Thoughts

Love rambling

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In my core I desire a love that burns and aches through me. But I am so sheltered now, in my nest of years, that the outward me is a thing of sharps and edges.

How would you be able to grasp such a thing without being stabbed and bled? And even through that thicket, should a path be made or evident, what could anyone share with me?

A love of the darker nature of things? The spoils but not the work? A hope to hold, a hope to need, a hope for pleasure and shared silence. To love the beauty of a thing, but not need to own it?
That choices will be easy or simply made clear. That strength would match strength and become more.

All of this is clear in my desire but in action I am either too hesitant or overbold. A silence where there should be speech. Inaction where a gesture would win all. A rose given too soon, too much. Romantic verse and tokens given because doing so lightens my heart but without consideration for theirs.

I’m a mess. A jumble. Wanting the perfect acceptance of love in a novel, but knowing how unlikely it is. And still unable to keep myself from desiring it.

Cyclical knowledge

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The concept that I learn anew from time to time isn’t that I am capable of love. I know that quite well. No, the lesson I am taught is that someone in the world might love me. Might be intrigued by me.

Of course this knowledge only persists as long as the relationship lasts.
When it’s over, after a period of bleak depression, I seem to have lost that knowledge. Not intellectually, but emotionally. The feeling of the possible.

What I, internally, call, somewhat pretentiously, The Dawning. A light shined into dark places. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Perhaps that even to ourselves, we are unfathomable creatures.

Seconds dripping by at Midnight

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I’m a man of many parts. Most people are. But introspection can let you walk the paths of those parts. Most people don’t want to make the sacrifices walking those paths require. I never saw it as much of sacrifice. To know and be known, if only a little and only to yourself is a worthy goal I think.

If pressed, I will say that this life, I am trying for equilibrium. If pressed further, I will say that I have lived many lifetimes and many lives. Though in this lifetime I have had three lives.

My first life, I was a fool. I made some poor decisions. Decisions that effected friends and family. Those choices accumulated until I collapsed under their weight. I died and was reborn.

My second life was normal. Then I found my Morrigan. She introduced me to a world of pleasure and pain. To a place of transition, living hard and high on the borders. Still I kept secrets, though I learned that few want to ask the questions that lead to real answers. Because I was not ready, not accepting of her needs she began to drift away. We weren’t broken up and, in many ways still wanted each other, but at the hands of another who didn’t know her limits (or she didn’t inform them) she slipped away from this world. It doesn’t happen often and is always tragic. I shut down. Couldn’t deal, emotions became so painful that I shut them all away. Hidden in a maze deep in my subconscious. I died and was reborn.

Now is my third life, I attempt balance. Accept everyone who means no harm. Try to dance in transition and on solid ground. Accept love as it comes, in whatever form it takes. I imagine I’ll die again. Though I hope I will be in this state for the final death of this lifetime. But you never know.

Delicious melancholy

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Death is the shadow at the core of the world. It moves down the elongated spirals, corridors of heat and pressure wending its way to the surface. Each of us has a death born in the fires of creation. It seeks us, all the long days of our lives.

For some of us, it finds us before our time. It walks beside us. A companion in dark places. For those of us lucky enough to have this, perhaps overly ambitious death, we are lucky. Lucky to know and acknowledge that this life ends.

To dance in the moment, to drink in celebration, to sing out. Not in defiance of death, in ending, but a celebration of life. You do not only live once, but each time you choose joy. Each love, each companion. Each is a lifetime lived in moments. A planet, a solar system, a galaxy. Making up the universe of your life. Until the end, when form breathes its last. An exhalation formed of stars

Perhaps more hubris than necessary

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Every man with a bit of self awareness sees himself as a devil. You step lightly through the world because, imagined or not, the feeling that you are powerful is at your core. This idea that is central to our being shapes us. Makes us monsters but perhaps not monstrous. Capable of horrible consequences as we stomp through the world.

It’s one of the reasons I support equality for women. For purely selfish reasons. I don’t want the actions of the moment to have disastrous consequences. If women are culturally equals then the force of a man’s word can be diminished. I want an equilibrium.

The general idea is for  women to be, culturally, as powerful as men. My hope is a lowering of men’s cultural significance as women’s cultural significance rises. To have the other is to see two tyrants fighting for control. Long term it’s a recipe for disaster.

The use of  loaded terms is dangerous. Not in that it will let “them” know you are fighting but that it sets up a scenario in which you feel justified in categorizing a group of people as Other.
When a person ceases to be an individual and are seen as a cog in a machine it becomes an act of simple justification to destroy them in pursuit of lofty goals. Do not allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the usage of such terms.

