Monday, November 07, 2016



By now, you know I know that you are here. I know you want to know something by hiding in the bushes, in the trees, in the leaves, in the shadows. You think by watching me, the one who watches, you learn something. But what do you do with that knowing? When you are over there, and I am over here, when we could be dancing cheek to cheek?

The cat dance requires a certain measure of consensual investigation. I look at you, you look at me. We move closer. I roll around, you sniff. You roll around, I sniff. Maybe we stay put. Maybe we rub the tops of our heads on fingers and hands. Maybe we skittle away and tentatively return. But I am a cat. This is how I dance. A cancerous cat with the wings of a dragon and the light of an imploding star, behind my eyes, haven't you seen how I dance?

So, slowly come out. It's okay. I won't bite. I do bite, and that's why I won't.

Of course I'm trying to be a better person, and by that, I don't just mean morally. I mean, all-around. I am not perfect. I don't want you to be. I don't need you to be. What's perfect, anyway?

I know you want to know things. Feel things. Understand why the pain takes drugs, or liquor, or words, or hugs. Why it's preferable to forget rather than remember, or remember when it's preferable to forget. Do I take drugs? I take the pain. I give it away, and it goes. Don't you want to learn this, too?

I am there, standing in the midst of all my temptation and torture, and I am not shaken and I am not destroyed. I have had to learn this lesson so weirdly, that if you, or anyone, had told me that I would find a way out of my FEAR through baptism into death, that I'd roll my eyes inside but stay smiling outside. It takes the weird path to teach you how normal, how sane, you are. It's all of them that are crazy.

You, there, shy and unseen, you are normal. Undeclaring, and yet we both know that I see you, even if I have to now smile on the outside and hold back all the things I feel like saying, suggesting, asking, learning. I put everything out there except for the pulse. I do that, because I am unsure and uncertain, but my hope points to the reality that our pulses, our beating of soul and heart, are more like waves and music than collisions and fragmentation. So I show you, any one of you, what I see in myself, because if you are willing to share with me so much, I ought to be willing to share as much with you.

And we figure out the cat dance from there.

I need your friendship. If we knew how to understand what it is to be a friend, maybe we'd not feel so lonely while so surrounded. But me, I like friends and friendship, but there are some things I do like more. And that's where life beyond fear makes it so strange how often we demand of each other that we never acknowledge the possibilities, the pathways, any of us create alongside another.

And that silence, that caution, is so very much like hunting, so very much like distraction, so very much like stalking, when silence from an abundance of caution is more like hoping. Imagining a crack in those walls holding it all back will be large enough to carry the flood when drip, drip, dripping won't ever do. We humans build these dams and cause these floods; naturally, our calling is to flow, and so we balance the forces, and we forget why it was deep in our collective past they built those walls to keep the water from touching the ground, the ground from touching the air, and the human from touching the human. Let me remind you: sometimes the flow will kill us all.

Being a better person means slowing down when my manic hunger for the full expression of life requires I seek out all those who want to rip apart convention and institute subtle revolutions, who'd like to do it with occasional abandon into breathlessness. But don't kill us now.

In the calm peace of settling, now that that part is out of the way, the even more fascinating sharing of life comes from opening up more vulnerabilities, more strengths, more truths, more capacity for the liberation that comes from knowing you meant something to me, me to you, us to us, and our self to our self. You know, and I know, that this is really about what you learn about what you are capable to do, even willing to do, and maybe even from the mistakes we will make gain wisdom, gain contact, shed skins, sprout souls.

It is laughter, joking, holding back tears, holding back hair, messing up and apologizing to the night, waking up with spittle and crust, and redshot eyes hallucinating sleep. Becoming a better person takes hard work. Pick up a rake, the leaves are falling.

But I can't do this alone. We need each other. This is why you come here, isn't it?

And so what if I'm not just talking to you, or you, or you, but all of you, all of us?

I am just as shy as you are, but I am not as hidden nor as afraid. It was always a matter of time for me, that you find me.

So, consider it. Sleep on it, dream on it, write about it somewhere. Just... think about it. I can go slowly.

But the slower you go, the older we'll be, and soon, when the doors all open and they start coming through, after then we likely will only see each other in the Elysium Field and reminiscence about these times, wonder why we never said anything this time, and after we inner-tube through the Underworld rivers and molten plains and softly land above on clouds made of mountains, look forward to making our mutual mistakes with each other, oh please hopefully, again and again and again.

Becoming our better selves is such hard work.

But we do not have to work it alone.

I'm not.

Join us.

Let us all learn how to dance cats.

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