She turns exhausted
Black streaks face me
I am struck by heavy
Fears. Unmade, dizzy.
She threatens words
But unchains me
Love, pain, pity
take her to bed.
She turns exhausted
Black streaks face me
I am struck by heavy
Fears. Unmade, dizzy.
She threatens words
But unchains me
Love, pain, pity
take her to bed.
This was a very clear message.
I’m in this mindset where I’ve focused myself back into fear. I am rather unsure how to break out of it. Apathy seems more comfortable than feeling good. Feeling good seems false and draining and forced. Like I am creating happiness simply to avoid the sad depths. I fear my subconscious. I fear myself going mad. These realizations make sense over and over and over again. I keep getting these bright spots of awakening and illuminations. Then I fall back into a darkness. I am tired of fear. And I’m tired of fighting and struggle. I am simply tired. Feeling good seems like so much effort. Fear is exhausting too. So I exhaust myself trying to deal with everything. And the real world sit outside all these thoughts knowing nothing of what I deal with. And I feel, almost a contempt, but more certainly a desire to escape.
I thought the purpose of being here was love. But repetitive meditations have shown, beyond everything even love disappears. It becomes completely unnecessary. And having to convince myself what I’ve held onto this whole time, that love is the reason we exist, seems false now too. A belief system.
I don’t want this, the idea that truth is whatever I make of it. That love and all emotions are just …. Tools. I don’t want to know how alone I really am. Like there isn’t anyone else in the entire world after all. I feel very alone. I fear that I don’t exist. I feel no one else does. I worry these realizations will end me. I am very afraid of existing without form. And love, seems like a child’s story. Pretty, but untrue. Funny, as not two days ago I publicly extolled the merit of that very emotion above all else. Funny, as love is the singular thing I have wanted for all of my conscious life here on earth. Have I been wanting a ghost? A mirage? Illusion? If what we believe exists I think I just solved why I haven’t I found love yet.
I didn’t believe it exists.
I like the story of love. It is nice. Inclusive. But … People often define fear as … An illusion. If fear doesn’t exist doesn’t it follow that its opposite doesn’t either? And as I have felt both … Are these things, these emotions just product of a dreaming mind? Or am I just consciousness being conscious and nothing really exits at all?
So what is the point? If we dont exist at all? Why are we here. Why are we there? (Here being alive and human and there being non physical energy or dead if you must be specific.) What is the reason we exist?
If we exist just because we do I think that would be incredibly boring. When I was a child heaven sounded dreadfully boring as singing and milk and honey forever didn’t seem worth all the things I had to do today to get there. And now the idea of just existing to exist, quoting Thich Nhat Hahn,”Your purpose is to just be.”
I feel the truth in that. It feels right. And my mind is quiet right now. Nothing spare and floaty comes in. I am in a meditative state. But I am awake and in this world, eyes open for the first time while in this deep. And I feel … Clear. Like breath, breathing, air is being drawn in from the far corners of the galaxy, like on some horizon where I can see for thousands upon billions of light years away. And I breath in from there. From all corners of there.
What is the purpose of love if love isn’t our purpose? What is the purpose of fear? And if we exist just to be why … Why isn’t there a purpose? What god would create us just to leave us with nothing to do? Was he just mad happy in the kitchen creating something to make himself happy in the creation of it? Not even planning on consuming his creation afterwords, which would be a purpose in the end after all. Isvara was said to have begun the world in one extended session of masturbation. We, of duality, were born of nothing. Are we just the unplanned pregnancy of the cosmos?
Why. The age old question. Why do we exist? Why am I alive? Why do I want to be? Why would I want to be otherwise? Why am I here? Why haven’t I killed myself yet? Is it fear? Or hope? It has to be hope, when in the heart of suicidal feeling I have always had this pure glow of hope from my center which … Got in the way. It gave me the feeling I have what I want waiting just around the corner. And that I can’t leave without it.
So what is waiting? What is the reason I am still here? I am happy with my realizations. I could die happy now. Today. There is nothing left to do. That I know of.