Any group that labels then demonizes another is carrying out an agenda, generally one that does not care who it grinds underfoot. Revolutions are tricky things. Just remember that the ones that fight and have the ideals are rarely the ones that shape the future if revolution is successful.

It is either a cult of personality that usurps the victory for its own ends, not really a concern here as there is not currently one focal point for which such a thing to form. Or it is those that come after that have only the rhetoric and fervor but few ideals. This is the one to be avoided as it causes the most lasting harm and the scenario most likely if we give in to the desire for quick fixes.

Stable cultural norms are crafted down generations. And now as we enter the last several generations of a long trend the tendency is to rush it forward; doing so will cause more destruction than it prevents. Warning given and done.

Frustration

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I hate being emotionally vulnerable. I’ve worked to get to this point and now that I’m here I fucking hate it. This state helps me with my writing but its like a slow fire consuming me. The tears and the laughter are so close to the surface now that they erupt out of me without any control. It is the most infuriating thing I’ve ever done to myself.  And most of me wants the throw myself back into the fortress(the prison) of my self control. To submerge these feelings in physical pleasures and pains until they drown and just…shut the fuck up.  The only thing holding me from that is ego.  I won’t let go of anything I’ve fought this hard for.  But I still hate it. The hell of it is; It is such an intensely isolated journey that I’m not even sure anymore why I’m doing it.

Control

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I don’t like to ask for help. Even when I’m paying for services, the initial call to make an appointment is a source of anxiety. It is not about self-sufficiency or ego. It is that I am giving control over some aspect of myself to someone. Outside of a specific set of circumstances, where I give up control in favor of its illusion, that is very difficult for me. Control is at the core of who I am. Control of my impulses and the aspects of my darker nature. To channel them into less destructive paths. One of the reasons I try to always speak the truth. A lie, once spoken, takes on a life of its own. It moves into other people and is transformed. It cannot be controlled. But the truth? The truth is a naked blade, sharp, beautiful and deadly. It lays self evident and perfect. I acknowledge that I can only control myself. That to control others, outside of a specific set of mutually agreed on circumstances, is impossible and further is a breaking of my first rule. So when I am forced to give up some of my hard won control, I have a hard time with it.

Unseeli sidhe

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I pulled out of a deep depression with the realization that the thing I was obsessing about wasn’t real. My mind had misremembered something and my subconscious had took it in its teeth and run with it. Something someone had said was piggybacking on the impending sadness this time of year brings. The 19th will be the anniversary of the death of my Morrigan. It still has the ability to rock me back on my heels and set me spinning. This week will be one of contemplation and crying jags. Memories good and bad warring, strength against strength and the hope that she found peace in the oblivion she so staunchly believed in. My love, my Morrigan, fly on free.

No title

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Reserved in demeanor and sparing with speech, I sit in my walled garden. Surrounded by stone walls lined with spikes, the only entrance a single iron bound door with no handle or knob. The interior is covered in ivy. A meandering path lined with a hedgerow on the left and a small bubbling brook to the right, willow and hawthorn lining its far bank. Birds calling to each other filling the air. At the end of the path a small sand garden, patterned in a spiral. Small spires of feldspar reaching for the open sky dot the sand in an array that lays right at the border of order and chaos. A stone bench sits next to brooks end. Koi Dancing in the pond. Welcome to my garden. There is darkness here, in the hedgerow maze, secrets to discover. Delights to be shared and journey to be taken. Push the door in, for all of it’s austerity, there are wonders within.

I live in the fine lines and the shallow places between

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When you live on the borders, all borders become indistinct. What is possible, indeed, what is desirous becomes simple.  It becomes a choice rather than a physical or moral imperative; When you live in this state you become defined, at least to yourself, by those things you won’t do.  Those things you cling to as pillars of identity; This leads to either an ossification of behavior or a opposite effect.  In the effort to cling to a ideal self, that self erodes away;  until like a lizard sloughing off a too tight skin those prohibitions are removed;  at some point You will find yourself terribly, horribly free.  For true freedom is in many ways as crippling as a world of limited choices.  If you are capable of anything,  what can you be but a monster in human skin? So divorced from humanity that you cease to be human, at least until, having reached this point of enlightenment, it all comes crushing back down; and this self becomes a thing with borders and boundary lines; and you stretch out,  crossing those borders breaking those lines; a ever growing process towards Ascension.