dustsceawung
“The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.”
Go where you feel the most alive. In such a simple statement, I feel myself coming undone. The passions run high in my body. Like the deer camouflaged by the fern, I like to watch in plain view. I hide behind the spots that dance before my eyes. Am I faint? Have I eaten today? I drink too much caffeine just to feel tight to burst. The only place I feel sane is lying down with my legs spread.
I accomplished dragonfly pose yesterday and with my foot hooked over my arm, I thought about how bizarre this life is. I can be here, balancing on my hands, and everyone else can be somewhere else, controlling their surroundings with innocuous habits. Are things really as devastating as we say they are? Isn't death inevitable? And if so, why do we spend so much time talking about how much we love life?
Tell me a story about how you died. I've perished a thousand times in this life. My eyes see things differently each time I open them. Each time I surface, I rejoice at the unfolding of my limbs! There are days he walks toward me and I do not recognize him until I have his hand in mine.
Tell me about a time you died, and I will share a story with you.
I am in the process of breaking right now as I write this. I've outgrown my mind and the person who appears after this will not be known to me. I'm sick of starving in the dark. I want to be fed with both hands. I want to feel the stars burning in my body. I am not made of sheer dust; I am muscle and blood and bone. I know I exist when he reaches out without touching me.
Do we all feel this disembodied when in love?
I loathe the sensation of suffering and yet continually choose the one thing that has the power to break me.
Attachment.
I continuously move and uproot myself in an effort to starve the hunger to belong. If I am not bound to any person or place, I do not have to confront the existential crisis of letting go of what I hold dear to me.
My mind is too fast and critical- it sees the lines in the tree bark before it acknowledges the density of the forest.
Where do I feel the most alive?
Dansing, writing, speaking with Clara.
Listening to spoken word poetry. Sipping frothy lattes in new cafes. People watching from behind my bangs. Walking beside a body of water and feeling the mist on my face. Laying on top of him with my cheek at his chest so I can feel him breathing. In and out, up and down, it is a spiral, circle, and line.
The patterns of geometry speak to me when I close my eyes. Dreamscapes make the most sense and I've no one to share them with. There is no power struggle between us; there is no envy or hope to cast an illusion against our acknowledgment of each other. You are my only friend, Simone.
We constantly go out into the world with our many faces. I worry that he will change in the upheaval between here and there. How will I manage the evolution of our togetherness? It is so small, the little fractures that occur. Earthquakes make the headlines, but the silent tremor is just as destructive.
I would kill myself before I let anyone else smother me! I would walk out at the edge of the plank and look up! Never look down, never look back. The only position to take is upright with a long neck and gentle arch in the spine. The world responds to posture; we tell others how to treat us based on how we hold ourselves.
I hold myself with such serious - its too much and the wings I need to fly are heavy. My back is aching. My breath is tight. I once watched a fish caught in a snare flopping from side to side until it was weak. It lay with one eye staring up at the sky, gasping through its gills.
That is how I feel about being separated from him and I hate myself for it.
I've attached myself to him in a way that is too fixed. What is this propulsion in love that thrusts us into madness? Is it more responsible for going at it alone, Simone? To avoid feeling this capsized? Is it crazy to want an idealized version of romance? Is it a weakness to want to feel safe, seen, and supported by someone?
This whole time I've been paddling the canoe with one oar and switching sides to steer is exhilarating and exhausting. I love driving. I love pushing forward. I love the direction with and against the wind.
Photo source.
