I see them as dead soldiers, tossed in an unknown place, with no burial ground. They’re saving my life every day, but I’m killing my planet with their local unrecylability - just one more sin in their circuit of pain. I’m inadequate, so I drink to mask my pain, so I produce inadequate writing, and I’m ashamed. And in my shame I want to hide the visible evidence of my pain - so with no green glass recycling these go in the trash… and someone, somewhere, lives it all again, and we’ll never know one another, but our pain is like a constellation in the sky, related, unknown, unnamed, because no one knows when the supernova might be that destroys it all.
It’s another one of those hideous hopeless nights, where no one understands anything that I’m trying to say, and knowing that I’m never, ever good enough for the world, in anything that I have to offer. I was never good enough, I’m not good enough now, and I’ll never be good enough. If it wasn’t for the fact that I made one promise, I would give it all up and rest, and hope for a better time next go round. But there’s ten years or more left, and I’ve got to try.
You know who you are. You have left me alone, and I will try all my days to be the person who would have coaxed you to stay. And too, I like to think if you knew how alone you were leaving me, you would have never left, darling. I love you, then, and now, and always.
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can’t I paint you?
The words will never show the you I’ve come to know.
If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
There’s no one home but you,
You’re all that’s left me too.
And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me.
If a man could be two places at one time,
I’d be with you.
Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.
If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,
I’d spend the end with you.
And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away.
It’s funny how so many years were spent trying to live, and not commit suicide. And now that I’ve decided that life is the only option, I feel a part of my soul dying and must mourn it, and not travel too far in my mourning.
Sometimes life hurts so much that the only comfort is in beauty that is so much greater than my existence.
Image courtesy of NASA: http://www.jpl.nasa.gov/spaceimages/v2/getMediumImage.php?id=PIA13316
This is the breaking of trust. This is me, never trusting again. This is me, retreating to my goddesses and gods, and becoming a shaman, and healing the earth, rather than people. Healing a certain biome that is critical for our future. Never, never, ever again, will I trust.
No one but my god/desses will ever truly see me for who I am.
I am obligated to devote myself to my writing, to my studies, to putting myself forward to success in my life, so that I might die in comfort someday, instead of homeless. I know a good and kind home now, but I know that it is fleeting, and not a certainty.
I will write, and let my deities and guides help me myself to find the astonishing light of my own being. Because that is not, will not, cannot possibly be something that another human being could possibly guide me to.