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August 14, 2008

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I've been on this precipice for a few months now. Teetering on the edge of the place I retreat to, and hanging over the yawning chasm of that place in me that I know exists. That place of connection. That place of deeper bliss. My understanding has begun to eclipse my want for the worldly things, and in so doing has moved me along the path to my own self realization. An interesting place to be for me is this place of certain uncertainty. I want to take the ball and run, but as long as I want it, I can see that place within me receding. I let it go and it comes back again. When it's just within my grasp I lunge for it, and it dances away like a little pixie imp on its own turf. In and out, to and fro, back and forth we dance and I grow more and more…complacent? Patient? It's just like breathing. Everything is the breath in that way. Out of a confused state I draw from the only place that I can rely upon – that inner strength, that energy or fire that burns on the hearth inside me, the dance be the bellows and the flame roars up, the heat intensifying, burning more and more of me away.

"Whenever I had a falling out with my teacher," my teacher said, "it was the worst time of my life." Those words echo in my head, clanging around like a jumble of rusty scrap metal inside an empty dumpster. Why did he say that? Why were the last words he said to me, "Don't call me, I'll call you. Fuck you." Back and forth again with me, confusing instances, conflicting reminisces, my mind misses the making of senses, and I let go a little bit more. Am I being kicked out of the nest? Have I crutched my way in this safe place for too long, or just long enough? The guru's den – the place where my soul has been, racked and flayed, skinned of that thin definition of who I think of as me – has been shut away from me, and when I turn to face the world, one thought comes up: am I naked?

"Of course not," the inner narrative chimes in, "you've been decked out in the finest of fine. You've been decked out with the deepest divine. Don't waste another second on the 'woe as me's. Take the tools you see wrapped round your belt and get to work. This is what you were meant for." It's been such a long time since I've heard this voice, the voice that is me, my inner guide, a being I've known longer than my concept of happy birthdays, a voice filled with love and laughter and light hearted mayhem. The broken connection was the issue the whole time, squashed under the weight of my own flattery.

The first time I heard it, once again, a "Good day to you sir", and lo it begins, tears filled my eyes, and I grasped, greedily, for it. It danced away of course, and inside I howled. I was so close. I returned to my breathing. It's back, I can tell, so I'll just have to quell my desperation in sloppy grammar and inconsistent contradictions, and sync back up through synchronicity. "This is the direction in which you've been running, sprinting, tumbling, cartwheeling, willy nilly-ing, rolling, flying, free wheeling. Away from, but right into the arms of me waiting, the thirst never sating, while you were left debating your own fate. It was where you were living the whole time." My fate is me, not some further destiny where I meet my maker. I've met him. He's me. In the making.