Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

Oh, hello dear Self!

Thank you for existing. Without your existence… I couldn’t be here. You are the thing which makes the things, all things, and here we go another long night into short sleep, the cozy, cozy blanket and warm, warm tea and except that right now I have a tall glass of water — hey baby, has anyone ever told you you drink like a tall glass of water? Easy on the eyes. Oh, my loves gone and I love the going, you who knew me know me no longer. I feel that when I see you again, we’ll know each other only because by then we will have known ourselves too much. Into the greatest blue yonder, wondering and floundering, stumbling once again on this strange city wall. I love the way you choke. When it rains and the streets slosh and the cars each wheeled kiss the wet pavement and make little hissing streaks in their slumber, that is when I sleep the best. Miles Davis whispering again and my heart sink, sinks, sinks back to the place from whence it came. Oh, sweetest of joys God Bless America — truly, do you know what I realized last night? No, not so much realizing, just remembering. Ah. I remembered who I was! Oh, it felt like forever and a day that I had been me, and there I was, once again existing and not all the same did I have ever seen me as I saw myself then. I was everything. I was the everything that you are tasting. Each bit of me spoke. I ran my fingers along the walls, touched my hands as if they were precious metal, and I laughed and laughed and sobbed and sobbed to remember such a silly thing as the most important thing I’ve ever forgotten: my true self. All the things anyone has ever said wise flooded back. Of course! Of course. I had forgotten, silly child, preoccupied with being human, and all this time forgetting who I really am. Thank me that I remembered! It would have been a sorry sight to have kept on existing half-wise, shaken but not stirred, forgotten but not awake. I don’t think there is anything else I could everwant. How can I, when it is all of All that you are, that you find yourself to be, I was like a wave of ocean matter, each drop separated for moments — there is a couch, there is a chair, there is the water running, there is a young (not so young, perhaps, anymore, My Dear Nearly 30year-old!) woman and all these things are me. Me. I. So self. Ishing and wishing for more would be purely selfish. But here there I was am, just being, and all things me. Oh, what a relief. What a fucked up painful journey of remembering!, and I am completely certain of why I did it. Otherwise, how could I come to know myself if not to forget and re-find? Playing hide and go seek with myself. What a game! Infinite ambitions. And sometimes is exhausts me (small self) to know that this is coming down forever, I will forever and ever just exist to keep on existing, and so I “better get comfortable.” But then I blink and it all comes back: I’ve chosen this, and at any moment, I can disappear back into my reappearing self. She’s no longer driving the bus, folks. She’s bigger than all that. The greatest relief there is. I can not and will never be able to express my gratitude. So this is it? This is perfection? Yes. Just so. Just justness. Just. (It is just, isn’t it?) That’s all — every moment never changed nor destroyed no birth no death no extinction of it no path no ignorance, and so forth until no old age and death and extinction of them no suffering no cause of suffering no extinguinging no wisdom and no gain. Nothing to attain and here I am, for infinite black waters, just circling around, saving and loving myself (no one to save, really). I’m just here. I’m just me. And for eternity and large balls of wax shaped into structures resembling dieties and ancient chinese script, perhaps vocal projections nine miles wide, there will just be this. me. this. me. this. me. ad nauseum. thank you. hee hee! I’m done. All I have to do is do nothing. And things will be things as is. Exactly all, you know it, baby, you best believe it because all you will do otherwise is spin your dizzy little head about it (and shhhhhhh just so you know, even your little dizzy spins are perfect, perfect, Perfect.)

(i love you, and thanks again. Ad infinitum.)

§1167 · October 24, 2010 · Daily1, Writing & Language · · [Print]

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