Meat Space

Weather I like it or not, I exist in meat space. There is a level to my consciousness that would rather skip the mundane.  Maybe mundane isn't the right word, really.  There is a certain appeal in being stuck neck deep in the human condition.  I suppose it is a matter of perspective but the trappings of daily life are amusing even though they are sometimes soul-crushingly sad. Plenty of people have observed that without suffering and loss, the joy and beauty of existence would be meaningless. 

Couldn't hurt to at least see what it would be like without pain, though. 

Part of me wonders what the motivation would be? What would life look like without suffering? Pessimism tells me that humans would manufacture suffering just to have some sort of fucked up balance. Humans manufacture triumph all the time so it stands to reason that in the absence of something, they would default to figuring out how to get that something even though it is negative or unpleasant. 

Self sabotage is something people are really good at. 

I end up doing it to myself all the time in subtle ways.  I have to wonder, though, how much of it is really self sabotage? It might just be the longing for comfort, for the familiar. The mind has a really odd way of loving to live in the past, again even if the past isn't exactly something pleasant. It's kind of like an old shoe that fits a certain way, even though it is painful, nothing else seems right so why even bother to get new shoes?

A lot of suffering is internal. While humans dwell on the past internally, externally they espouse the virtues of living in the present. Mindfulness and present-mindedness is the theme for a lot of self-help advice. While I think being grounded in the present moment is a really good thing, it is sad that people don't really feel comfortable with unpacking their past and working through the trauma of life. It is said that misery loves company but company really doesn't like misery.  I suppose that's why I have a great deal of respect for people who tend to the mind. Like doctors of flesh and bone, these souls are exposed to the horrors of humanity. I can't imagine how many fucked up things therapists and counselors hear on a regular basis.  Flesh and bone heal visibly, the mind is a much more complex and subtle creature. On top of it all, these healers of the mind are often the only people some can trust. 

I'm a mostly open book and there are things that I won't say to anyone but my therapist. A good therapist is non-judgmental (within reason, of course) but a great therapist is someone who can make sense out of the bizarre and can soothe the chaos with at least some sort of rationality. It fucking helps, more than I can put into words. 

I've been on this roller coaster before but for the first time it feels like I'm starting to make sense of all this, even in the midst of a confusing existence.  Maybe I'm just making peace with meat space.  

Altered

I've felt altered all day. 

Maybe it is a matter of looking inward. Maybe it's a feeling of connection to the sublimely strange and the absurdity of the human condition. 

Maybe it's because I spent some time swimming in the beauty and chaos of my own mind while soaking up the profound energy of everything I observe. 

I am the sum of my experience. I am the action and reaction bouncing around a cosmic pinball machine that oddly interacts with other equally confused machines.

Ignorance is bliss but I wouldn't really want to give up awareness of the joke. Laughing at pain, joy in sadness, existential dread wrapped up in chocolate with a nice bow on top. 

I sit here, altered. A state of being I wish I could indulge in a lot more often. Eventually, like everything, it wears thin and the doors of perception must be answered. Real life always gets in the way. 

I could check out so easily, but I'm not sure what the point would be. Is all my life experience leading up to...what? Poetry in remembrance? A requiem for a life well documented? 

Am I really just something to remember? 

There are so many things that only I perceive that I can't explain to anyone, not for lack of trying. There's simply no translation for it. If the point of existence is memory, why does it wrap itself into a tapestry that no one person could ever comprehend? 

Maybe we really do need each other. 

Maybe we really are nothing as individual space. 

Inexplicably intertwined as star stuff and dark matter, we float about bouncing off of each other. 

Or it's just entropy. 

Ancient Romantic History

Lately I have been having dreams involving my ex girlfriend. I've been dreaming of this woman since we broke up. I haven't spoken to her since then. We had some contact via social media about a decade ago but she has since deleted her presence there. I totally understand why, social media is a cesspool. 

A few months shy of 20 years ago, I was eating alone in the campus dining hall, 3000 miles away from everything I knew. I was in a lukewarm relationship with a girl I met in high school (unbeknownst to me at the time she was cheating on me with her ex boyfriend) and had only a couple of friends locally. I was painfully alone, almost always drunk and generally miserable. Suddenly, a woman sat at my empty table. She was adorable in a school girl kind of way and had a kindness in her eyes that suddenly drew me in. I fell in love with her in an instant, although I didn't exactly know it at the time. I remember what she said as if it happened yesterday "you look like you need someone to talk to."

We talked about nothing and everything. We kept talking, in person and in the evenings over instant messenger. She was brilliant. She constantly challenged my assumptions and made me feel slow in comparison. She quickly became my best friend. She quickly became the love of my young life. I had never felt such a connection with another person. Sure, I dated in high school but in comparison, those relationships were more of a social obligation. The relationship I was in with the girl back home sucked, because realistically we both were kind of terrible people at the time.

