Too Small and Separate a Drop in the Uinverse

I have been struggling with my weight.

Not just to lose it, but as if in physical altercation, locked and straining to wrestle it into what I want it to be. I have been struggling WITH my weight, as if it were another person I must contend with. A very contrary person who exists just to torment me and hold me back.

I have used spiritual means to exact the desired end. I have meditated, chanted, done spirit journeys and tarot readings. I have delved into my painful childhood and held the bereaved child me. I have acknowledged the weight as my assistant, my protector, my body’s way of speaking to me, as pain held in my body unhealed. I have done it all, in aid of losing this creature who makes me not as I feel myself to be but as a grotesque caricature of myself. I have done it all because I want that creature gone.

Yesterday I was on the train. The subway car window across from me was darkened by the tunnels we traveled through and alas the creature that is my weight was very visible. I was horrified. My arms were the worst of it. My hips the next glaring thing.

And I couldn’t help but feel the disorientation.

In my dreams, my mind, my astral wanderings I am not that girl. Am myself and I am … Normal. Not overly thin, or too thick for my aesthetic preference, but normal. I stared at her, this imposter of me, and just felt defeat. And then a man skinnier than me took up that spot and I felt even worse, seeing the reflection of me out shadowing even him.

Once, a while ago, a girl took me into the bathroom and told me to stare into the mirror. This was before my spiritual journey and she was intense and alarmingly so. It didn’t turn out well between us, I wasn’t ready I don’t think, but she and that incident still affects me today.

She said I was to stare in the mirror and tell myself I loved me.

Tell my reflection I love her.

Tell that … Thing in the mirror I love you.

Then, I couldn’t do it. I tried but there were too many distractions, too much going on. And I wasn’t near ready. I do recall the trembling. It made me tremble to imagine doing, before I even tried, this trembling feeling deep inside in the core of me. And when I tried it was with half hearted effort, and less understanding than I hold now. And when I looked into my reflection’s face, her eyes turned sad and she looked more child-like than ever. And I felt such .. Disgust. As if in her vulnerability she was akin to dirty and should be rejected.

That girl who forced me to do that, I ran as far away from her as I could get.

Ironically her name was Angel.

But that in incident in my head stands out so strongly. I feel as if sometimes a part of me lives in that bathroom, a public one with women rushing in and out and staring, and my ex/girlfriend huffing jealous over the girl in question. And the girl, Angel too close to my arm, insistent in word and will, that I see something. Something in the mirror. Something in me.

Since then I have tried in on my own, in private, by myself. It took a long time to work up the courage, its been 18 months since that day. I have stared at myself in the mirror and tried to see what she saw, 3 times. Every time I feel the same. As I look at her, the girl in the mirror who is my reflection, there is this pulling in her eyes. She wants so desperately to be loved, it is a literal drag on my energy to feed her. I feel drained looking into her eyes. She is so .. Bruised by life. And her pain begins to become mine. And I feel such anger at her for being so weak I just hate her. And invariably I give up and leave trying to forget why.

She is not me. She isn’t. Myself from this vantage point looking out is so beautiful. And I do love her. And I know myself so much better than I did then. And I feel so whole inside. The dichotomy is this shell I wear, this body, this weight, this reflection in the mirror. She feels so alien. So separate. So apart from me. Looking into the mirror feels as far away from understanding her as looking at a picture and trying to know that person from it. I feel disconnected when I look in the mirror.

But I must acknowledge a few things. The first being a truth I believe in. That what I believe is reflected in my reality. And the second being I feel the First Noble Truth of Buddhism applies here, somehow.

There is suffering. Suffering should be understood.

I really feel the second insight is key but I have tried to understand it. I have tried. I simply don’t. Understanding it, in this way as done by Buddhists, is to embrace it. Welcome it. Become it.

My pain is so great I feel it would overwhelm me were I to become it. I fear I would be lost.

It helps to imagine another as the source of attention. I would say another person, whose size is equal to mine, is starving. They are so hungry all they can do is eat. And the food piles up on their body but does not feed what is really hungry inside. I think it is their spirit which is the hungry one.

I remember being younger and always feeling hungry. This was long after I had rejected feeling hungry physically and made sure I wouldn’t feel my stomach sour and growling ever. Then the feeling of hunger moved, and became an internal thing. It became not a physical sensation this hunger but a felt thing like emotion. Indeed it feels like a pulling sensation. I have felt it often throughout my life I now see: For things. For people. For love. For sex. For change.

My mind expands with this insight. Feeding is not just about food, although I admit this idea is what sparked my turning vegetarian years ago as well as my spiritual path. We eat to become more than we are. Food fuels us, but so does poetry. Stories. Love. Laughter. Happiness. Joy. Fear even, just go see a scary movie and you’ll see yourself react in one way or the other. We are fueled by so many things. We hunger for so much.

Right now my main hunger is aesthetics. I am putting a lot of time in my physical appearance, mainly my hair. I hunger to make myself look beautiful. I am beautiful I acknowledge but these days I want to look a certain way. A way that feels more like myself. It is almost similar to this struggle with weight. I want my insides and outsides to match. I want them to match and be beautiful, beautiful to me that is. I hunger so much to look a certain way.

