Sunday, July 15, 2012

It Matters To

It matters to me
Took a long time to get here
If it would have been easy
I would not have cared.

- My Morning Jacket, "Wonderful (The Way I Feel)

* * *

The greatest challenge in a fight is recognizing when it is over, when the slog has concluded, when the long hoped for, long desired, long dreamt end has come and the next thing can begin. Being practiced in suffering it is difficult, to the point of being crippling, for the fucked to lay down their weary tune, to recognize they have come home, come free, come to pass and the defensive posture that has been integral to surviving now has no use.

The fucked do not trust happiness, do not trust the end of their servitude.

Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bright air
Let the enchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years
Rise and look out; his chains are loosed, his dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
Singing: The sun has left its blackness and found a fresher morning
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night 


Oh, the fair Moon rejoices, my fucked friends. It rejoices every time one of the fucked brethren come to the threshold between life as it has been and life as it can be and then walks through. The fair Moon rejoices. 

O graziosa luna, io mi rammento che 

There is a test, if you will, one last labor before you can move through that door, before your life is truly unfucked. You have to let go of all that's held you together, that got you to this place. Every pain suffered and endured, every hurt that haunted and motivated you, every link on the chain has to be dropped, broken, left behind or you can't make it through. See, on the other side of your trouble there is no room, no place for the ephemera, all the accoutrements of your suffering, all you've gathered to carry yourself this far. 

It's gotta go. If you hang on to it, you'll drag your trouble with you, attached to you like a shadow, never leaving you. 

I get it, bro. I get it. You're so accustomed to atonement you don't how live without it, without carrying your mistakes and your regrets and your redemption with you like an albatross. I get it. It is part of our fuckitude; but I'm telling you upon your face, let it go. You have to trust yourself to figure out how to live without it. And get this, when you let it all go, all those lessons, all that miserably hard-won wisdom does not disappear. It become part of you. Unshakeable. You don't need to carry your determination with you, it is now cellular, lighter than air, the juice of your synapses.

* * *

I am scared, my brothers. I am scared my sisters. The hard road down, at least this section of it, is over and I'm going to miss it. I find myself on that threshold and I doubt I'll know how to live without the pain to push against, the determination to outlast my troubles. Can I be as determined in happiness? Will I know how to let my guard down and enjoy the fruits of my labors? Or will it always be labors and an inability to live at peace with myself?

There is always a choice, a final freedom left to each of us, and that is to choose how we live, how we respond to the circumstances of our lives. Like you, I must choose, and as scared as I am I choose to let it all go. I choose my children. I choose work. I choose an end to servitude. I choose to step through the door.

* * *

A flight of larks is called an "exaltation of larks."

All is cast to the wind, an exaltation of my ragged soul.

* * *

Boom. Boom. Boom.

__________

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