So why am I here still?
I thought it was love. I thought it was some grand scheme which said I have destiny to reach for the pinnacle of this feeling.
And if we exist to create our own purpose ….
Where is she?
She being the love I want. My reason for existence. My soulmate. My twin flame. Or whatever label you can subscribe to.
Heh. Even I can’t create that image in the heart of this place anymore. I am open to the realization love and fear don’t matter. And soul mates don’t exist. I want them to, I want one so very badly, but they don’t exist. And we don’t exist so is it any wonder that’s just a pretty fairy tale imagined.
All I have wanted since the beginning of my incarnation into this place is to be loved, and if emotions are just tools, like suits to put on, it stands to reason if I want love I could have it … if I just put on the love suit.
I don’t want to. I want love to come to me. I don’t want to create it. I want … Someone, anyone, to love me, see me. Enjoy me. So I can enjoy them. Even source would suffice.
But no one else exists. We are alone. We are source. I am source. I am alone. I am.
Perhaps that is the reason we are here. So we can pretend we aren’t alone.
What came first the chicken or the egg? Does it matter? The other isn’t real anyway.
And love isn’t real. And neither is fear. And you and I, we both don’t exist. Awareness, consciousness, source, god exists. And that is all. I is designation. Noun defined as person, place, or thing.
And words really don’t matter either.
In the last meditation I did I was a book, full of white empty pages. And you could write on them, tear them out, try and understand but run water over then and they were clean and white again. And I could read them, without the words. Words got in the way. Each page was too full to hold words on it.
I let myself sleep in with a dream lover.
This morning I woke up with a thousand worries and nothing to actually do but dwell on them. Or, shall I say, I was meant to wake up thusly. And I did wake up, facts the same. However, on the edges of sleep and waking, just before when I was to open my eyes, I was dreaming. And the dream was not going pleasantly.
There was much disarray and fighting being done, the character who was me made some mistakes, and when I realized I had control I bade her apologize. Or rather I apologized, now taking up the role which I already lived there, giving care and love back, turning negative into learning and positivity. I’ve been doing that a lot lately in my waking state so it was easy to do in my dreams now.
I did apologize and received an armful in return. A naked and desirable and dominating armful, with a pretty sinful mouth and wicked fingers. And the dream followed that line of thought to it’s very satisfying conclusion.
Why am I telling you of such personal intimacy? Because: Illustration.
Because how we feel affect what we bring to ourselves, so says the Law of Attraction, to which I subscribe. I have been worried of late. Worry bordering on they way one wiggles a loose tooth with their tongue despite the twinge that brings. I’ve had two things on my mind. Money and love. Heavy subject for any one mind but for me I find usually love wins out as more pressing.
If you read my blog you might have found the last few posts dripping with ennui and pathetic pining; even I am tired of feeling heartbroken, but we write what we know. And I have known worry; since all the other good things in my life swiftly coalesced into awesomeness so straight went my attention the the lingering negatives. Number one being my recent ex; the heart ache more poignant due to her making contact a few weeks ago. And number two: Money. Money has been a pressing issue, or rather the lack and lateness of it. I’ve been expecting several checks. My worry has been keeping me from them.
Abruptly I find all my attention focuses solely on this imaginary lover, this dream lover. It isn’t that she is perfect, she is not, it is that I crossed a bridge in that dream. In a dream where my worldly worries and learned fears remain far from mind, I felt no need to hold back. I gave her trust, which I hardly do when awake; trust is one of my issues. And I did wake feeling a little cured of that. The dream was enough that when I did wake I felt, it feels, as if I truly woke in a lovers arms. As if I truly spent the morning there. My brain literally stuttered when my mind wanted to worry the negatives while I sat the toilet after rising deliciously late from my bed. And the worries which had been hounding me seemed not so great. Their import lay far behind me. So too, in fact did the missing of my ex, and I spent the morning happy instead of worried. Completely happy. No effort to be that way, no forced and gritted teeth willing myself happy. Just natural happiness.