It makes me wonder if that is how a transgender person feels? So hungry for their shell to match their soul.

I buy things which feel like me. Make me feel even more like myself. I read things that do this as well. I am attracted to people who make me feel more like me. I feed myself all these things in aid of … What? Is it expansion? Connection. Do I feel too small and separate a drop in the universe that I must reach for reintegration? What exactly is it I am so god damn hungry for?

Is it god?

And if it is, well I believe I am god, we all are. That god and universe and people are one. If it is god I am hungry for, how can I really feed myself me?

If it is god I am hungry for, must I wait until this corporal existence ends to be free and whole again?

In Control

I cannot be with anyone.

Inside I feel such pain. I don’t know why nor where it comes from, but it manifests in this strange urge to eschew company. I haven’t spent much time around anyone in months. The days stretch long and open, I wake when I wish, sleep when its needed, eat for pleasure not routine. My life revolves around three solid things, my healing, distractions, and love.

This love is novel. I remain unfamiliar with this type of love.  It is unique in that it is singular to me.  I am the only recipient.  I am the only source.  I am in control of its generation.  I bask in the flow.  And this is my joy and regret.

I feel joy I have learned this,  it is almost a new skill.  It is almost a new dawn in my life. But I also miss being loved by another.  I miss it.

This missing drives me to peruse online profiles but this habit has become a source of pain for me.  I peruse and it gets stronger and stronger in my chest,  a feeling of unease so great it feels like a stone covers my heart center…

And I am alone again.

I close the application  and I am able to breathe through the pain.  I have learned not to fight it.  Pain exists. And it has just as much a right to exist as anything.  It even has a purpose.  But it doesn’t feel nice to cry and not know why. To poke around inside my head, berate my psyche, interrogate the evasive me,  this is futile for I feel I have gotten somewhere …

… and I turn around the next day to discover I have only gone in circles.  I am enough for myself and that is it.  I only have myself and that is it.

And I am both content and ill content with that.

I would love to have dates,  so I say this.  Then it becomes untrue. This wretched thing come up,  overcomes me it,  and I find I am fighting fear more frightening that any first date.  Why.  Why can I not move on and get on with it.  It feels like my life is on hold waiting for itself to begin.  It feels like love,  the concept of it sung in song and tale,  seeps away into the cracks between memories.

Soon it will be gone I think.  Loving her was so distinct but now it fades.  And I am left alone.

I am reminded of last loves.  The strong ones,  the ones worth the bitter ends they became.

She remains a hollow in my memory,  a holy thing,  a fragile love. And so much anger builds behind it,  for I am forced to think of the good times with the bad.  After all she did not treat me with courtesy.  I didn’t know it then but I know it now.  I treat myself now as she should have done and wish I had known better.  If I had known how to treat myself then she would have known how to treat me.

And the anger fades.  I take responsibility back and it fades and I am grateful for the lesson learned.  And I miss her a bit more with the knowledge.

I cannot be with anyone yet,  because the pain is still too great even now.  She does hold that place,  it’s been a year.  But I cannot let go so another could claim it.  I cannot let go.  I am afraid to let go.  I fear unlearning the love I hold now.  I fear unloving myself when I lose the love of her.  I fear being alone with a lonely me instead of one eschewing company.  It is almost better to pine than it is to be loved.

Here I at least have control of my heart.

 

 

Dear X,

So randomly I found myself downloading Twitter of all things. I suppose I just felt the need to get back in touch with the world. I’ve sorta eschewed social media for the last six months. It’s better this way I figure, these people aren’t my real friends. Real friends call and visit and care and stuff. Why should I post shit for them to see when they are just … Fake. Facebook is not a place for real friends I’ve found. Once they get you friended they fade into this background wall of plural-ness. I’m reminded of the worms Urusla turned the merpeople into. Plus my ex is on Facebook and she … Is a source of great thrill and anxiety for me. Whatever I digress.

Um, I found myself on Twitter and in the course of setting it up I synced my contacts.

Yours was the only one which I might have been interested in, I hesitated knowing I wouldn’t be serious in anything like a permanent follow. Damn. The idea of a request for that was so daunting I couldn’t even think about it. And last minute I was drawn to click the little picture. The one of your car.

Which I was suprised to see was the only thing I could see. Damn. You’d blocked me. And on a site I never even used. That’s commitment. I hate to see my old facebook then. You know the one I never use which you never unfriended me on, not for years after that whole debacle.

 

I stared at your car, beloved old thing. And felt my heart crack and bleed for the first time in ages. I didn’t realize it had been hardened like stone until that moment. Now I felt something strong there for the first time. Pain. Like betrayal and surprise and that moist feeling in your throat before you cry.

Damn.

I don’t think I’I’ve felt that hurt in a while. All that time, I knew you never blocked me once. I sorta built up in my head this paragon of kindness, who didn’t deserve what I put him through. Who suffered it with unwavering aplomb and elegant demeanour. Smh.

