Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

June 24, 2010 – Stream-of-consciousness Freewrite

What you had, and what you lost. Thunder only happens when it’s raining; players only love you when you’re playing. Women, they will come and they will go. When the rain washes you clean you’ll know.

Thanks, Stevie. I. and I do a soft breakup (like a restaurant’s soft opening, or a soft sell, or a soft roll-in), and my heart is nothing but soft and broken. Oh, to feel deeply the truth of how much I had and how much I am losing, E. says it’s good to just look and see that no love is lost only a space taken to transform and see the distance growing and then nothing but a love that is still there, just dimensions of the relationship changed – ah, such simplicity!

No, no there is something lost. And it is my, once again, ignorance. I am losing my once-held beliefs. I am losing my illusions about what love is and isn’t. I am losing myself.

And what a beautiful loss, !, to lose myself that is no longer useful, the part of me that is not the essential me, the fake shiny veneer that will dull and tarnish as life washes along, revealing a transluscent glow below that is nothing but air.

The scientists in Switzerland are exploring the God Particle — the essential subatomic part that is the building block of life. They are smashing atoms and whizzing neurons trying to find it. I am happy they are looking, but –.,;

The God Particle is emptiness. Don’t they know that already? Everything I see in others is me mirrored back – their potential, their brilliance, their beautiful imperfections, they’re inherent goodness. Mirrors back to my mirror that reflects their light from my light into just thin lines of indecernable number 2 pencil. A line that thin that only geometry & calculus can hold it.

I am inherently good. I am inherently right. (I inherently write). I have been writing non-stop for days, on scraps and in old torn notebooks and on dirty sheets of paper. Used printed scraps from work. My laptop. My home computer. My iPhone Notes application. My arm, nearly. It is all completely meaningless rambling. Non of it makes any sense. It’s just words. Every inked, penciled and digitized word nothing only literal scratch – only the flood and gush of words (“she’s a gusher, isn’t she?” they had said in the car the other day. Oh, they have no idea) Take all sexuality out of it, this is blank on blank, a master plan of wind on wind – it all collapses back into air. No substance. No trace. No existence.

Water into water into water into water. God into God into God into God.

I am happy with my slow dying. If I weren’t daily shedding my ephemeral life – every moment gone gone gone never never never to be gotten back – I would be in such grief. The relief that comes with this promise of a longest sleep is to me beyond all grace. The Gift of gifts, that sometimes I look into the sun and actually believe that someday I will not be? ! O! Thank you, Lord of all Universes Great & Small in Every Wide Horizon and the 10 Directions in Heaven and On Earth if You Believe in that Kind of Stuff and Forever and Ever Amen.

This Blessing of Inevitable No Existence is what allows me to live at all. Today I am sitting in a conference room with a circle of white-collared folks, beautifully corporate and pale, our walls a anemic taupe, and I am acutely aware of the electricity alerting through my arms, veins, buzzing blood, a whole nervous system continually conditioned to jump. Something is due. I owe people things. Deadlines and powerpoints. Product and content.

“Give us something to prove you exist! Demonstrate you are composed of matter and matter enough to produce more matter! Perpetually produce in a creational orgasm of Yang!”

I sweat, just a little, hot in my cheeks and neck. I will be validated based on this moment of delivery. This is an act of survival. “The troupe will disown you if you do not please us.”

And that is precisely when my friend Death enters the room, gliding in non-chalantly and giving a great show. He, like, totally doesn’t care. He smiles, a big broad toothless smile, and we high-five (I intentionally pull my hand quickly back… be careful not to ever actually touch death for too long).

“Bro! Perfect timing!” And I take him inside of me, like an on-again off-again lover. He fills up my own smile, and suddenly I am all light, the softest squinting lips and creasing eyes. I zoom back back back back – and suddenly am surrounded by all black, all light, all nothing, all emptiness (it is all the same – can you imagine, please, one transposed upon the other?) Like layers on an Illustrator file. Built from light and dark and god and hell, levels of emotional and sensation and thought and color – all flattened, and merged.

Woo-hoo! I am seeing without eyes, all this, all these layers – I can actually see my nerves, my thoughts – the thoughts – they are objects, like the thick coffee in my cup – and I can see the nothing ness itself, until I zoom back further, to see myself seeing the nothingness, and then to see the witness that is watching the seeing of the nothingness. And back and back I zoom, infinitely backwards into that dimensionless black outer space.

I see a deep blue inhale. Cool water. A breath. I let myself come back into the room. I look down and identify again with my hands. I flip back and forth between owning my hands and not owning my hands; between being me and not being me; between being conscious of consciousness, and evaporating completely.

I am practicing taming the ox. He is still very unruly.

And then Death! My superhero! Jumps forward in my words, as I speak. [ “Yes” I am commanded to say, empty lips moving empty air. “I can have that FY12 copy deliverable for you before EOD today.”

Death whispers in my ear: Deliverable or no god-damn deliverable, you will be dead someday.

A flood of glee. Spontenaity speaks: “and happy to do so!” This is the same as eating or sleeping or fucking or performing or exercising or traveling or making a million dollars or buying a house or having kids or meditating or swimming or crying or feeling lonely. Death is behind all of these things, filling each with emptiness.

Hee-hee! Inside my cells giggle and burp. They don’t know how to handle this existence/non-existence stuff. They are still wired to think there is something real here.


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