I’ve often said that I wish I could write more honestly. Here we are, you and I, on my blog. It’s mine because I started it. I manage it, I write it, both sporadically- and, I can delete it. However, it’s yours too because it’s public.
That’s the whole idea isn’t it? To publically speak our minds, tell our stories, invite and or find a community that can belong to us and in turn, that we can belong to. To release this demon called “author” that dwells in our bellies, our minds, our hearts. To do that, which if not done, feels as though it has taken us over and will, if not expressed, leave us for dead. We come here to express…to not feel alone…to be alone. In a world of six billion people, 67 isn’t so many. 1 million isn’t so many. Gratitude is not of the masses, but for the one…though it should be by the masses. Maybe someday. I wonder sometimes; If we come seeking community, will we find it faster than if we come seeking popularity? There is nothing all that popular about me. I’m just like the other 67. Grateful…
I’m grateful when I’m not hurting like hell. Lately, I find that I’m grateful when I AM hurting like hell. I don’t know why the Universe finds that trick so amusing, but I suppose it’s because it manages to get the point across. The point being, there is no escape. I often feel torn away from my inner genius by both my inner and outer drama. So deep in my pain and hurt- at my “pissosity” (a word I recently read) towards myself, others and God, that I forget myself, others and God. I forget what I know. I drown in what I feel. Right now, I do it about ten times a day. I suppose that’s good. It means that I’m coming up for air. I used to just stand there and hold my breath, threatening to die. Progress is progress I suppose, and thankfully neither God nor the Universe are picky. Otherwise they’d be fucked with the likes of me.
I yelled at God today. Twice. A shrill, shrieking, painful, blood curdling, why has though forsaken me, yell. How. Could. You. Do. This. To. Me?…WTF. Do. You. WANT. FROM. ME?
And then I immediately felt bad. But I yelled some more which then turned into begging;
Please take this pain. Please, please, please…Now, now, now. Help, help, help.
And then I got angry again, but this time, not at God or the Universe. Both of which, I have said before, are practical. So they taught me anger- and how to have it, and that it’s okay to have it full force and brutally honest like- at someone else, because that’s the only way it will pass through you. Any other way and it gets stuck- like a lump of shit in your throat that you can’t swallow…you know the one. They directed my anger, they carried it through me, and me through it and then I cried. I do this about a hundred times a day. That too, feels a lot like drowning.
When I ask, out loud and in my quiet voice, Do you want me to be alone? The Dynamic Duo (God and the Universe) answer, YES. That seems cruel. As cruel as the day Chris said, Help yourself. The plan is, as far as I can tell, for me to not be dependent on any other person, but myself and them, for well beings sake. Not alone forever. Not alone completely. But, alone as in me, taking care of me and what’s mine. So far as I can tell, the idea is to build my faith- not so much in them, but in myself. I suppose that part of the trick is to wake up one day in my new-found faith in me and discover that I have it in them too- practical…and sneaky. I find subtle comfort in knowing that they have enough faith in me to take on this task of helping me, help myself. I find it somewhat still annoying that they have instilled in me this weird sense of gratitude for what I have been “denied” and or lost. For the lessons that lie within those things we wish to cling to. Those things I cling to still.
When I started this little ramble, I had just picked myself up off the floor. I had just tried an old trick, that did not work. I felt that anger welling up in me. I took a break. I took a breath. I tried not to panic. I’m still not panicking…tho it’s there below the surface of these words that I write…whispering these questions;
What will I do?
How can I?
Who will help me?
Am I alone?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
No. Not ever.
“Write hard and clear about what hurts.”
I hurt. And every time I try to blame somebody, anybody else for that hurt- I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. It’s gone. I can barely be angry. I realized that I’ve spent a lot of melodramatic time being hurt, manipulative, dishonest, victimized, and helpless, all in an effort to avoid being angry…I’m a bit pissed off about that. Does God get angry? I don’t know. It seems impossible to say that God is Love and then say that Love is angry…so maybe not. Maybe that’s why the dynamic duo taught me anger today…maybe they don’t get angry so that they can heal me through mine.
Maybe they just do that whole “Love” thing so that we can do that whole “Heal” thing.
This blog is my blog, this blog is your blog. I guess that makes it ours. Proof that no one person runs the show around here.