the habit of being

I am forever inventorying all the things I have lost.

The things that I have lost include poetry and obsession, flights of ideas and the ability to alter my mental state for the sake of art. The things I have lost include sincerity and innocence and most of my ideals. The things I have lost include a baby and a sense of connection to my childhood. The things I have lost include my mind.

I read my old writing to try to get a sense of the edge of reason I once hovered on, the edge of beauty I’ve now become scared to approach. I realize that since I became such a pussy I only repeat myself. I must stop this eternal self-pity. I must look outside the window I lacked for so many months and have now, finally, been allowed.

It happens that, now, I often find myself wanting comfort more than good stories to tell. I do miss being intoxicated on the symbolism of things. I turn down love affairs I once turned my world upside down to have. Meekly, I stare at the floor and obtain the posture of the victim I no longer am and never was to begin with.

I think the way to find yourself is to lose yourself in something. For me it is easiest to lose myself in someone. I have learned that I must be so careful to whom I get close. Some people are not safe to get lost in. I seek only the embrace that is safety and perfect tenderness. I take in only that which is soft and delicate and lovely. But it is not enough; it will not revise my perception of the universe.

I would like to drop my persona from the fire escape, become one with the wind chime and the fluttering blue sarong I use for a curtain. I would like to extend myself, to feel colors and light through my skin. I want to touch God as if he were my lover.

Who else but God could love me more than I do?

Oh, to love the way I have loved. I have loved like opera. Else I could not have created such tragedy. Most of all, I am so terribly in love with myself. It is a terrifically doomed relationship, because those are the only ones that matter, the only ones that make any difference at all. I have given myself up for such drama. I have ruined myself for the want of such sadness.

If life is suffering, then those who have not suffered purely and completely have not had the entire experience of living. If there is nothing else here to dive into but pain, we must dive into it. Only from there can we start to release ourselves.

I talk about crying so much because crying is the defining act of humanity. What if hurt is part of the divine experience as well? Jesus wept.

Why should they tell us we should not be sad? Why should they tell us we should not be selfish? If we were not selfish, we could not understand why it is so important to care for others, we could not experience the bliss and the escape that giving brings.

There is no point in practicing so that you will no longer be sad. I will practice so that I will have the most whole and true and genuine and compassionate sadness that I can.