We cry like anyone else.
Sometimes we wake up crying.
And oh, how glorious and deep are our tears.
We don't know subtlety or repression. We don't know half way or almost. When we cry it is the tears of one endless current pulling emotions in so the soul of all aeons can become even richer and more obscure. Looks like a liquid steel waif model in the mirror - like metal, too heavy to lift her eyes from gravity's floor.
When I am happy, or stressed or in love it is the same decible dialed on the reciever. This only goes to eleven.
I guess we are lucky then, those who know intensity and are too overwhelmed to hide it from their world, that the world likes to watch. It's like being hot branded from the inside out and it hurts and they buy a front row seat. They prime time tune in. They snap a front page photo. They hold their breath to hopefully hear through the walls even
one
genuine
wet
gasping breath catch,
hardly audible,
wept into the haven fluff of my silencing pillow.
Silencing Pillow
Hollywood, CA
Hollywood, CA
January 31, 2007
4 Comments:
For those who live real, for those who live intensely as bright, dancing flames - there can be all or nothing. There is no inbetween. There is fast and there is motionless. A void or the sum of everything.
It is a life of extremes, it is a life of momentary highs and often deep and sustained lows. Great joy, joy to mark one's life forever coupled with the possibility of grief and sadness that slice far deeper than any blade, even truth itself, the sharpest blade of all.
Most people are in the middle of the wave. A null state. Where the greatest ecstacy they feel is a mild swelling in the scheme of things and their tragedies are measured in hundreds of tears, not thousands upon thousands.
Is it worth it to be intense, to be extreme, to live on the razor's edge of epiphany and despair? I think so. As hard as it can be sometimes, it's real. It's life as we were meant to be. Everything else is a washed out, carbon copy of a copy of a copy existence. Because life is so real ... that's why it can hurt us so. What others dwell and delight in is illusion by comparison.
Do we blind ourselves to the greater mysteries because it's the path of least resistance, because it's easier, because it's the road more travelled?
I hope not. For myself, that is the Cage.
Have strength, sister in Chaos. I am with you. I believe you're on the right track, your burning spark that enflames the world around you, sets afire the world around you, transforming the static reality into dynamism ...
I hope my words can help you, give you understanding and solace.
Cailean.
Cailean, your words always speak directly to the point of impetus in my present being and do so so elegantly that their message is easily taken in. Thank you for remaining an optimist. I have found optimism the essential raw ingredient to any growth spurt onward or return from the depths. I wonder if optimists are born or created? I'm sure a bit of both is always weaving itself into that equation. The mind is an amazing, intangilble thing.
I was thinking the same, that they are both, born and created the optimist.
Thank you for your very kind words about the way I communicate - it is my most fervent desire to be understood but only a few people understand my words as you do. I must admit, I was quite overcome, in a good way, from your words here.
And well, optimism speaks of one's will - if one's will is negative, if one's aspirations are truly negative, irrespective of what one says - doesn't the universe listen to that instead? If we assume the world will collapse, the subconscious desire for destruction may be listened to instead of the weak ego that speaks otherwise.
But life, as in Chaos, is about creation and destruction. Neither aspect is positive or negative, but when it relates to one's self and one's journey through this ... sensation ... we probably should swim up sometimes for air. That is optimism for me.
Sometimes it is hard, when you've cracked your head open, and see reality as purely subjective, to subscribe, to choose any single one. As if one is more accurate than another.
But one can be more fun than another. Or more enjoyable. Or more productive. Or more adventurous.
I love me some hippies, but I consider myself far too darkly obsessed to be one. I don't believe that Love is the only way, but I defintely choose to agree with that reality when it gives me joy to do so. Which is often.
Not all the time.
But often.
I love me some hippies and I love me some love and I have come up for air, like you suggested, too.
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