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I thought I knew pain. I was its mistress, I loved it and danced with it and I said, now I rule you, now I own you, and that is all there is.
Ive been reading about insomnia, my old friend. Ive always found it funny it never assaults me during the day, quite the opposite in fact. At any time in the day if I settle, I sleep. Its so easy. But the night is full of heat, even when its cold, I burn and I boil, While the sky is dark Im afraid to venture into ether. I take many different kinds of sedative, and they work, but I fear, not as they are supposed to. Better I think, to return to coffee and try to write, as I once did. But those stories lose themselves as I try to write them down, they vanish on the moment I transcribe them, which I find more torturous than anything, as they continue to tease me while I sit awake. If only I could exorcise them, but they seem content to live in me.
My heart has a new shard now, and as always with grief, the parting of an innocent, I cannot heal. Im reminded of all the old scars, still on my battered heart, how ropey it must be now, this little red muscle, criss crossed with scars covering little shards. This new one is so fresh, so sharp, its like no other. I cant move on from it, even though life goes on that shard just keeps cutting, deeper, and all around itself, it carves its place, and I remember a voice and a touch and Im screaming again. A life cut short, so young, a love so pure, now no more, there is nothing, nothing in this world that can heal this. Will I look back in five years and remember you in joy and love? For now, it doesnt seem so. For now all I have left of you is pain and I'll clutch it tight in my sorrow, in my anger, in my guilt, and I'll scream at God because even though I know, the reason was good, until Im ready to understand it, the reason doesnt mean a damn thing.
Not a thing... Its all only pain, and how could I have ever known, or prepared, to lose one who loved like you? Its utterly senseless, even though, in the scheme of things, Im on death's side, I always say, death is only part of the flow of life, but this, this is just pain to me now, its pain in my heart and I cant...
I cant move on from it. I get worse instead of better even though I smile, even though Ive seen you there and touched you there it cant ever be enough. Not enough, not ever, until I can tell you Im sorry...
Oh, please God, if you are there, let that one thing be true, even though I dont believe in it any more....Let me tell him Im sorry, one day, and have him understand. Its all I ask.
The past, that is. I know how useless it is to run away from it, and yet thats what I always seem to do. Is keeping it in a locked box so very different from running from it? How many of us feel we are a different person now to who we were then? I dont mean that figuratively, I mean quite literally as if that other life died, and now has absolutely no connection to then.
Its absurd, of course, and oh so very new agey now to say, Oh, my mistakes made me who I am. All those painful events brought me here, so it must all be part of the wonderful now. New agey is definitely losing its appeal in this way, for we are so secure, so evidently happy as ourselves in today, and when someone remarks on that past self its a rude shock. We want them to shut up. We change the subject. And if that rude boob continues to remind us, we simply disengage from the entire conversation.
Its too painful, by far, to remember that we were that person. For all our new agey ways and all of our guided meditations and trips to stinky stores for healing perfumed candles, its all surface gloss. Deep down we know its a pile of bullshit, and worse, we are making ourselves eat it.
Fuck new age I say. Fuck Po Mo and all it suggests. Moving on is healthy, and if we need to have a clean break between who we were then and who we are now, then so be it. The REAL essence of the new age theories is to be in the Now, and you cant be in the now if you let go the past, right?
But therein lies another conundrum, because as I said, that past self cant ever leave you. Its attached, no matter how detatched you may become. Its that locked box you're dragging around, the buzz word 'baggage' everyones suddenly talking about but not really examining.
But who wants to examine? Thats why we do so much talking about baggage and releasing the past an ho ha, look, we're eating bullshit again.
The truth is, you arent that past self. They are who they are, safely locked in those years that now can never be relived.
And you are who you are now.....All you can do and all you owe yourself is to look to the future, and who knows, future self might just hate this present self just as much, for the same or different reasons, who knows? But we certainly wont if we dont stop thinking about it, and bloody get started getting there.
I wandered on a gray plain. To you it would not look like life, but to me it is all life. When you meet someone so vibrant of colour and say 'He has spirit' it is on that gray plain I see it...
Oh God, Oh God....Those words have no meaning here. Once one begins to understand the concept of God, you cant call on him anymore. Im between the planets, Im riding the Ether stream, on the plain of Gray....
The pain of the body should not touch me here, but this pain in my chest, Ah, I see....Its not of the body is it? So here, its magnified, its so much more....Its eating me alive. Like a dark dagger in the chest, spreading shadow into my blood...
Only a short time ago, I was queen in this world. I owned it and it was you....Reaching for You that gave it to me. We shared so much in our spiritual sweat...They can say the unreal isnt real all they like, but when you've tasted the sweat of a man who wasnt born on Earth, you have to beg to differ. And whaqt hurts more...Is that when I die, I wont be free to fly, no, I wont even be me. So the only time I can see you is now....
Now....
Now.....On the gray plain. I sucked sweet smoke into my lungs and held it there. I wanted to feel you again. And to my lips she lifted a cup of dark liquid..."Drink" she bade, and I was helpless, my mouth opened, I was filled with thick sweetness. My blood ran. There was nothing I could do. As my blood ran so did I, and I could not stay on the gray plain...I could see only colour, feel only my body...I could see, and touch, the legacy you left me....But if I can never touch you again what is it worth? Do I really want it? Not for itself, only for the evidence it represents....
