"Do What That Wilt Shall Be The Whole Of The Law"

When you see there's a possibility, you grab hold of it. You try to elongate or expand this potential, to bring it out so that it fills more than a singular point, but a larger perimeter, so that the walls come down and this point actually fills all that you see.

Then the moment someone tries to tear it down, you see that they can't because how can you tear down something that permeates everything and has no bounds? I am the only one who limits myself. So, I have to make this awareness count. It's got to mean something. I've got to bring this thought down and breathe life into it because this thought comes from all that is good and true. It holds promise. It holds that spark of life that is integral to my overall well-being as I navigate this thing called life. And,  I'm telling you, I'm not good at this thing called life. In fact, I'm really bad at it. I don't know how to move with that weighty feeling at my feet. 

I understand the need to anchor myself but it's got to stem from the right kind of thinking. Otherwise, these thoughts are just shackles keeping me in my place, rooted in fear. If I could take an axe to it, I would. I'd shred that feeling and that useless thought into smithereens and then burn them. Each useless thought is a granule belonging to the past, and that for some reason, still finds a way to operate in my present, preventing me from creating the person I want to become. It speaks nonsense and in someone else's voice, always in someone else's voice, which is how I know it doesn't come from me or belong to me and in no way, is a reflection of what I'm capable of. 

I need to make a vow not to let any being on this planet influence my sphere. It means that when certain words are directed at me, they are to slide off and not stick to my person, to this sacred space, to this atmosphere I have chosen to be mine and mine, alone. This place belongs to me and my muse, to my connection with that inner world which in turn is deeply connected to the quiet, magical world of all that is. I will this. I will it. I want this. I want it. I am this. I am it. I am.

I cannot in good conscience work for someone else ever again once this ship has sailed. I cannot. I won't. Let that be okay for others but it can no longer be my path. This world was set up for money makers, business men and charlatans. I am none of those things. I refuse to keep putting money in someone else's pockets while I slave away and they go off on vacation with their families. I don't belong in that space which is illusory and transient. If I could compartmentalize and tell myself this is what people do, this is just what life is all about, to suck it up, I could continue. But, I can't. It's all soul-sucking. And that would be true - soul-sucking and soul-crushing.  It's not how I want to work on myself anymore. It's time to pick up this sword and cut away these roots that are not serving me. They served me for a time. But, not anymore. I have outgrown this body.

I say this all as a chant, a chant back to myself, back to the higher that knows better than I. So that this I and this higher body become the same thing, become one, unaffected by the rattlers of this mortal world. Real change, the kind of change that lasts and transforms, comes from within. You'll never find it out there, unless 'out there' is 'in here'.

"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."

Eight of Cups

I see that you're gone. I pictured you taking a detour and off the road you went. I get it. I still wonder whether I alone operated in the quiet realm...you know, that place where things are left unsaid and you're not sure whether you were the only one living there in the time you knew the other. 

I swear, I could hear you in that space. It felt more real than the usual place we reside where people talk and talk and say nothing. Maybe your eyes gave you away. Though at times, I saw nothing at all in them. I know how man can flirt, how he can tarzan his way into your life and still leave so much to be desired. 

There was momentum for a little while. And I know how people can talk...and make promises they never intended to keep, just to be nice. I'm like that, too. Though, not with you. Not with you. 

Remember the unsolicited advice you gave? How easy it was for you to 'just' say it? Knowing full well, it wasn't your place to? I mean, what gives you the right? We're absolutely nothing to one another and yet, man feels this need to insert himself into anything and everything. 

You disappointed me in such a big way. I can't really explain it. It feels as if so much life was lived in that silence and yet, I can't prove it was real. And, you're off the hook. I'm the one living in dream...in illusion? Am I delusional? I can't be delusional. 

I'm the high priestess who sees and knows and remains silent. I'm the one who holds you to a higher standard, who keeps you in check, who maintains boundaries.

Matter

It's time to get moving. There's no time to waste. I wish someone had told me that when I was young. 

I did know that, though. I just felt helpless to do anything about this seeming paralysis...of the mind and therefore, an inability to move my body by putting one foot in front of the other...a moment at a time. 

Imagine what I could have been...today. 

I don't look for platitudes now. They can't provide any sort of comfort. There's no fooling me. Trust me, sometimes, I look to be fooled. Have you tried that? It's an impossible feat. How can you lie to yourself when you already know the truth?

Among the trees, I lay here. You should hear the bustling of the leaves when the wind picks up. I swear it sounds like they're conspiring to bring us all down. But then I remove my heavy minded cap and realize, they're just talking. When will I listen?

I was a fool again, hanging on to someone's every word. I put too much gravitas around his mouth. He was only ever talking and talking, saying nothing. Just empty words. I know their kind and recognize the sounds they make.

What do I do with all of this...feeling? I hear, "Keep writing. And, paint already!" I love and detest that place no one can touch. Maybe I'm not relating in the right way to this inner quiet place. It's a safe place filled with all the real stuff. Why wouldn't I find solace in that?

If I relate in the right way, there's nothing to fear. If I relate in my usual way, I'm just sad. I hate the lack of permamence about anything and everything. But moreso than this, how we never seem to transmute these experiences into...matter.

If my cup is filled with all that is transient now, what will be left of me at my moment of death? What will have materialized by then? Will there be anything of me? Guidalberto Bormolini explained it so well. I felt he was speaking with me directly. I know what he speaks of. It's a language spoken in a particular note that finds my heart's cord so easily, effortlessly. I hear it as truth.

Where he finds beauty and peace, I currently anticipate in fear. There's something in my being I need to overcome or accept or perhaps, transform. It's lonely here...on this planet among the living and the dead. I see things about people and this place and it just saddens me. 

I'm sad for my mother and father. I'm sad for my brothers. For aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. The horror of the situation lies in an impossibility to connect with people on this level. We won't have these conversations...ever, except in the most earthly and superficial way. 

I want to catch that glimpse in the eye...in the eye of the other, that tells me we understand eachother. I don't see it. Which means, there's nothing to build on, to cultivate, to bring to life. It only ever be a seed...and this reality, this horror, sits heavy on my heart. 

The Reading

Wishful thinking would be that you have a sudden realization to change directions quickly on the road and get back to me.

This is so silly, I know. And I'm older...so, for that reason, this stings. It stings not seeing you. There's nothing I can do about it. Nothing. I can't pick up the phone. I can't send you a note. Well, I can. But, I don't. Because it would be wrong. 

I should get off this road. Let that bus pick me up and take me back to the only road I've ever known. I can still make magic there. I don't need you. 

We've carved out our own paths. At a certain point, these paths crossed. That's all it has to be. No more and no less. I just hate and love the way you quit. That would be the truth - you changed your mind and quit this scene. Who could blame you? 

You quit for your love. Which means, I was just something that intrigued you while you looked out the window. You'll never penetrate that glass. We both know that. I know you tried in your own way. But, not hard enough. Not hard enough for...me.

I hate how another chapter closes. I only hope I have time to look back and see it was all for the best.