Friday, January 13, 2017

Friday, January 13th

I had two decent classes today. There is one student that I am not happy to have, because I can already see that his self-destructive attitude will wreak havoc. Or is it my own havoc? Freedom comes with different constraints every time.

After my classes, I spoke with one student today about life issues. This student confessed to me that suicide was something the student concerned recently. I confessed my own recent attempt. We talked some, and then we walked up to the student center. This student is someone already important to me. The confession was not expected, but the lonesomeness has always been evident.

There are many beautiful people in this world. They do not always know or understand how they are beautiful. But the world chews them in a way that strips the muscle from the flesh but leaves the skin as scars. They come to see only what could have been, come to see only the useless and the marred, come to see only what's left. They do not see how beautiful they are. They do not always know they can see their beauty.

I once told Colleen that I'm like the Nameless One in Planescape:Torment because his tattoo of Torment attracted other tormented souls to him. We end up living out the stories we read over-and-over, don't we? Whether we mean to or not? Or do we prophecy these things in order to fulfill them with time? Whether we mean to or not?

I don't know, anymore, whether I think the issue of "free will" versus "determinism" is an issue or a versus. It doesn't feel like either. But what I do feel like, this choice to let go into the void within myself when I am as sober and present and enmeshed into myself as I can be, I feel like that choice is a constant and unending presence of being amazed that I exist at all. If I manage that, then the underlying Thing who lives out that life can make its own choices through me, and I laugh or cry with it. I rage with it. I fly with it. I sink down into the burrows of hatred with it. I lay out soft in the repose of joy with it. It knows what it wants. I am choosing to live with it.

  But who am I?

You say you are a lot of things, and the story changes; as you evolve, you change it. Like JorJor rewriting the past through rewriting the present. Isn't that what they say? The one who controls the past controls the future. If they, or We, rewrite the past, your past, they, or We, rewrite your future.

  And since I'm a story character . . .

You are more prone to this danger than others. More susceptible.

  When did I start to lose the past? When did we all forget who we were, and why are we waking up into this time, into this world? The sky is broken. Look at it. I remember it was blue.

I don't want anyone to die. But I know it happens. I don't want someone to take their own lives. Certainly not when their beauty has not even been truly seen for all its growth and maturity and fruiting and withering. All beauty must wither if it is natural. All beauty must age in order to become fully itself. I want people to understand this. I want to understand it myself. I want people to live in such a way that they choose to endure for this life, to learn this lesson about why we are flesh and why we are stars, why we eat flesh and why we eat stars.

I don't know if that makes sense. It probably sounds alien or irrational or insane. At the very least, unusual.

But the idea is simply this: we were born to blossom and wither. Our ideas are born to blossom and wither. Our worldmaking is born to blossom and wither. While undergoing this, make as many connections as you can with the direction you feel inside. If you do not feel a direction, then risk the unusual at least once. Evolve.


Into love. Follow attraction. Follow gravity.

Then change it. Change the story.

Change how you write the story of your life.

Write the change you need into your life.

And it starts by rewriting the past—

—let your scars be your tattoos.

Like the face on the Moon is Hers.


  1. When you follow the pull but get met with more scares or worse, nothing. What then? Can change be made of that?

  2. What do you mean by 'nothing'? You mention scares or worse: worse emotions, worse feelings, worse outcomes, worse repercussions, worse responses. My mind fills in the spaces with all kinds of possibilities, and I'm learning to not trust my projection as much as I used to.

    I mean, a scare is, I think if you mean the feeling of fright or emotional concern that comes from an unexpected and likely unwanted outcome from one's "following the pull," a response from within. It's not nothing. Well, it's not nothing to me. When I am scared, I learn something about myself, my choices, my will, and my friction within the flow. Not all of the times I've been scared ended up poorly. Or ended up with nothing.

    I don't know how to answer your question well, Anonymous. I want to help. Or, at the very least, have a conversation. I guess, I'm saying, tell me/us more, as you feel inclined without revealing too much of what you want to keep obscure/unknown.

    But, to speak generally, nothing is a great guide to learning about what you are capable of being and doing. That is, if you thought or expected an outcome, and the outcome within yourself was "nothing," then there's a disconnect.

