A new morning where my head is going to be dampened with new knowledge and no sleep and some regrets mixed with enormous gratitude for what the world provides and the people in it.
Peace is elusive, just like anything else that gives tranquility, hard to come by for a brilliantly stupid man-boy like me. But it’s getting there as only broken things can, piece by piece.
No breakneck speed this time, no thrashing and flailing around to get it all done now. So slowly that you almost can’t even see it happening, the fragments of something never truly whole are dancing to their own demanding need to be complete.
Found this unexpectedly in my drafts folder, don’t remember writing it, but then again I don’t remember a lot of things in the ways that others do at least.
I don’t know that the entirety of any story, will cover what I had wanted to say initially. I don’t believe that the ideas are wholly there, sitting more like clumps of clay waiting for a better artist than I to mold.
I had a moment once where the world laid open its belly to me and told me to come close, listen at a heartbeat that thumped with mysteries beyond anything I had ever dreamed of before. A kiss to the forehead of reality and the absent blast from it’s withdrawal were the price. The air was a hazed crackle of something intangible and without form and face. A feeling left as an impression the walls of truth and the faded glories of all the wishes we had as children. When we were young enough to put our heads together and pass thoughts back and forth, pretending we were telepathic and could read each others minds. Racing the wind across the grass and stumbling because we felt we had grown wings to carry us at the speed of air. We were flying, brazen fuck yous to the established status quo of gravity bound worms that we had been, free to soar, smiles cutting our faces so broadly that they felt like they would never leave. It was a moment and a time when there was nothing impossible and anything you could think was only a moment of focus away from being achieved.
Close down to a belly thick with the furs of nature gone to shit and trees whistling with empty branches. An incoherent ramble across the soft pink that raised out a welcome heat in radiance and peace. Touch the skin with a shovel and pull the axe blade back out so that the blood could go free. Cinders and ash blasting away thoughts and giving the entertainment for the evening and the night as the moons went rising over the hillsides and into the ethereal realms which can be tasted in the heart and break the mind that walks through them.
Safely in the comfort of truth we could sit in the caverns beneath what you saw in the over world. We were realized and all to ourselves. Peaceful gods surrendering to the joy of being lighter than the air, more stable than the mountains outside. Fucking giants as children, children as men, and something gone to dust during the interim.
Tongue twisting word misted lofty ethics suddenly shifted. Verbiage awry crooked context, sand quickens sickens the truth with maddening lies. Bullheaded bully vacuum packed morals gone dead done right presented cleanly above suspicion heartless lips soulless head. Accusations flutter steer recklessly fly rashly land poorly eventually die. Miserable life distorted denial avoids change ever always engarde tromping a perilously pointless and petulant hike. Existence’s trials trails marching for miles dust caked grins always grimy shiver obscenely spit softly back at ’em –shake the fear off and smile.
I’ve been on both ends of the stick I suppose at different points, something that I’m not proud of, but can admit readily enough. Whether it was spawned from fear, trauma, etc, doesn’t quite qualify as an excuse for how I behaved at points during my life, it was my responsibility to “not be an asshole”. Feeling someone play out their own internal sickness in the same way towards me is an eye opener.
Tattered, tired, and angry though someone may be, it has to be an echo of some truly painful and unresolved issues to advise an individual dealing with a mental illness that they are despised and everyone is in the eaves waiting for them to die. Shitty and deeply manipulative behavior,knowing that the recipient can literally do nothing other than just sit with themselves, absent means to defend themselves without seeming more culpable as a perpetrator of something justifying such vicious and cutthroat suggestions. There is no power in the words themselves other than what the recipient gives them.
Maybe though, in some ways, it might just be how a person deals with their particular brand of sadness and pain–the only way they know how, lash out. Go for the throat. God knows I’ve done it before more times than I care to think if not totally in that literal context. A whipcord reaction to hurt those that hurt you, even if it is based on incorrect judgement calls and assumptions.
Everyone heals in their own way, and while that doesn’t make it right, finally, I can put myself in the other pair of shoes and understand the feelings behind the words. Temper my own frustration and resentment at the unnecessary cruelty with patience and accept that it is what it is, and life will continue to move on. It’s not worth giving though or dwelling on someone’s words when they are bent on hating or hurting you, let ’em go by the side and don’t look back.
Someone once told me, if someone’s an asshole and lies or treats you poorly, at the end of the day, they’re the asshole, not you.I’ve been an asshole plenty across my life, and that makes a lot of sense.
We have only ourselves and our actions to control–for better or for worse.
I know a man who threw away 10g of meth. Down a toilet. Intentionally, during a moment of lucidity. He woke up from his dream. He didn’t do it for the posturing or the bragging, he did it because he had a fucking moment and things added up.
He saw his future was his past and all that was going to come again. The regrets. The broken relationships. The self-hatred. The loneliness and the pain. The body count and the desperation. The stagnation. The missed joy and thrill of life. The empty smile and the personal failings. The prayer for death unanswered.
It hit that water in the toilet and didn’t even stain the water with some indication of all the soil and grime that its brand had left over the years. All the marks on his morals. His appreciation of life. His awareness and understanding of the world and himself. His inability to connect and always be “other” – not in a way he was proud of, but in a way that left him sullied and greasy where it would always be felt most.
He wasn’t going to revisit and replay what had come before. He was learning gratitude for all the experiences, painful or pleasant, and that meant realizing that the pain had only needed to happen once. He didn’t need to put his hand back into the fire like always. it was still fucking hot and he was worth more than scorched flesh. He wanted to, could, and will become more. He’ll evolve, be seen in the mirror as true to himself, a good friend, an honest and genuine man, and as a survivor not an unchanging Peter Pan chemical fiend. Wreckage for decades as his only gift to the world, a Lost Boy playing pirate to his own loot.
He had learned, was learning, would continue to learn. He would grow.
I know a man that threw away 10g of meth. Finally took a dive and emptied a bag, got back on the horse, and welcomed in a change for once.