Its never enough. People either love you or they don’t and no matter how much you love them, how much you need to be the person to hold them, how much you want to protect them or keep them safe, it is never enough to change their minds. You could be amazing, intelligent, honorable and trustworthy. You could be learned and skilled in areas both carnal and not. And it still doesn’t matter. At the end of the night, they wave goodbye and walk into the arms of another. Or stand at such distance that, like an Escher painting, you never get closer.
Thoughts
Thoughts on physical consciousness
I was talking with someone about my personal cosmology. And in the course of the discussion the topic shifted, tangentially, to specific methodology in meditation.
I said that in order to truly transcend the physical you need to be aware of it completely. I started by asking, “What do you feel right now?”
His answer was vague and imprecise. Not like someone ignorant of the concept but like someone who’s never thought about it.
So I asked, “Tell me what your foot feels right now.” And he looked at me like I was really far out on a limb.
I said, “I feel the fabric of my socks, the material of my shoe, the skin of my Big toe brushing against the toe next to it. I feel the edges of the nerve dead zone on that toe(caused by a infection in my leg that almost killed me), I feel the muscles of my foot and legs holding position against the pull of gravity. That’s what I feel right this second. That is all information that I am aware of and information that I am subconsciously paying attention to. Imagine that for your whole body. Every scrap of feeling is necessary to understand where you start from, so that you can feel the borders of your skin, so that you can connect outside yourself. If you don’t know where you start, you can’t know where you are going.”
We talked in that vein for awhile.
But it really effected me. In having to teach, I had to consciously think about and conceptualize something I do and take for granted. It’s how I am able to regulate pain, how I can feel physical bliss just by feeling the wind. How a single touch, kiss, look, can move me. In some cases, I can feel the physical connection of a look across the room, because I am aware of my body in that way.
And it really hit me, that this is a smart guy, someone who asks questions and looks for answers, and he has no frame of reference for what I am saying. It’s like trying to describe color to the color blind. They understand sight and seeing but their frame of reference is different.
Is that how most people walk through the world? I don’t know.
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Maybe this is just me
I have in the past, said “I care deeply for you.” I said it meaning that I felt love. That I was in love. But I think it conveys the wrong message. I think it says that I feel something deep and strong and enduring, but I don’t know what it is and can’t put it into words.
And for me, it’s just not true.
For me, it’s cowardice. I said it because I was afraid of the answer. Afraid it was too soon, afraid of the potential rejection, afraid of what it meant if I said it.
For me, that phrase is a dodge. It is me hiding from the truth. And it’s painful and it leaves things unsaid that should be said. Should be known.
So now, the only time I will use it is as a part of this phrase: “I care deeply for you, you are amazing and lovely and I love you.”
Thought I’d share what I was thinking about.
Note: Not directed at anyone, it just got me thinking.
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What’s in a name
Victoria? I keep hearing that name in my dreams. Usually names don’t stick but Victoria does. And it’s always the same. She is always a lover. And always someone I love. She is demanding and a bit dominant but not my master. We meet clandestinely. She will come by, drop hints to when she will be available and I will go to her. We are passion itself. She is only available for small windows of time, but I know I am her island of normal in a chaotic life. This dream is always set inside another dreamscape. As if even there she is hiding. And each time I wake, my heart literally hurts. Like being ripped away from her by waking is so traumatic that I physically get hurt.
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Out the other side
There is something either cleansing or fucking scary about coming out of a depression so deep that moving itself is a act of will. Afterwards, I feel almost normal which I never really feel for any length of time. And that’s scary. Because I remember this feeling. It’s the same as what I felt when my emotions were locked down. The pure sense of seeing out from a cell constructed of my mind. Safe but trapped.
The other side is I feel scoured clean. Like all pain has been cleared away. Though it hasn’t and the loss of that numbness makes way for the pain of being alone. There is someone, of course, but we haven’t spent much time together due to scheduling lately. And I need that contact to maintain equilibrium.
I can maintain when I am on my own, but if I get used to having someone to share spinning plate duty with, then they are unavailable, the spin starts to falter.
