Learning to not live in fear is the real magic. It is the Ouroboros weaning itself off of a perpetual diet: the realization it can eat whatever it wants. It is the life, after the life, of Confucius’s proverb. It is fully embracing – I really can do whatever I want. And, it can be fulfilling to return home.
I was a credulous child. And at some point my credulousness fell captive to abuse, self-deception, dishonesty, resentment, and fear. Years passed before I understood: I was the gatekeeper to the unlocked cell in which I resided. So writing this feels a bit silly, like when my brother had to convince me Spinal Tap was not a real band.
But it moved. It moves. Things move. I moved. I move. Most notable I did not accept. I cannot speak to the specifics as to what I did not accept, but I know, for a long time, I didn’t like it. (Goddamn that sounds bratty. Fuck it, no apologies!) Minds shift, and tilt, and maneuver, until we are far. Far from mother, father, brother, sister, and grandmother, and maybe we’re not so certain how we got there, which is part of the joy – the mystery. In a pit. Clawing at cellophane. Clawing at dry ice, melting ice cream, and waterfall fountains of flowing Jim Beam. Not understanding why I can’t catch my breath while I hold my head under water.
How to tease out the worthwhile inklings or our youth, our formative years, our adulthood, our old age? Who is lying? Who is telling the truth? And regardless of validity, why is anyone expecting of me?
And shedding dirt and lies (insecurities and fears, guilt and shame, broken: hearts, trust, and bones, empty promises) like an afterbirth’s evacuation (placental walls, evisceration). And what to do with this new responsibility? And to whom do I owe the thanks?
A re-connection, an inner constitution, a healing transgression, a pang of: “I have been working so hard all these years.” It is thanking the master for no more lessons. It is turning yourself in to the proper authorities. It is saying, “Thank you for your opinion. I love you; But fuck off!” It is picking a choice that you know ends poorly, but following through because you have to endure it. It is making a decision that yields deep uncertainties – cause embracing life is part of its mystery. It is knowing: if you do not choose that decision, your life is a lie. It is realizing, “Wow, I really might just love myself after all.”
I am lying on a bed of purple leafed clovers. My head is in the center of pentagonal shaped Sequoias. I watch their tips sway in the wind 250 feet overhead. I am in a vacuum with 2,500 year-old trees. I have traveled back in time. I am a primate who learned to fuck and lie. I feel the presence of Earth’s indifference towards humans. All goes black for a spit-second. Tears roll down my cheeks. My smile shifts to surreal laughter. I say out loud, “OK goddammit, You Win! You’re right; it is time to go home.”