Among the trees there’s a place to sit and watch the water move. It falls as one and lands as thousands. Never permanent but always changing, each moment gone as soon as it is born. What if human life were so chaotic? A series of impermanent stochastic changes? But it is. Each heartbeat is unique. The two-hundred-and-eighteen-million-six-hundred-and-forty-nine-thousand-six-hundred-and-first breath is nothing like the two-hundred-and-eighteen-million-six-hundred-and-forty-nine-thousand-six-hundredth, and the two-hundred-and-eighteen-million-six-hundred-and-forty-nine-thousand-six-hundred-and-second may not even come. We are chaos, like water falling on stone.
Every other day I’m the king of the world. My mind ignites like a combustion engine and ticks like a finely-crafted clock. Every other day the world stands still. A part of me dies and waits to be born again on the morrow. The extra half I chose to take
To save myself for my own self’s sake Its added weight appeared to lighten The deepest darkness seemed to brighten But as time passed I began to feel That parts of me this cure would steal My sense of touch, my sight, my taste Even my love would dissipate It’s true that piece removed some doom But what is gained when I cannot move? Though in lightness I may suffer At least I myself can try to buffer. So I reject you half, I won’t oblige I will not let you take my eyes. Wrest no more control from me; With my own lungs the air I breathe. Wind and cold air. Bring me back to childhood. To walks with my father, dog nearby.
Healer, we scattered your ashes in a place you love. Goodbye, friend. What is behind the closed marble door, sealed shut with moss and earth?
I read the names as I walked past, and I saw the faces of the dead. And for most of the older ones I thought, “It’s normal that you’re there, since you lived a long life.” For the middle-aged, “A pity your life was cut short, since you probably had more to give.” For the young, “A tragedy it is that you are here, since your life was hardly lived.” They all lie beneath the ground or in ornate chambers for the same reason. They stopped living. But so strange to think that equal though they are, they are not the same. Stranger still that their deaths mean nearly nothing to me, but so much to a handful of others. And yet there I contemplated the dead relatives of strangers. I wonder what they’d have thought of me staring at the final resting place of their father, their sister, their son. Do you remember white light on black water?
We sat on concrete and watched ripples switch between poles; black, white. Warm evening air How I love this moment. I wish you could know the intensity with which I am experiencing your voice, your smell, your eyes green blue. I hang on every sentence your words enrapture. Cruel memories,
speak of feelings never felt. I live two steps ago; the present an insufferable transition as I wait for it to become an embellished history from which confused joy flows. Cruel memories, lie as soon as you're made. I don't want to miss that sunset evening on steps where the land ends and the sea begins. I don't want to beautify tortured moments of silence with moonlit waves consuming rocks. Cruel memories, I will never forgive you for the incessant warmth you create in my heart, selectively destroying traces of monotony with beautiful narratives of life lived well. Do I really need you?
I thought I’d put some distance between us, but I feel you creeping up on me. Stalker. The days are growing shorter, they're getting colder, and I spend too much time in my mind. A weight bears down and the world slowly closes as I’m forced into the ground. These days you look more attractive. Promise me escape, promise me it’s in my head. Come into my blood, take control and blunt me again. Tortuous days and nights I’ve spent considering my worth in my own eyes and in the eyes of others. Finally, two conclusions: (i) I can deceive myself and (ii) I can multiply.
ONE. Appropriate self-evaluation lies between two pathological extremes; narcissism at one end, chronic self-deprecation at the other. Convince yourself you lie closer to narcissism and your self-worth troubles are over. TWO. One’s worth in the eyes of others is more changeable than self-evaluated worth. I always used to avoid putting on different faces because I thought it was deceitful. Now I see it’s essential. I can be a hundred people in a week. The worth people assign me is less important than that which I assign myself, since at any one time they judge just one of my personas. I can discard an identity whenever I want, and in so doing discard its judgement, positive or negative. Next time I’ll use a different one. I’m coming around to the idea of accepting my many forms. I’ll find a place between self-deprecation and narcissism and be content. I see cracks opening and blood coming out
you wait at doors for an opportunity to pass stare into dark rooms looking for light you question, clarify, doubt. Your body tenses at touch, your daily struggle: Discomfort, exhaustion, fear. I am your witness; I understand you, I hate you. |
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