lost

In the process of unraveling and remaking.....of seeking out what is the truth and what is the fiction and reviewing what it is that made the fiction feel true, much is lost. Maybe it is that much feels lost.
And this brings me to confronting what really is to be held that cannot be dissolved.

I do not have the answer to the seeming paradox of loving a being and realizing the connection is on some level always temporary, always fleeting.

The beautiful crystal glass I held was always going to be shattered on the floor, and even in the rational understanding of this truth lies some disconnect. I mean the disconnect that the heart feels in the loss.

This line of inquiry is a rabbit hole. But so is examining the past, hearing the voices, interpreting the actions.

So, is it the same drive, the same pull that draws one into such a rabbit hole, that leads one out?

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

The past has become poison. I do not want to hear it's songs or remember it's photos, or peruse it's meaning.
Since I alone am the holder of it's entirety, if I banish it, no one will be aware of my omission but my own self.
It is as though a thing which was once a colorful garden and rolling hills and healthy forests, now through new vision seems like old landfill and toxic spillage and dead rotting stinking creatures.
And who can say what is the truth?
I can say I prefer to not have new vision, if that's the view it affords me.
You who are all bitter and practical and wounded, I never wished to know your side of the story.

As I feel the wave of bitterness wash up on my shore, I wish it to cover the whole universe.
But I wait, trying out a new patience, and find that hope has not left me still.

It perches. It sings. It seems to be immune to drowning and burning. It imagines the tide will recede and that I will be washed and new. It does not really believe the new vision.

And yet, I despise the thing. I wish it would drown, or burn and urge me not to look forward or back.
I have been raw for so long, I am surprised to remember when I was not.

I find my memory coming to rest on a Christmas in 2007 when I opened a wrapped lampshade, or August 12 2006. Brief respite from the surreal present moment.
I stay there for a moment, to again feel the earth beneath me.

But I must return to now, to floating, to the wail of kidneys processing bitter blood.

Patience. Not to judge it, just to acknowledge and wait for the passing.

allowance

Let me be as raw and bloody and dripping as I am
Let the books on marriage and husbands confront my vision,
Papercut me to darkest sorrow.

Let the song she played for him on our wedding day
play while I sink into the helpless reality.


Of life.

Of love.

Of not good enough and good intentions and wounded reaction.

Let me wallow in the mud and let it rain more and let us drown.

I don't want to be clean.
Anyway it would be dishonest. I am filthy.
Mess of childhood and confusion and repression.

Let the Beatles play on.
Let the earth turn and spin all of our pain into something edible, something beautiful.

Or else let us pretend that is what it will do.

journey

In the Sydney paper yesterday, I found a random quote printed in the business section. I don't know why i was flipping through that section, it's terribly boring and has little to do with me. So there's this quote, and it seemed to apt, so perfect to me that I cut it out. Like John wrote it for me.

it goes......"A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it."......John Steinbeck.
MMMMMM. Yes.

O my god. Is there any way out of this? We humans seem to be just intelligent enough to get into trouble, but not out of it. Me included. I heard an excerpt from Louis CK's show today where he was talking a friend out of suicide. He said life isn't something that belongs to us, it's something we participate in. He told his friend, in his abrasive way, to wake up, take and drink of water and keep trying like the rest of us do. Responsibility. This desire to check out, to exit the stage, it's weak and childish. There must be a reserve I can tap into to pick up. To move forward. Mistakes have been made. That may be all that has ever been true. How lucky I have been for the chance to participate at all. Long may it last.