Immediately I get a call. The check has been delayed but here’s some money to tide you over til it arrives. For the holidays. Shall we drop it off for you? What’s your address?
Talk about hand delivery. And instant manifestation. Instant gratification even!
Amazing. It is truly and simply amazing what can happen when you get out of your own way. This is what can happen when light and love divine does get let in. I remember speaking to myself as I lingered on the edges of sleep. I was scolding myself, in a caring way. I told myself to accept the money coming my way. I hadn’t yet. I hadn’t believed it was mine. I had been awaiting belief until it was in my hands. And then I did so deliberately; I let myself accept the money. And then I worried not. And then it came.
Ask. Accept. Believe. Allow. Receive.
… Or something to that effect.
Law of attraction in action. Deliberate creation.
Thank you Universe for your infinite kindness. Thank you for being there for me even when all my doubt is in play. Thank you for always always giving me what I want, whatever I want. Thank you for … being. Your existence is precious to me; I see us as one and the same. As I thank you I thank myself. As I care for myself I care for you. As I bless you I bless myself. I am grateful.
I bless myself with light and love. I bless myself with pure source energy.
its like I loved,
in a dark place.
she was my heart,
before her I didn’t know
I had one. she grew there,
in my chest, like a feathered
thing, a beating drum,
and she showed it to me.
she showed me what a heart
is. she showed me
and I learned
and I surpassed her.
she left me,
in a dark place.
when she left I
she took the light
with her, and I was alone.
and I still had my heart,
which was her
and it ached
in the absence of her.
and it beat sluggishly,
I could feel it in my chest,
hear it in my skin,
the flutter of it’s magnanimity,
made me worry.
I forgave her,
and I blamed her,
and I bade her,
return to me.
but only silently,
she never did,
until I had become
and she sad
and I was moved on.
and then she wrote,
me claimed love
for me, spoke
love for me,
and I was angry,
and I was pain,
and I was scared,
and I refused her.
and I left her
in a dark place.
get out, I said,
and when she’d gone
silent I remembered
how I loved,
how my heart,
beat as her,
personified as her,
and that I loved her.
and how it just wasn’t
enough, to love
in the dark. love
I feel eviscerated.
I must caution you against reading this if you are feeling emotionally fragile. If you are you might want to leave it unread. My pain wafts off these pages. I am undone here. I am laid bare. I am naked in my vulnerability and I promise you will feel with me by the end. And I must write this; I have no choice.
I feel tortured. I feel I stayed a while in hell. I did so willingly, assured there was some point to it, but in the end if the conversation had not taken place, perhaps I would be better. I know I would still be the same. Now I am different, changed, born anew, stronger. I weathered it, I faced the doubts another’s counteractive view tried to impress upon me, like brainwashing, like waterboarding, waves of her emotions, her pain, her need impressed upon me. I nearly sunk with the weight of it. And I knew, going in, she would be doing this to me, she would be dragging me down into her undertow, into her water depths of despair, into her hell. And I sought to heal, and understand, and pour my own fire on the blaze.
I regret it now. I don’t often regret much, but I do regret the anger and insanity I let loose upon her. Oh, I doubt I left visible wounds. I doubt I even left new ones. It’s possible I just reopened old ones with my truths but I regret doing so. Hurting her, was not satisfying when she is already so hurt. And the only way I forgive it, is to acknowledge she has hurt me, and it was in aid of healing for myself which let me pour the truths unfolded upon her already self pitying ears. I feel eviscerated, due to myself being reamed out during the duration of the conversation, scooped out of pain and anger and hate; all wrapped up in blame of her, for the hurts she dealt, and which I endured, and which I overcame, and which I removed myself from, and which she might do so again. I felt threatened. She wanted me back, in her life, in her existence, in her sphere. She wanted to impart how I was her love, and she was not the person I remember her as the (one who didn’t love me, and treated me so). And so I, not knowing where I was going, allowed it, until the pain drove my body into sleep, and my soul into healing, and I awoke feeling eviscerated.