The girl with steel grey eyes didn't know that. I did everything I could to prove I wasn't a hot mess. I spent all my money on her. I know that candlelight dinners and Shakespeare do not a relationship make but holy fuck, I tried. I don't think it was my spending habits that kept her attention, though. I had developed a hardness at that point in my life. I had a heart full of anger inside of my chest and was about as approachable as a cactus. She was the start of a revolution in my thinking. The start of becoming the genuinely kind person I really could be. She saw that in me and nurtured it, even though she was learning about life herself.

I was her first date, her first kiss, her first sexual encounter. I don't know how I feel about that, even now. Part of me feels privileged and honored with how much she trusted me. Part of me feels like a total asshole because she gave up that part of herself to me of all people. I wonder if she remembers me with fondness or if I was that mistake in college that she doesn't talk about any more. Maybe I'm both. 

I dropped out of the school and we kept in touch. She came to visit my home and I showed her my familiar universe. I proposed to her shortly after I turned 19. I felt like I could make forever work with her, even though I was a complete scum and kept seeing my other ex (and a random revenge lay too. I was a douche). She trusted me, I'm sure partly because she had no experience with anyone else. At the end, I was the one who broke up with her. I had met the man I would end up marrying and at that point I couldn't keep up with the long distance relationship. It wasn't fair to her and our lives were rapidly growing apart. I could have been a lot nicer about it. That conversation could have ended up on an episode of Jerry Springer. To this day I feel terrible and I don't think any apology would be enough. I broke her young heart and I do not blame her if she still hates me for it, although knowing her kind heart, she probably doesn't. I sure as fuck would never want to talk to me again, though.

So, through all this, why do I dream about her? I don't dream about any other ex partner. Past is past, here is now. But in my deepest subconscious, her touch haunts me. Her voice calls me from the darkness. I'm shaken to the core and overwhelmed by the pleasure of the encounter and the pain of knowing it's just a fantasy. The first time we made love was a surreal experience that I've never been able to repeat even with drugs. In all honesty, I don't want to repeat it. Chasing feelings isn't something I really like doing. For some reason, though, my mind keeps summoning her as I knew her back then. I've changed, good and bad but she is the perfect image that is present only in my fractured memory.

She is innocent and beautiful. She touches my face gently. She's the only person that has touched my face without making me recoil. The scene is so real that I feel it even after I stumble into a waking state. The dream usually ends with us staring at each other's eyes and the faint whisper of my name.

I'll never feel this way about another person. I can't. I am an entirely different being. Maybe I'm more mature. Maybe I'm a lot less controlled by emotions. Maybe I'm simply weathered by experience. Memory fades but not this. As cleche as it sounds, a part of my soul is tied up in a person that I hurt profoundly. There's no amount of forgiveness she can provide because I absolutely won't forgive myself.

My love for her and my loathing for myself is eternal. At least I learned something. 

Relapse 2.0

I'm currently stuck in traffic. This really doesn't bother me too much because I'm not the one driving and I don't have anywhere to be, at least nowhere that requires me to hurry. I'm grappling with my emotions as I always am. Today, I must confess, I turned to an old demon for help. I feel like I've fallen off the wagon a bit but I also feel like I have a better grip on the problem. I admit, it felt fucking good. Like all crutches, there is comfort in leaning on something familiar. I realize I can't rely too much on chemicals to get me by, however. There is joy in moderation and I feel like I will appreciate my vice more if I keep a lid on it. There's also monetary things to consider. I am saving a ton of cash by not letting addiction rule me.

But holy fuck, it felt good. 

I realize, though, that I have a problem because instead of being entirely satiated, I am yearning for the next fix. Oh I could really jump off the edge and just do more, but I know deep down that I would feel worse later. Better to maintain discipline and indulge only a tiny bit. I've got plenty of ways to distract myself. I also can enjoy other things just as much, I just have to tell myself that it is OK. 

Why is the rush so addictive? 

Always crawling in my own skin. Most people wouldn't know it just by looking at me. I get the feeling that most if not all people are riding on some sort of razor's edge. 

Connectivity

Today I noticed that I feel very connected to some things. I seem to be feeling more enjoyment and love for music, nature and the general spiritual tapestry of the universe. There is beauty in my existence and I am in awe of it and comforted by it. Conversely, I feel the pain, sadness and anger of people. It cuts deep and sometimes I can't separate my emotions from the emotions of others.

I am grounded in myself. I feel like I can compartmentalize the chaos and stay true to my inner being. The fight between joy and sadness is still painful, however. The fight between silence and speaking my truth is a struggle I feel like I can't escape. I am me, but sometimes don't think I deserve to exist in joy of this while people suffer. 

Therapy has helped me to realize that I do matter, not just to others but also to myself. I have to accept the validity of my own existence. Yes, hearing from others that I am valued, valid and worthy is amazing and I am humbled every time I hear someone say that I am. But, ultimately, I cannot exist entirely for others. The pit of dispair that is my feelings of internal worthlessness is always ready to bubble up to the surface. 

I have to work on lifting myself up. I use self depreciation as humor and while people do laugh, I sense that people wish I wouldn't be so hard on myself. I need to make a conscious effort to change my external dialog in order to change my internal dialog. Today is a good time to start.