Walking works of art

Manny and I met up with his sister and father at the Farmer's Market today. I have never been to the Farmer's Market in Hillcrest and today I walked there in the clean, post-rain sunlight, through our beautiful neighborhood buzzing with interesting people. It amazes me that I am able to experience it, that I can call this home and my life now. It is amazing what we create when we actually act on ideas, goals, desires rather than simply ruminate on them. We are such walking works of art, a beautiful accident that was "meant" to be in the cold universe. We transcend our silly, microscopic existence which I think extends to why the small things make me feel so good to be alive.

Today feels like a huge step toward self-fulfillment. Ordinary eyes might roll at the wonder I fell but I think as "everyday" as this change may be in the grand scheme of things, it propels me forward to where I want to be, whatever that may be. Work in progress is almost the best part of gravitating toward something. Then again, the moment I'm at the destination, I feel that is the best part of the process.

In this moment, I am happy.

Martyrdom as selfishness

It's weird to admit I am prone to martyr-like tendencies. No pride. No shame. Just a sudden realization and lots of thought to follow it so that I can't sleep until I get it down in words.

My mother sacrificed herself to the point of completely withdrawing from everyone she intended to love. In so doing, my brother, father and I were often starved for the wonderful woman I know lurked somewhere in her center. Fortunately, there were enough occasions through which she bestowed some of her wisdom on the young, impressionable Chance. They stuck and are precious to me. I fill up with gratitude when I think of those moments. For her, I can only imagine her martyrdom likely started with her learning from her mother before her, my grandmother. I am not surprised. These things usually run in cycles.

Giving to those you love most is probably the most beautiful act I can imagine, feels like a good reason to live this life. It's when the giving and sacrifices warp into some kind of trap around yourself and the ones with whom you intended to share the bounty. In that case, it actually fuels a form of selfishness in that the most sacred gifts inside of you can petrify and go unfulfilled because there is nothing left to enrich yourself. This is a double-edged sword that also stunts the growth of the others around you who are malnourished because of overprotectiveness (poor word choice but right now I can't think of another). Thus, the ultimate act of love becomes selfish.

I think about my life and how I have allowed the tendency to stunt myself and those I love most. I have clung to fears which only fueled my compulsion to keep giving as an excuse to avoid failure. Or perhaps success and the fear that once successful, more would be expected of me and I would have nothing left to give. Perhaps I fear(ed) that the conditions I have become so accustomed to would change drastically and I would be too lost to deal with it. Something new. Something different. Paradox for the fucking win.

It's starting, even amid confusion. In a way, I think I love HER more than I did when I was with her. So odd.

I may be ready to end this particular warping of the cycle and transform it with as much grace as I can muster into the beautiful act I know it can truly be.

She never truly left

I fill my head with beautiful thoughts, inspiring ideas. Empowering to combat the disempowering train I ride now through a long night with an end too far for me to see yet. I really need to have an in depth talk with the conductor. I think of Rumi's quote: "Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest."

I watched Anne of Green Gables yesterday. I read through the Maya Angelou book Manny got me for Christmas. I listen to music that gets me higher than any chemical drug. I think back to all the times I felt beautiful and loved by others, those times that confirmed the reflection I saw staring back at me was smiling from a place in her soul and not just stretching the corners of her mouth for appearances. I miss her and I know she is waiting inside of me to come back out.

While others may have left my life, she never truly left with them even though it feels like that right now.

Struck open for the moment.

Something inside of me shifted just now. Something that was locked up tight released in a movement that could echo the grace of a magician's waving hand. Maybe it is magic in a way, considering the landscape. It is a momentary illusion that triggers full force an entire rethinking of reality, inspiring creative action. If the release could be audible anywhere else but inside, the sound would have been loud enough to vibrate the marrow in my bones.

Perhaps the most astonishing part of this unexpected magic trick is my heart and mind. They feel OPEN at the moment, so open that it feels like I'm breathing through them. While I stand witness in shock, there is a message waiting patiently for me to shake off my stupor. There it is, strung loosely like a scroll between head and chest: "I am still so full of love."

What a message. The reality of that hit me like a supernova flash, silenced in space. It trips me out. Here I thought I was full of hurt and shit. Mierde. Hell, one small but purely emotional part of me would even admit to believing I was worth the shit I thought I was full of. Now, suddenly, I realize with an intense strength that such a belief is not true at all. It seems almost foolish to have believed it but then again, it is not hard to understand why.

I feel another shift and now I'm like a bird flying over scarred land. From this high up, it is easy to see the whole picture objectively, recognize it not as awful or wonderful or in disconnected sections of rubble to pick through - just simply for what it is with minimal label-based artifice. The craziest part is that it's all beautiful from up here, damage, death, destruction, and all. Maybe I've just been so crazy inside I hit the end of the spectrum that loops back around into the sanity end. Crazy and sane describe the same "thing" at different points anyhow. Funnily enough, I somehow feel the "thing" I'm thinking of doesn't belong on a crazy/sane spectrum either.

For now, I will push the self-doubt aside and embrace the moment of clarity - of love even - and just be tonight.

Stretched

My heart and brain are stretched and sagging from releasing the weight of our relationship. Dali's paintings make more sense than ever.

The heart and brain cannot simply snap back into place. It will take time to heal from the damage. For now, I just have to roll up the soft, useless pieces to keep functioning.

I love her but we can't be together right now. Maybe never again. But no way to know at this point. I am committed to avoid making major decisions in my current state. The therapist agrees.

This is why ART exists.

There is a profound, sensual reaction that occurs inside of me when it comes to the littlest things, ideas, moments. Muscle fibers vibrate so finely, I imagine it being visually imperceptible even under the penetrating eye of an electron microscope. Rubbing against each other, these fibers generate a friction translated into a fiery energy pulsing through hands, arms, chest, throat, face and, sometimes all the way down to my toes. Goosebumps rise all over and I almost feel like I extend further than my body or that I'm going to explode. My body's response is why I think, secretly, the little things ARE the "big" things that truly matter.

Us humans are so ridiculously small when it comes to infinities and the cosmos. Maybe my body is just naturally mirroring my insignificance, a sort of validation to petition my sanity, my importance, my worth, my existence. Yes, as small and insignificant as you are, Chance, you do exist. Which leads to do any of us matter? Does anyone care? Why does it matter if they care? How can I/we define worth? Why the hell is that in important? More questions than answers. The body translates it into a sensation that is understood beyond the intellectual but rather difficult to bring back up to the mental realm for assessment, analysis. This is why art exists.

"You're in my way, sir."

I finally fell asleep after chatting bullshit with a friend. Woke up from a dream in which I was joking around with two guys I knew from high school. There was a lot of dream but the only part I remember is right before I woke up where I heard one of them guffaw behind me and we started doing the "You're in my way, sir!" bit.

Thanks Noah Antwiler, for somehow making it into one of my dreams. Also hilarious.