You cant go! When we first met you told me....And thats how it is now. In the past, we experienced the future. All time is one there, it is transcended by us, so we knew, but we went on, and...
But dont you remember that night under the stars in the hills....I saw the Hunter in the sky and realized how close we were, and something of our thought stream flew by and I knew how close you were....I shared your coat, we touched under your foriegn moon...
Perhaps. I'll know it again. Be in control again, come to you, when your soul is lonely. That I cant know.
I know I love you. I miss you. I know you arent mine...
But dont forget, this link can only be forged in these bodies, once this link, the one of two individuals, is lost, I cant know if I can ever find your shining golden soul again.....
Right now, I want to feel your arms. I want to feel your sweat...
Right now, all I can feel is tears.
Death is all around me. He visits my friends, my family, skirts around the edges of who I care about the most. He looks over my shoulder, almost touching as he breathes a whisper to me....He's laughing because he knows that the longer he hangs around, the more fascinated I become. He can touch everyone, but not me, Im not sure why, but its like he's not allowed. Something prevents him. So this is his trick, to come visit when theres little else to do. To whisper and laugh, as if we're just old friends...And we are. So he goes around and touches everyone with long, lingering death, the worst kind, the kind I hate the most. So I have to watch life leave them, little by little, I have to see. And I cant grieve, because I know they are just going over there, and leaving their body behind. So Im not sad. But I am jealous. Because even though I dont want to leave, I want to go so badly, and he knows it, thats why he makes it oh, so slow, agonizing, so I have to see every single tiny moment of the process.....And I know why he does it, because he cant touch, but I can, and if he hangs around torturing me with these slow deaths he knows as I know I'll just reach out......
September 27th 2011 01:06
When I see the old man. You know the one I mean. His hair is long, oily looking. His face is lined. He wears stained denim, and around his neck hangs a peace sign, or perhaps a marijuana leaf. He's wasted, in the literal sense, in every sense of the word. His life is wasted, his mind. Any talent he may have had is now long gone and any remaining mental application works towards the getting of more buds, and only that. When you see them, everyone knows they have nothing, except their drug, but no one can explain how they keep getting it. With nothing, no home, no family, no job, just how do they keep getting it?
I want to be that man. I dont care, where it comes from, the sweet smoke, just so long as it keeps coming. I envy them, the wasted ones, because I want to be wasted, so very wasted. I think for some of us, its harder not to do it, people say its weak will that leads you there, but its weak will and misp-laced ambition that leads you elsewhere as well. Suddenly you look around and nothing in your life is what you wanted it to be. Everything is strange and different and out of place and surely, not yours. Not mine
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The dark reaches out with long finders, touches the nape of my neck. Its not a warm touch, nor a cold one. It simply is. I dont clench, I try not to react at all except with a meek acceptance, a yeilding. Once conditioned to the touch of the dark, I thought I'd never have to go through it again. I forgot how hard it was.
Oh those days when I gloried in it's touch....Dark houses, shadowed streets whether lit under silver moon or dark, so dark as when there is no moon and no streetlights...If you've never seen it then I know, you can't imagine it. None of it brought fear to me and I learned to listen through those whispers of insanity that she places there to keep you from her heart....Listened through it until I heard the true voice, the wordless whisper of it's truth
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The darkness seems alive.
It always did to me, but it didnt bother me, because it was my friend. It was far friendlier to me than it was to whomever I was hiding from. Now it seems to whisper, with a dragging hiss and an undertone of some bright, far too chirpy, repetitive music that could be a childrens toy or an old style video game
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Even when death is expected, he is unwelcome.
There is such a blank, unreasoning terror associated with it, if not for the person he comes to, then for the people around them. If they dont feel the clutch of mortality on their own bones, then they are desperate not to lose the person who's leaving. Sometimes its all of the above
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Ive lived my life with a sense of unreality. Looking out through my own eyes has been an exercise in strangeness - I often asked people, how do you know you exist? What tests can you run to prove it? usually, people would just laugh, thinking Im being weird. Not unusual, cos I am often weird. Ive been known to ask which slice of toast do you butter first, and is it the first one you eat, too? But in this instance, I wasnt being weird. I was hurt and confused that they didnt even try to answer the question. Ive only recently realized, this question is too hard, and thats why people just laugh and walk away. Because they themselves cant answer it.
I cant feel my body, even when Im touching things. Everything occurs so far off, like if I do exist in a solid reality where other physical beings (not under my control or constructs of my mind) also exist, its happening far away, on the other side of a film that keeps me seperate
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My mind is infinitely changeable, even if my core is changeless. This puzzle confounds me at all times - that my desires do not change, yet my mind and my motivations do.
I have a peace now Ive seldom had, yet, I find it more disturbed than Ive ever been. My mind has split, Ive been depressed before, Ive been happy, contented in life, never have I been both at once. From minute to minute my mood changes, Usually, one lives under the skin, carefully veiled by the other, now, for the first time, They change from one to the other leaving even me astounded at the speed
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Comments (2)
Comment by Arnathi
on Untitled
DarkSuggestion
I just LOVE how everyone jumps in with advice for the first comments, then when you keep asking questions, they leave you hanging. Nice.