Untie Yourself
I imagine life moving in a single line always looking to straighten itself out
the way gravity would drop rain in a straight line if there was no wind and
the earth was standing still.
In the grand scheme a straight line is never a straight line because even when
we are still we are moving. Even when we believe we are stagnant the very awareness
of this stagnation is movement. And even when we believe we've reached stability
we are still moving because stability means accepting the movement.
Sometimes we live our lives in search of the perfect stillness along a perfect
straight line accepting an unchanging life as a stable life.
But I am rotating in a mad revolution of thought, mistakingly believing that
stillness will bring me peace. But I'm too angry for peace. I need this opportunity
for rage so I can come to an understanding of peace in the measure of worth.
I sometimes allow myself the idea that all this anger must be protecting a well
of love so deep I haven't hit bottom yet. Otherwise, what's the point.
But there are times I believe the rage will eat me alive, and it's me with the
teeth, and me choking on the bitter taste of Self, and me lying on the bathroom
floor squinting at the dim lightbulbs wondering if I'm meeting a god I don't
even believe in.
Yet there are also times when I'm touching that well of love with my index finger,
and I believe its existence to be real. It's these times that I can peel myself
back and expose my thumping tenderheart to the close close close ones. Not too
many come rolling down that vein.
(There you are coursing through me with blood, nourishing every part of me,
warming me from the inside out, circulating from heart up to just underneath
skin. I look in the mirror and I see you in branches across the whites of my
eyes.)
With grit in my smile I wake up in the morning and throw myself into the everyday,
thinking that this everyday will lead to someday cause sometimes I believe someday
is that light on a hill I was force-fed to believe in as a child.
It's the waiting that brings me down, the infinite waiting. Feels like I've
been waiting my whole life to realize I have no idea what I'm waiting for.
I have immense love and immense rage, tied up with a ribbon of fear in a neat
little package waiting to be unwrapped and dealt with. I've been gently tugging
on the ribbon ends, holding up the package for a view from all angles, shaking
the contents to see what I can hear. That thump sounds dense. Something heavy
is in there.
December 21, 2005