I tried to put myself down again, like usual, automatically imagining the event from your point of view, which really made me color myself horribly, like a grotesque version of me as both villian and resident crazy, … but this time I stopped. I realize I’ve changed a lot since then. I might still feel shame for my actions, but I can’t feel guilt anymore. In fact the more I write the more it fades. I rationalize now in kind with new beliefs. We both did agree to bring out in each other what happened. And me, I was more broken than I ever knew. But it wasn’t wrong. It was … Perhaps the darkest time in my life. The darkest I’ve ever sunk to. Perhaps what they mean when they say ‘Dark Night of the Soul’.

I worry if it gets worse than that.

However even my newfound peace and forgiveness does recognize a pattern. My closest relationships end inevitably with someone blocking me, and usually me them. Oh the wonders of social media.

I used to write you and apologize. Wallow in my guilt and wail it all out upon the ears I remember being so … Willing. What you gave me, can never be replaced. Regardless of anything you or I ever did, you gave me acceptance, for the first time. You gave me support. And there was, I don’t know if you remember, but I felt for the first time, some admiration come my way. Way back before things went sour I mean. If it weren’t for you I would have never survived my relationships after. Maybe even my life after.

Thank you so much for that.

And I realize now something else. Those other relationships, all of them, even with my family … They all gave me something. Even my ex who hurt me worst of all, loved me best. I was thinking of her today, missing her as a person. And then laughing at myself for forgetting how horribly she treated me. And still having to force myself to recall each and every moment of ill treatment to keep the picture of her balanced, to keep myself from swinging into a pining mood.

I realize now it doesn’t matter how she treated me. The memories of love linger more strongly. And of you, even stronger than my own actions, the first spark of pure unadultered friendship. My family, my mother, might hurt more to think on and delve into but I’m sure there is a lot she gave I don’t want to acknowledge right now out of anger. And that is okay too.

In fact. Let me offer something back to you, X. Let me help you as you once did me.

I accept you don’t want to hear from me. And that is perfectly okay.

I walk the dusky land of embittered snow; scattered like tear dust upon this barren landscape, wind whipping white about me, and eyes the only dark spot in this storm. I walk across the winter land as if warm, the cold doesn’t touch me. The cold feel like home hearth. And when I fall in the embrace of the grateful ground, I scatter the snow, like confetti, or feathers, and they bloom out about me like bomb smoke. And I am still warm.

Do you taste it yet? The taste of the warm snow in your mouth? Is the nonsense finally making sense, or do you sense but inanity and pride? I am pride. I am pride and prejudice against the world made of consequential things like mice wings and catalogs about blogs and whining sugar pane. And among the fluff of snow like glitter I am home among the wide eyed litter of human smiles and plushies wiles and know there is nothing more important than this. This, this kiss of death a brush your breath. Kiss me. Kill logic. Embrace the strange.

And when you are done, do it again. And you shall never be the same. And I shall never be the same. For when you do it again, nothing and everything will change.

Even Source Would Suffice

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.

Scene: White

The last time I saw you. I saw that whole scene with a certain bias against myself. And you saw it .. Differently. Your different perspective adds to what actually happened in my mind.

The first time I saw myself shunted off to the side. Used and forgotten. For a better replacement.

The second time I saw you unable to speak your request and hesitant to expect.

The first time was my experience. The second yours.

The truth?

I left. Because I was scared. And I walked away and saw what I wanted to see. And I let it hurt us both. And you were silent and did not use your voice. And it hurt us both.

The truth?

Frozen and fled. We gave into fear. And that colored the scene. Remove the color and you have …

Opportunity.

Because: Illustration

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.

 

Why?

 

Because: Illustration

I spoke unkindly to you, last we spoke. I feel that I was too harsh and my conscience has been giving me grief over it. I must apologize. Please understand, I am on the verge of being who I want to be and balanced on the fence of who I was. I understand and see, and often feel both sides. I know how I feel when lost in the hurt of the past. I know how I feel when it is all forgiven. I prefer that place but … To feel your hurt over the past come creeping into your life and health .. I felt it in like kind. I love you. I don’t say it so you can be reminded, Laura. I say it because it expresses the very depth of what you mean to me. And it expresses it not. Because I feel so much more. I feel hope and light and harmony. I feel softness and love and comfort. I feel tears, they move beneath the subject and I can’t tell if they make me sad or glad, if they are an upwelling of good or grief. I just know, my life feels blurred without you. Like I am at the bottom of the sea seeing through it. And happiness clears up that view. And still the weight of emotions, now crystal clear, sit upon me oceans deep.

 

I have given up the hurt, Laura. Forgiveness you might call it. Now I just crave peace. But I don’t know where to look for it, when you are in my thoughts, and only there. I feel at peace with my actions. I don’t feel at peace without you. I cannot move on. Or rather, I have not. And what I have done, perhaps to my detriment, is keep alive a small kernel of hope which says, ‘You are the love of my life. There must be a way.’