    Even the ordinary "mundane" experiences of living as a human —breathing, hearing the citybeats, coughing, swallowing a build-up of nasal drip in your throat, putting on a shoe, turning the head towards what sounds like a cat or a small child, how it feels to turn the page in hardcover book from the early 20th Century, listening to the clicking of the turn signal in an older model Chevy truck— all these things and more don't feel like nothing on the inside. At least, they don't feel like nothing to me. Do they feel like nothing to you? I'm not you, so I can't say for sure.

    I'm trying. I'm sorry if this all seems pedantic or irrelevant or overwhelming. My mind is plastic and molds to the meanings people suggest to it, but it does so when there's traction and friction. You could say, it wants to follow the pull of your sense, but isn't sure what ways you want to pull it.

    Pull me. Change is a reality and a constant. We have some capacity to learn how to flow, and so become a part of change occurring at different scales —or layers of reality, for me. Not all of the ways we join a flow already in progress are conducive to our own flowing, its flowing, or the great flow.

    I don't know if I am making any sense here. I am saying, I want to communicate. I feel there's many answers we can give to your question, not all of them helpful, not all of them harmful. But how we come to these answers will indicate how we flow, you and I and them, all of them out there.

  3. I was a bit melodramatic. My loneliness gets the best of me at times.
    I'm not talking about the self, exactly. The mechanics and reactions, the learning and listening, the emotions and finesse of living and paying attention to the dings and crunches are not nothing, even the most mundane of experiences.

    I do mean an unwanted outcome from the pull. Or better, push following the pull. What then, when someone pushes back against these experiences? The worse being when there is no push. I'm met with that nothing.

    You make sense. Maybe it's best to describe the nothing as feedback. Getting nothing back when I follow gravity within myself, sometimes from myself and sometimes from others. Not mistakes but not answers. Like, upgrading from a hamster wheel to a maze with no out. Does that make sense?

  4. Melodrama is okay. You can see I get very melodramatic sometimes on here.

    I'm sorry, though, that you are lonely. I don't know if there is a cure or an amelioration for it, since we can be so lonely even when surrounded by well-wishing loves.

    Is it okay if I answer for what has happened with me? If not, just skip all this. 😃

    When I was very young and in 5th grade, I fell in love with a girl named Jill. I held onto that love for many years while she was in a different pod but in the same grade. Lost all track of her during those years. I wished on a star that we would be together. I remember looking up through the car window and wishing that, on Bobby Jones Parkway in Augusta. When we eventually fell back together into the same homeroom our freshmen year (!!), I was so nervous to talk with her. We eventually, somehow, got to talking again.

    She was completely different from the ideal set in my head. We talked during lunches mostly. Maybe she saw it, maybe I felt the need to brings things to confrontation. But I remember standing in the hallway outside the lunchroom, with her bending over at the waist and laughing, turning red, and her look in her eyes when she met mine again. It was a complicated emotion, but in it was incredulity. She kept asking me in a dismissive way "Why? How could you?" and telling me "No, no you don't." Completely different from the ideal in my head, but the ideal in my head was just simply being able to look someone in the eye and feel complete acceptance and complete interest reflected inward to mine. (Mystery, coyness, intense desire, joyful delight: all these things came later.)

    So, anyway, I guess it's not important how all that unfolded, but I haven't had any contact with her since I saw her, with short red hair and same red lips, at a Walmart cash register about five years into my first marriage. Something that was intense and drove so much of my willpower that I felt compelled to trust on a distant and tiny light to burn like me for our shared future means nothing at all to me, except what the memories recall for me when I focus in on them.

    But, yeah, there was nothing there in the end, for me to hold onto and gain ground upon.

    I see it like this, if you take out further this metaphor I use for thinking of love as the gravity beneath you, as that which makes you fall.

    What you love is what you come to see yourself "standing upon" or "standing for", or "resting upon" or "resting within", or "laying with", or, in the end, it is that to which you give over the material of your body, in our death and burial into it or with the consensual transformation of your body into it.

    In my mind, I see the planet beneath me, my adopted mother, as holding me up over the parafinite void beneath me. If she were not there, I would fall like those characters in every platformer video game into an endless open expanse with the occasional 'platform' I collide with on the way down. She holds me up over that abyss. For that, I love her and serve her survival. Of course, she herself falls in her own way towards whom she loves, but she has in some way learned how to fly through that love over the void. And the She whom she loves Herself knows even more how to sail through the many loves She feels drawing Her across the endless open expanse. And yet we all, like every part of Hers and of hers make them into Who and into who they are, make H^er who S^he is, just like all the parts of u∨s make them w∨ho they are.

