Spew from a nadir moment.

What to say when life brings constant upheaval, when I don't know what the fetch is coming next?

What to mention when some people read this blog whom I no longer wish to know much of my life?

What to leave out? What to reveal?

I feel off-balance; I may be adjusting. I am unemployed; I feel poor. I feel motivated to work for others' causes/lives far more than my own. I feel disconnected. I feel fear, which does not decide one way or the other whether I am cowardly or courageous in the presence of my fear, or both in turns.

I feel stuck, musty. Self-hobbling tendencies loom large. I feel like uprooting could be beneficial and yet cannot bear the thought of leaving. I no longer feel at home any place.

I feel single sometimes when I don't care to be; I feel settled for sometimes. I feel alternately perceived as dangerous and in danger of being flayed by the desires of others I feel unable to meet.

I am being ambiguous on purpose - see sentence two.

I wonder when wind will catch my sails again, when I will feel lift instead of crawling through each day shrunken, uncomfortable, and clueless.

And so it goes.

A dear friend dies by tree-crushing death, my grandmother dies from worn out parts. I'm not-so-happily unemployed.

March, why so negative?

These past 30 days have been exceedingly rough. I am coming unmoored. I hope to find ground soon.

Love & Loss' Differential Equation

The first person with whom I deeply experimented in romantic love recently got married. They'll be financially wealthy and have lots of babies together; I hope their shared life will bring them much joy and satisfaction.

Below is the Gibran poem excerpt included in their ceremony, which speaks to my heart:


Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
[...]
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

* * *

And this interpretation of Dante (via T.S. Eliot) describing the emotional calculus of love and loss typifies my current experience:

"'Be mindful in due time of my pain'
Then dived he back into that fire which refines them."

More J. Webley lyrics: "Icarus."

These lyrics may read as tedious to you, but it is truly a great song and also feels quite pertinent to my state of mind these days -- on the days I feel particularly afflicted.

These words are a marker, a way to find one of the places I dwell of late within the landscape of the spectrum of the human psyche's experience.

* * *

I wake up every morning,
to the sound of motors roaring,
they are drowning out these voices in my head.
At night while I am sleeping,
I can hear the angels speaking,
but I can't recall a single thing they said.

I see their lips move clearly,
I feel their presence near me
but each word they try to tell me just slips through the cracks.
I push, I strain, I wrestle with my brain,
and then I hear a voice from somewhere whisper to relax.

I'll say a word for sickness,
she is my favorite mistress,
yes she knows my body like no other can.
My flesh and spirit keep colliding,
when her fingers are inside me,
oh my god oh my god lady I'm your man.
Fever flu malaria,
come near me do not spare me,
I just long to spend another night under attack.
I retch, I shake, I cry until I break and then I feel something release and I relax.

(relax)

I bang my head for days,
against these walls inside this maze,
I've never been to good at this damn kind of thing.
I'm in here with my father,
I'm just pacing but he's smarter,
he's been building a fantastic set of wings.
And like that I'm up and flying
with the labyrinth behind me
but I go to high the sun is melting through the wax.
It burns, it hurts, I tumble to the earth, and as I fall I feel myself relax.

Am I letting go?
Am I letting go?
I hope I'm letting go
I must be letting go.
Am I letting go,
I think I'm letting go
I've got to let it go
I wanna got to let it go,
Am I letting go,
I think I'm letting go
I gotta let it go
I wanna let it go,
I'm letting go
I'm letting go
I'm letting go,
you've got to let it go let go let go,
let go,
let go let it go let go let go let go let go,
let go.

I wake up every morning,
of sounds of motors roaring,
their still drowning out these voices in my head.
At night while I am sleeping,
I still hear these angels speaking,
but I can't recall a single thing they've said.
I see their lips move clearly
I feel their presence near me
but all their unearthly wisdom just slips through the cracks,
I push, I strain, I wrestle with my brain,
I retch, I shake, I cry until I break,
It burns, it hurts, I tumble to the earth,
and as I fall I feel myself relax.

A poet of my heart: Walt Whitman.

Oh you whom I often and silently come where you are
that I may be with you, as I walk by your side
or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
little you know the subtle electric fire
that for your sake is playing within me.