Monday, May 31, 2010

A Year Ago

A year ago, exactly 365 days ago, I was the happiest of men. I know this for a fact because I left a record of my happiness in one of a dozen or so journals I keep. My happiness was unexpected, though desired, sudden and complete in ways that I still can't wrap my mind around. One year ago I found myself re-united with a woman who is maddening, beautiful and so filled with life that a smile from her... well, it was everything and the previous reach of my happiness was eclipsed again and again.

Such was my state a year ago to the day.

But try as we might, we could not screw ourselves to the sticking place, and what suddenly arrived, suddenly departed.

And since then I have been fucked. I allowed my response to the sudden arrival and sudden departure of that happiness to slowly grind myself into a serious fucking. It all has to do with one's sense of identity, one's image of one's self that is held before the eyes and you come to believe what ever it is you see there. Ruptures in that vision - sudden arrivals and sudden departures - can tilt the process, locking it up because you've been trying to make it do something it cannot do: move backwards in time.

Happiness, contentment, joy, satisfaction all leave echoes of themselves when they disappear, or slip away, and that echo is something of a siren's song calling you to the rocks. Odysseus plugged the ears of his men and had himself tied to the mast so as to have no chance of steering them to their doom. Circe, Odysseus' lover, a witch who had the power to turn men into animals, described what happens to those who follow the song:

"If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him home again, for they sit in a green field and warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. There is a great heap of dead men's bones lying all around, with the flesh still rotting off them."

I have warbled a great fucking for myself - the echo of my happiness joined to my desire to be with her again having the net effect of freezing me up, immobilizing me, turning my life into a fucked life.

* * *

UYL Rule #4: You know you're fucked when you spend all of your time looking in the rearview mirror.

* * *

We all suffer. It mostly has to do with love - our desire for it, the absence of it, the dying of it, the belief or lack thereof in it - and that is the very stuff of life. To ask to avoid it, to take a pass on it because the downside can be incredibly damaging to our sense of self, our identity, that vision held before our eyes, is to miss the very meaning of our days.

A hundred years ago someone very wise told me my purpose here on earth was the same as anyone else's: to learn to love God. I would change that some. We are here to learn how to love. How to give it, receive it and grow large enough in it to fold our losses in without ever being stopped by those losses.

You want to unfuck your life? Love it. Love it all. Even the parts that suck.

I chose to stay fucked because the maddening, beautiful woman wasn't with me. But I got that exactly backwards: she is with me still, part of me - I was the one who left myself on the side of the road.

And now I have some ground to cover.

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