crucify
33......Thirty three. T H I R T Y T H R E E
This one is like 17. I cried when I turned seventeen. I can't quite remember why it was so sad, something about how great 16 was and that it was gone. It's totally weird. Then I think it all passed by without worry until 28. That's when I was supposed to have a baby. Hurry up get married, hurry up make money, hurry up buy a house, hurry up have a baby.
But that life, the one I thought I was supposed to have, has come crashing up against a mixture of the life I actually want and the one I currently have. Like a freight train heading for another freight train, the collision was inevitable. So, here I am at THIRTY THREE and it feels like the possibilities are shattered. So melodramatic.
Here lies someone's leg, over there is a scrambled bunch of metal. There are papers flying away in the wind, there is smoke and fire, a wheel still spinning by itself in the grass. The whole thing is a mess. An eyesore.
And what now? Shall I live for love and beauty? Shall I raise queens and beat drums? Shall I be a mother anyway? Shall I sit still and pretend to meditate while daydreaming?
Let's leave that freight train crash. Let's get to meditation. And, deeper than that, fanaticism.
I'm sitting in a yoga studio with three crazy people. Or maybe not crazy, maybe just zealous.
I can do zealous. I grew up on it. I am getting ready to meditate again. Didn't I just sit for like almost two hours meditating with some other people? Yes, but let's go again.
It's the way, the truth and the life. Just like Jesus and fasting and psychedelics and veganism and feminist spirituality. I've been told that I should do what I don't like, that if I want to avoid something that means I should actually go towards it.
I've spent hours reading the Bible and praying and fasting and going to church and not eating all sorts of things and not having sex and going to bed early and a bunch of other shite on that advice. Now, maybe I didn't do enough, maybe I wasn't fanatic enough. Maybe it just made the sex and chocolate and raunchy poetry and sleeping in that much sweeter. I know that after a good long run everything tastes better, but then again, I like the running. I never met a party I didn't like or a sweaty dance I didn't enjoy or a passionate kiss I couldn't wait to repeat.
But, I'm getting off my point. So, I'm in the studio with three people listening to some real deep reading about the nature of reality and god and the mind and all that fantastic eat-it-up eastern religion us westerners just really get off on. So exotic. I'm sitting there like 7 year old me at communion or 19 year old me at Bible College or 20 something me waving my arms in the air in a circle of women trying to exert power in situations where we have none. I'm laughing inside, asking myself “why do you keep getting into these situations?” 7 year old me didn't know how to laugh inside so she got spanked after communion. Good lesson.
What is it about the fanatic that draws me in? It might be like the woman with the abusive father who marries an abusive man. I fed on the intense fervor as a child and I keep craving it like I crave malt-o-meal. Comfort food. It's not quite comfort food though.
This one is like 17. I cried when I turned seventeen. I can't quite remember why it was so sad, something about how great 16 was and that it was gone. It's totally weird. Then I think it all passed by without worry until 28. That's when I was supposed to have a baby. Hurry up get married, hurry up make money, hurry up buy a house, hurry up have a baby.
But that life, the one I thought I was supposed to have, has come crashing up against a mixture of the life I actually want and the one I currently have. Like a freight train heading for another freight train, the collision was inevitable. So, here I am at THIRTY THREE and it feels like the possibilities are shattered. So melodramatic.
Here lies someone's leg, over there is a scrambled bunch of metal. There are papers flying away in the wind, there is smoke and fire, a wheel still spinning by itself in the grass. The whole thing is a mess. An eyesore.
And what now? Shall I live for love and beauty? Shall I raise queens and beat drums? Shall I be a mother anyway? Shall I sit still and pretend to meditate while daydreaming?
Let's leave that freight train crash. Let's get to meditation. And, deeper than that, fanaticism.
I'm sitting in a yoga studio with three crazy people. Or maybe not crazy, maybe just zealous.
I can do zealous. I grew up on it. I am getting ready to meditate again. Didn't I just sit for like almost two hours meditating with some other people? Yes, but let's go again.
It's the way, the truth and the life. Just like Jesus and fasting and psychedelics and veganism and feminist spirituality. I've been told that I should do what I don't like, that if I want to avoid something that means I should actually go towards it.
I've spent hours reading the Bible and praying and fasting and going to church and not eating all sorts of things and not having sex and going to bed early and a bunch of other shite on that advice. Now, maybe I didn't do enough, maybe I wasn't fanatic enough. Maybe it just made the sex and chocolate and raunchy poetry and sleeping in that much sweeter. I know that after a good long run everything tastes better, but then again, I like the running. I never met a party I didn't like or a sweaty dance I didn't enjoy or a passionate kiss I couldn't wait to repeat.
But, I'm getting off my point. So, I'm in the studio with three people listening to some real deep reading about the nature of reality and god and the mind and all that fantastic eat-it-up eastern religion us westerners just really get off on. So exotic. I'm sitting there like 7 year old me at communion or 19 year old me at Bible College or 20 something me waving my arms in the air in a circle of women trying to exert power in situations where we have none. I'm laughing inside, asking myself “why do you keep getting into these situations?” 7 year old me didn't know how to laugh inside so she got spanked after communion. Good lesson.
What is it about the fanatic that draws me in? It might be like the woman with the abusive father who marries an abusive man. I fed on the intense fervor as a child and I keep craving it like I crave malt-o-meal. Comfort food. It's not quite comfort food though.
Sitting in pretend meditation I am.
Things to do while in pretend meditation......recall lyrics of songs I haven't heard in years. Sing the song all the way through twice.
Fantasize about sex.
Breathe in time with the clock.
Make up tambourine rhythms in my head and repeat in time with the clock. Breathe in time with the rhythm and the clock.
Think about sad things and cry.
Count to 10 over and over.
Think about all the things I could be doing that would be worse than pretend meditation.
Wiggle very very slowly and fidget very very quietly.
Hate people.
Notice parts of my body that have gone numb then try to forget them.
Top thing to NOT do during pretend meditation?.......Wonder how much longer this is going to last. That leads to a very bad place.
So, all this buddhist karma dharma shwarma may make the next bit unbearably sweet. Or, I may reach enlightenment. :D
Or, I may get over my need for fanaticism. Or, I may just go back to the United States where television is entertaining and food and electronics are cheap, wifi is free and they'll let me stay indefinitely because that's where my parents had a fertile fuck.
I hope you are swimming in whatever it is that makes you happy.
So, all this buddhist karma dharma shwarma may make the next bit unbearably sweet. Or, I may reach enlightenment. :D
Or, I may get over my need for fanaticism. Or, I may just go back to the United States where television is entertaining and food and electronics are cheap, wifi is free and they'll let me stay indefinitely because that's where my parents had a fertile fuck.
I hope you are swimming in whatever it is that makes you happy.
Peace and love and American Spaghetti
posted by hymenoptera's honey at 4:12 PM
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