’s easier than rationalizing that this is a universe in which these kinds of stories TAKE PLACE. Are real. And right. It’s not a mistake. This is a world in which these stories are breathed into existence. And so what does that mean about this world? About the nature of reality? About humanity?
And little Jamie is sick for the first time. Really sick. And he doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand what is happening to his body and this is a universe in which this happens. In which bodies fail. In which pain is part and purposeful. And I was up all night holding this little frightened baby and his breathing sounds horrible and his whole body is feverish and he doesn’t understand why he’s in so much pain. And I can’t make it better even with words. Because he doesn’t understand them yet. But this is a world in which this happens. For some reason there is pain and there is beauty and there is love in this world. And I can give him my body, my warmth and soft song of my voice telling him it’ll be alright. But we are stuck inside these skins that sometimes cannot fight off infection. These bodies that battle themselves. These minds that battle themselves. These minds that do not understand half of half of half of what is happening. We are small. Jamie is reminding me how small and helpless I am. My father is reminding me how small and helpless we all are. Perspective is not making things immediately easier. But I cannot swim in the depth of all of this. I have to float to the top. To raise my head. And keep telling my little baby that it’ll be alright. That it’ll pass. That this too shall pass.
It’s all just a dream. It’s all just a dream. Just this bubble of consciousness that is experiencing itself experience itself. And I’m a part of that. And so are you.