sometime last year:
“nice bomb, but it didn’t really
blow anything up.”
-hell (nice bomb), Robin Jackelow
I have to become this person. This person who completes things. I have been mired in grief for so long, that I have quit my life every three years on purpose. I have run from everything I have ever touched out of fear I might succeed at something, and have worth, self-worth. There is something very unhealthy about the creative process; the self undoing. About a year ago, I was told my self undoing would be grief and romance, and how apparent that is to me everyday. It rips you open and exposes you, your shadow, to the world. If you’re honest. Some are not honest, and you will read them, and you will know they have left out some very important details of their development. They have lied about the ways that make them strong to appear strong, to appear polished and unique in their verbal exploration of the re-figuring of the world. They are not the ones you want. They will lie about the ways they killed beautiful things for the sake of being a murderer. They will lie about their boring life to make it seem more bohemian than it really is. They will lie about their motives. They will lie about their lovers and who they love right now. But for me, if you want blood, you’ve got it.
Where did I get this idea from? I re-read every line I’ve ever written, and went through every photograph I have ever taken. That I am worthless, so I leave. I leave everyone and everything I love. I create crisis so those I love leave me. It is three years now since I arrived in Philadelphia and every inch of my soul is trying to escape to start over in a foreign land to learn a language I don’t already speak. I plan to do it with no income and a savings that I earned from leaving grad school early because, yes, that was a mistake to go in the first place. Another way to shirk responsibility is to erase your entire history and never pick up your phone again. Take the money and run. I could simply walk to Santa Fe, the original plan: learn medicine, learn healing from real healers, understand that shamanic crisis is ok. You are not crazy. You are fine. You have visited a very dark place to learn how to elevate the darkness to consciousness, and we are here to hold you. I could waste time being bitter at myself for crack ingthat serpent open too early. When you are unprepared for the onslaught that irresponsible invocation hands you because you are seeking an “awakening” and God brings you immediately to hell first. When you have no guide and you have gone way too deep, and you are scared to tell anyone that you fear for your life.
Or I could stay. Finish what I started. I’m healed. I mean we are never healed, but I am back in one piece. I have seven thousand ideas and about fifteen ongoing projects. I have cut most of them out. I have left many people behind. I have shared too much of myself with strangers. I have shared the parts of me that were lies. I have shared not enough with those I love. I forgot God somewhere and then found it. I could stay and buy a house. and build a family and stability, but I crave fracture. I crave broken bones and accents and challenge. I want to immerse myself in places like they are breathing paintings and I am an inconsequential character in the backdrop lapping at their paintbrush. And God agreed to give it to me if I keep a couple promises first. But can I stay?
I forgot the importance of earnest autobiographical accounts of how I’ve slaughtered, and how I was slaughtered. The people who understand that this world is a dream, a complex heaven of our creation, those are the people I want to talk to, to share this idea with. There is a peace in exposure, and a peace in silence.
And I still can’t discern where I fit completely.