This was written to a love interest and to myself, never to be shared with him but instead with anyone else who wants to read it ... maybe him, sometime. Who knows!
This, in essence, is actually written to my former self--for once we see something clearly, life finds it too boring to give us the same lesson.
Dear You & Me:
You think if you run fast enough you will break through the sound barrier that splices off all your past mistakes, all your imperfections. Something about that dogged activity attracted me to you, because I could relate. Well I’m not attracted to that activity anymore, even if, strangely, I am still attracted to you.
Do you think that because I know, because I can see through what you are doing, that I will hold you there? Well it’s not me who will hold you there, it is you who is doing it. And even still, I would accept you there, until you found out, even if you didn’t want to do anything about it; actually, even if you didn’t find out. You would change. We all do. Because life makes sure we come face to face with our imperfections.
There is no way to run fast enough, away from me, away from yourself, away from the truth.
Even if you crash your car into a wall, there is a last breath, and in that last breath is your limit. But don’t you see? That limit is right next to someone else’s? That is the only way we can relate to each other, to share the experience of our limits.
The pop culture of being limitless is strange and disastrous. Because we are limited, and therein lies our strength to open to each other and celebrate the lines that draw themselves around us, that did around the very two cells that joined when we were conceived. Limits. And expansion both.
They dance with each other. That is life itself. Limits. Expansion. Limits. Expansion. Nothing else, really. At least in the world of this what I am writing. There is nothing else except everything else.
Do you see what I’m getting at?
Stop trying to run away from something that will only expand you. Stop trying to stay so small. Because I still see you anyway. And in seeing you I won’t hold you there. You insist on staying there. It’s so lame, man. Come on, let’s get out of here.
I saw today that I am not in a box anymore. I never was and yet I only thought I was and I danced within this limitation. This trying to fit in and I trying to kick the shit out of it at it at the same time. Fought it.
A mental creation that was seeded in me. Like artwork. I made it my reality.
I obsessed about it like we do any form of art we love. But the time comes sometimes when we must ask “why do I love this?” Why?! Is it because it is familiar? Do we even still love it or have we come to a point where five years too long it was our favorite and there are so many other pieces of art out there waiting to turn us on. Waiting to make us wet with desire to become more than we are. Letting us know that we already are more. Are we just trapped in this past-tense version of who we are, reinforced by these old movies that play, memories that are by nature one-sided. Our sided. So stagnant and moldy like pieces of paper in an attic. Piles of shit that make us want to lock the door and pretend that part of our house doesn't exist.
I’m done with it. And yet of course here I am, sorting through it.
It’s a strange predicament. I want to break the sound barrier, and be more, live more! Yet I find solace in going in and sifting through things to make sure I don’t throw anything that I still need away.
If we just throw it all away, we lose the feelings and connections to ourselves that we have cultivated and we lose the emotional intelligence to connect in deeper ways with the people who could really reflect all of who we are. And the people who could benefit from our cultivated sense of humanity. If we dump ALL of it at once it is not going to make sense.
Don't be in such a rush to be a douchebag. Because it’s like we cooked a vegetable stock and we decide to dump out the stock in addition to the heat-drained vegetables! Slow down and be humble and don't strain your neck to be someone. Just chill out.
Take the time to strain the vegetables out and KEEP the stock. That is for your soup. That is for your future. That's for me too. That's for all of us! That is what will flavor the rest of your life.
Don’t say to yourself “Oh, that shitty family that raised me. Oh all this dysfunction in my past! Oh what a pile of shit I’m throwing it all out at once!”
Duh. Come on. The psychiatrist medicates you. The counselor listens to you. The motivational speaker turns you away from the whole kitchen. What I am saying is this. It’s simple yet painful to think about--but we create 99 percent of our pain by being afraid of what is actually NOT so painful once we just face it. Walk into the kitchen, look into the pot, grab a strainer, dump the contents over a container, and throw away the bits that have nothing left for you. Because what you take with you, you will see, THAT makes the future worthwhile.