I wondered, the whole while, if it were me? If I was the one in the wrong. If it was only that I change could the happily ever after come into being? I entertained the idea it was all my fault, and I need only change and be more loving and accepting, and she and I would heal and the hurt would stop. I tried to apply all my learned stuffs on spiritual matters and I only managed to open a door, and let her into my soul to torture it further. The interrogator in my den. She is a broken thing right now, hurting, dying, letting the pain she wrought upon herself and others eat at her soul. She is supposed to be happy, not thinking of me, living her life, loving it. Instead she is calling my friend crying that I refused answer her missive, and she is feeling such self pity she throws traps of guilt that cling like tar to my feet to capture me and draw me in.
And then she tried, oh she did, to tell me she loved me. I tried, I did, to believe it. I allowed her to torture me, with news about her, with her side of the story, with recollections grim and glossy, and I tried to see it this way. She loved me, and she was scared, and she still wanted me, and it did not compute. I am done. I am different. She has intruded upon a new me. I am not the thing she tossed around, like a cat with ball. I am not the toy she made me. I am stronger than that.
I refused to become hers again. I refused to entertain her notions of events, told in her version, colored her way, decrying my own lived recollections. I refused to give up my ideas, for they mold me, make me, become me, I live because of them. I refused to give up the beauty I have become in aid of a dark, twisted version that remains lost and left cautionary tale and recovered from. I am this beautiful spirit, and I do need to remain this. I refused allowance of the contrary.
But it was hard won. This woman, who loved me, who was me, who wanted me, is not worthy of me. And I am worth more than she, and what she gives, and what she offers, and what I need. I am worth more than the past, and worth more than the pain, and worth more than the lived torture. I refused. And with parting blows she let me be.
And I feel eviscerated. Like I were she, and she is death, and I am dying the arms of her soul. I feel, too much connection. I must need withdraw, but it hurts to. For I did love her. I did. I did. I just lost us both along the way.
There though, it is done. I wrote her thusly, speaking of my actual feelings, and my actual perception, and my actual reality. I spoke more of truths and less of lies and platitudes and couched phrases of softness. I told her I was done. And I meant it. I do not want her back. I do not want that pain again. I do not deserve to be tortured. I am done.
And I feel like death. Behind my eyes I feel tears which remain just whines of tiredness and ache. I feel like a battlefield gone cooling. I feel like a demon horde ravaged land. I feel finally finally free. And it does not feel good, as I expected it to. It’s just heavy with losses, on both sides, and disgusting with corpses, and pregnant with pain. It feels like healing is in order but grief is too momentary to allow just yet. It feels, like apocalypse.
Like a violin touching her felt like strings plucked in my spine. They echoed, vibrated, ran up my spine to sit in my throat, open my mouth, escape in sound and sigh. Her mouth echoed me, her body arching into my touch, my skin, my space; expectant, asking, wanting. Adore me, her body begged without words needed, touch my skin, my heart, my spirit. Over her, my breath escaped to her mouth, to give to her the air I’d breathed, to take back the air she breathed, to breath together, in infinite return, like a tree breathing into us as we breathe into it, in endless cycle. I lived in her breath, I watched her give and take, my chest pressed to hers, breasts rising and falling in perfect mirror. I watched her eyes feel my touch, I saw when she felt my break into the world within, and noticed her own fall with me. Still breathing, we became, all infinite, all divine, all beauty in breath and body, and then spirit. Like a violin in endless refrain, strings tethered us to our physical wanting, and we ascended, we fell, into the hands of the infinite sky, broken free of earthly bonds, broken free of body, and end, and yet still breathing. And pleasure came below, bodies unprepared for such beautiful glory, and as below it came above, universe exploding beyond perception, into our empty, receptive, universal spirit, as we breathed as one. Dying, born, beyond mimicry of our physical form. Breathe into me we requested of each other, and as below we did above, breathing spirit into beloved spirit into beloved. And did we descend, I know not, for I have not awoken, I have not breathed, I have not remembered, below.