Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

I don’t understand. This now this now. I love you I love you I love you.

I., C., A., D., K., E., M., C., G-G-G-G most certainly G., sweet (non)man, sweet Divine, My Beloved, sweet All,, you, the one-eyed sailor I met down town and even the fish vendor. The Oshkosh bigosh man, and the double-sided Plexiglas window car. I love you. I love them all. I am love and I show love so now what am I supposed to do? What do I do with this? I just be it? It doesn’t yet make sense. i just cry and feel the gratitude, and the what? I do my art, but right now I have to go to bed to do my work in the morning. So is that part of my love? How am I bettering the world by going in to work? I don’t know. I just trust that it is so. Even Corporate America is God.

What does “trust” mean?

It’s a question I never asked myself. “So it’s scary for you to trust someone else,” he said. “What does it mean to you to trust someone?” I – don’t know. I used to think it meant I believed that they intended to and would never hurt me. Is that right? No -We are people. People hurt people (hurt people hurt people).but are we not all hurt? I don’t know. I take the risk being hurt. Is that trust? That I trust that all works out how it is supposed to. That even if I can’t see it, everything is exactly as it has to be and it is going to the greater good. I don’t have to understand this.

(The radiator is singing again. Even after a sunny day, I know in my heart it is Winter. Sing, sing, sing! There is nothing better than jasmine green tea, and a radiator singing. Oh my God I’m so happy when I’m still. I can’t take it. It’s too big, the beauty.)

I am going through a major overhaul, I can feel my mind being stretched and reshaped, the clay bent and punched. I’m learning to trust. I’m learning to trust myself. I’m learning to trust god (the bigger, the no-sense), this will means I will be able to trust another human. And not that they will be “perfect” and never let me down… not that they won’t hurt me… (this is a process of surrender). What is it that I’m trusting? They are helping me dismatle my belief system. I want to keep it in order and rigid control. But then nothing moves and I can’t get beyond the patterns to the next stage. I want to move and feel anew, and new, and new real. I move you. I shift and shape you. I mold and move you to new forms. I am new forms.

I am learning to listen to something, some voice that says something. I don’t know why it says it. It says “that one”. And I listen. It knows. It usually is very knowing. It knows more than I do and I have no idea why it says what it says. It says, “no. wear the purple”. My mind jumps in: “the purple one is too light. It’s cold out. You should probably find something heavier”. I can defy it. But it is clear: no. the purple. I don’t understand why the purple. It doesn’t make sense the purple. but the purple is so, so i go purple: go for a walk, now. I’m being directed. I cannot drive my life. I am not driving this ship. (and yet it’s all choice! free will is alive in destiny!) I listen.

It’s like in that movie Synecdoche. The bug in your ear. The direction. “Turn left. Sit down. Don’t smile. Smile. Stand up. Put on the purple one. Don’t rush. Keep walking. Sit down again. Let yourself stare. Walk back, open the door. Take off your shoes and watch yourself take off your shoes, ohhhhhhh. (it feels so good to take off your shoes. Isn’t it beautiful to take off your shoes? What if this were the last time you ever took off your shoes? Last time ever? You die right after you take off these shoes. Yes. Now you get it. Just to experience. Sit down. Let yourself cry. Write. Stop. Pause. Don’t know.” It will make me move slower. It’s hard to listen all the time. Sometimes I am too loud or fast to be able to hear it. I have to stop and slow down and –

Yes, but what do I DO with this? I’m still trapped in thinking I have to do something with all of this. That there is a point or a goal. There is no goal. There is no point. It is the point. This is its own point. I am pointless. I am clueless. I am vacant. I – dumbfounded. There’s nothing. This is the form. THIS is the form. This IS the form. This is it. You don’t know what it is.

Does it have to be compelling? Isn’t what it is in any moment compelling? Aren’t people, and life, compelling as they it is? I think so. If you see it all. But people want compelling things. I have to make it compelling. But what they don’t know is that for me to give them their compelling things, I have to risk non-compellingness. I have to risk bored. I have to risk stupid. I have to let their disappointment surface in me. You know why? Because I do it for them, and I can’t control it, I’m not in control… I am only listening to what I am being told to do, and, also, I’m not even anything, I’m not even here. There’s not even an I. it’s just .

Take art and regurgitate it back. I have to do something with it. you can’t just have talent and sit on your thumb. “there is no difference between a man who cannot read and a man who can, but doesn’t” – if I do not do something with this love, I am no different than if I have no love. But the smallest things are the things that bring me down, and even in the quietest of moments, I disguise myself so that even I can’t see me. Shhhh, oh, you silly beautiful child, you are not even here! This is just this, and you think you are you, but you’re just part of this!
It doesn’t have to be compelling.

I love you. I am at peace. Why now?
I love you so much. I’ve missed you. I miss you now. I want to tell you all of my secrets. Receive me without judgment, or – no. Take me, and take your judgments, and just watch them. I trust the other person to watch. Just watch. And meet me. Trust is trusting the other person will try to meet me, in the middle, in the middle of consciousness, and have the courage to bring forward what is inside himher, no matter what. Even if it is hurtful and ugly; even if it is sad and does not make me happy. Even if it disappoints, or stings, or fills me with joy. Even if it is the worst sin in the world. How beautiful! How perfect, your sins. I love them. I love them all, in their nakedness and dirt. I love them. I squeeze them and play with the sticky mud in my fingers. I gross out my face and say “ewwww!” and judge and squirm, and then, I want to lick you I am so impressed with your soul. You give me buoyancy. I think you are perfect, and will love you forever, if you can continue to call me on my bullshit, and every time step up and examine yourself with a crystal microscope when I call you on yours.

(Guess what? I’ll love you forever even if you don’t… can’t, won’t… but I just won’t be with you. I will love you, can’t not love, just can’t stay). I have to keep moving: “charivati, charivati”. You surprise me and humble me with your self-annihilation. You are perpetually killing off your ego in an effort to live with integrity, authenticity, and truth. Welcome to the newest love, the one where all you have to do to earn my trust is die, repeatedly, forever. I’ll follow.

§1170 · October 31, 2010 · Daily1 · · [Print]

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