Guilt

There's a huge difference between knowing what is right and what you feel. The hardest times are when you know you're not seeing clearly because of some factor or another -- loneliness, depression, sorrow -- but even being able to acknowledge those take a lot of courage. Much less summoning the strength to confront them. To actively heal them.

And what is easy, what is treacherous: to let yourself act driven by these demons. Complacency is one of the most dangerous human conditions. It's tempting sometimes to let yourself go, to reach out to be healed by something else, by someone else; but that kind of healing isn't. Isn't healing. Healing only comes from inside. Wholeness isn't about picking up pieces you search out, see, and insert perfectly into place -- ta-dah! Somehow it's about creating the pieces within, and lovingly filling in the gaps the way you'd patch something you care about...painfully, painstakingly. And when you shake out the results of your work, nevermind that it's a little wrinkled, a little stretched -- it's all yours, all yourself. And then you'll be proud enough to walk out with your head held high, and when you talk to people, hold them in your heart, you'll be whole enough to really see them. See them.

Here's to doing dumb things, dumbly. Here's to holding back by the barest scrape of the fingernail, to nesting regrets and shame; and finally, here's to looking yourself levelly in the eyes and embracing yourself with the complete faith and forgiveness you'd embrace an old, old friend. It's a little colder without those illusions draped on your shoulder; it's a little sharper to feel the wind tear through your emptiness of being. But seaons change, and when the crocuses come up you'll be the first to see them.

Empty.

Lately I've been feeling empty. Not in the sunyata self-less way, but in a strongly ego-centered way. Empty, but feeling the repulsive boundaries of myself with clouds of meaninglessness trapped in between. Empty, in the way of meaningless. Self-conscious emptiness -- that's the worst.

Sometimes I feel trapped between trusting that this is as good as it gets, and that there is something more out there to strive for. How do you reconcile those two for a liveable equilibrium? And even if the equilibrium is impossible, if it kills you to be and stay there, how can you not reach for it? We're always struggling with where we are, who we are. Identity is a constantly shifting mass of boundaries -- boundaries again. My boundaries, your boundaries. If I touched you, there would be no one who would not take notice; there would be no one who would feel the touch as their own, who would feel my hand as melded into their own boundaries, to the point of no boundaries at all. I think from there would come peace of mind.

I try to fill up the gaps with visions of myself, strong, impermeable, a steel-hearted warrior with a face of ice. I fill the gaps with music, music that opens doors in myself -- but then I drown myself in the music until I cease to feel anything at all, and the doors ease silently shut. I fill the gaps with contemplations of a clear conscience -- and then I breathe, feel the weight of my chest slide, shift a little, and plunge on until I forget to breathe at all. I fill the gaps with reaching for my friends; feeling the joy leap inside me like an unsteady frog when I see their faces. I feel the automan taking over, and by the end sometimes the emptiness is rejected, sent to exodus, no vacancy here in this unhabitable, full place in my heart. Other times I just don't know what to do, and I can't fall asleep.