And, for me, nothing calms me, keeps me centered like touch. Just a hand on my back is enough. Though more is always welcome.
And, for reasons I won’t go into, for privacy reasons, we touch very little. Also a problem for me.
It doesn’t feed my depression, but it doesn’t help it.
So I guess this is less about depression and more about my needs not being completely met. Not that I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be, but that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I was better equipped to weather the storm.
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Grey Revelation
I have been thinking. Dangerous.
I find that I regard myself as a ugly man. Is it true? I don’t know. No one has ever said I was handsome. The most I’ve gotten is “I like your hair.” It seems a silly thing to think about. I know that I am well regarded by ex lovers and submissives. But that could be personality or skill. I don’t often think about physical appearance. I do for my lovers, generally to convince them of how beautiful they are, when they don’t see themselves that way. Perhaps how I see myself is why I try to hold up a mirror of my heart, to show them how beautiful they are.
I see myself as powerful, as intelligent, as learned and learning, as many things. But never pretty, never handsome.
I’ve always said that the early morning is when our hearts are most vulnerable. Both to others and to ourselves, sometimes that leads to epiphany. Sometimes to dark roads.
PS: Let me pose this question. How often do you praise the men in your lives. How often do you say “your hair looks good today?”, or I like that color on you, it brings out your eyes, or any such complement? Because I’ll tell you, in my experience it’s never. And all the men I know (who aren’t with me, mind), receive no such compliment as well. I don’t know if it effects them as it effects me. I receive a few regarding my intelligence, and I thank you. I receive some for my ability, and I thank you.
Of such individual and societal pressures are we shaped. And just think, if they have never heard such a compliment and you are sincere, just think of the impact it will have.
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Thoughts on desire and the turning Page
Someone told me today that now that he is grown up and can choose to buy things like candy or toys that would have made him happy as a child(engineering toys) he doesn’t feel excited about those things.
But, he was lying. Or telling himself a lie. Because he lit up when he described the toys. And he said that the thought was about not being able to go back with the same enthusiasm as that child and enjoy it anew.
And I said, “well that’s one opinion.” and left it at that.
I didn’t feel like getting into a lengthy discussion, especially from this guy who gets defensive when his ideas are questioned or folds completely.
But what I mean is this, We can choose to be passionate. To pour ourselves into the people and things we love. We can choose. We live in a time where we have enough wealth to choose to marry or be with someone or multiple someones for love, for passion. We can choose to be passionate about the things we love. (I’m well aware that this is not true everywhere but access to the Internet puts the mean income and lifestyle at a certain level, though there are cultural barriers I won’t go into)
We choose to love and sing and dance, we choose to color or play with building toys, we choose games, we choose books, we choose.
Desire is a burden. But it is also a choice. One that for myself, I choose to make, every time. Though it costs me. I consider it necessary.
Do the necessary thing, no matter how difficult or how much it may personally cost you.
One of my rules. I try to live up to it.
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Conversation
Period in which no contact from people I’m talking to will not freak me the fuck out: 2 days
Learning this information: 3 years
Being contacted by the person you’re talking to : priceless
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Post solstice blues
Present in the moment is as much curse as blessing.
With the future nothing more than a ephemeral dream, present becomes of such importance. And not being with those I would choose, who I have no idea if they would choose me, is like being shredded apart only to coalesce whole at the start of the day. Each minute is a new chance, and so each minute becomes a failure. Until the weight of such drags me down to dreaming. At least in oblivion, desire is fulfilled. Though only shadows as portent and memory fade.
After the winter solstice it all winds down. A clockwork spending its energy. This is the time most people wake and grow. This is the time that I fade.
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Where my heads at
I don’t want to wallow in misery propped up by others feeling horrible. I want to wallow in joy, exhultant in love. I want to dance with Em, sing with K, hold A, kiss everyone. I want joy and laughter. I’m so tired of things not working out. Of things being so complicated, of distance and acting responsibly, deliberately. It gets old, gets tiresome. Sometimes, I just want to scream my want. Not that doing so does any good but fuck, sometimes, something has to give
Pelgris 