    For me, this suggests that if you feel the earth crumbling beneath you, like one of those quivering platforms Mario lands on, then that is the time to jump again, or else you might ride that love all the way downward to an unknown edge that instantly means oblivion. ( —an event horizon, maybe?)

  5. While I was initially meaning the above commentary about love and the pull in the context of the spiritual —what god or Beyondgod pulls you is what befalls you in a moment of reckoning, or something like an event, or in a conversion crisis, or whathaveyhou— I think it does work as a metaphor for erotic love, for a love that seeks ultimately a union of deepening modes of unifying to accomplish as much identity as possible with the beloved.

    The vacuum provides no resistance, right? A beloved who offers no resistance is a tissue or a bubble's film we pass through when we keep falling towards what is actually pulling us through them. And, by resistance, I mean more like the way the earth resists our feet and asses in order to cradle us, even in the lessons about human will and frailty we find in the labors we must perform to survive. I like the way LeGuin's narrator says in Lathe of Heaven "Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new." Colleen and I love through and with our resistances, because sometimes I need her push to move me, nudge me, or drive me towards our harmonious dance about one another. If I fell right through her, like she were nothing, I'd never be able to say, in the end, we really did love one another.

    Likewise, if in my fall towards what pulls me through the endless open expanse I am drawn to the side, sometimes those swerves wrap around enough to swing me around again and again, and we orbit, but the orbits decay, and the pull lessens, and then we release the majority of the draw, but still a trickle lasts so long as we are not captured by another greater draw. Or, the draw is not enough to change significantly the eccentricity of my overall capture.

    I guess I can pull out a lot from a metaphor, but it's all over how I've been writing about this for many months now, come to think about it. I just haven't had to focus on it this way, so thanks.

    I don't know how well this imagery will help in your particular case, since the hamster feels the escape from the maze entirely different from how the rocks and balls and nebulae feel the tumble and spin and disintegration. But, I will say this, and maybe it's some small consolation (?): every hamster I owned loved running in the wheel. It was as though they were addicted to it and actively strove to get in the wheel and make it move, no matter how sadistically I stopped the wheel or slowed it down (like when I needed sleep!!! 😠). And mazes? They loved endless tubes, tunnels, walls, holes inside tubes connected to holes inside boxes. Provide food and water, and they explored and slept, explored and slept.

    If you feel like the hamster, then be the hamster. Learn to go mad with biting at the bars of your cage. Squeak the hell out of that wheel to make someone slip up and reach in and bite them. Gnaw every corner and scratch every floor until you find a way out. Use your mouthpouch to gather energy and bedding and pick a corner that's yours. And mate frequently, with everyone, and anything, even yourself.

    Eventually, someone will grab you by the scruff of your neck.

    But weren't they always, no matter how you crawled the maze?

    I don't know. What do you think?

  6. I'm not sure. I've been thinking that maybe loneliness isn't the problem. It's that no matter where I run, I come back to the same places with the same feelings. I'm becoming uncomfortable with the comfortable. It's something inside me that belongs there it just doesn't belong outside of me, maybe.
    I think maybe, I share too much of whatever the it is and exhaust the ones around me. Or maybe that's just my perception and it's not actually true.

    Be the hamster. My new mantra. Thanks ;).

  7. What are those places and those feelings?

    I think I understand the uncomfort of the comfortable. I was (am?) an Armybrat, and moving around and losing attachments was part of my childhood. Then during the ten years I was first married, we moved quite often, with major moves every two or so years. It got to be such a rhythm. Is it wanderlust you're describing or something more?

    Sometimes we do exhaust the people around us. I don't know who you are or what your life is really like, but I see how I exhaust my people. I think this is the nature of being a darkstar, sometimes. The gravity pulls in people, and if they do not have sufficient mass in themselves to dance, they get crushed by the intensity.

    Is it something like this?

  8. You do. I'm just hiding.

    Wanderlust of the mind into others, is more accurate I guess. My ups and downs change my way of thinking and today I'm having a good day so I don't know if I can articulate this well.

    Earlier, when we were talking about the pushing and pulling and I said that there was no push back and I was met with nothing was the problem. I think it's more of me doing the pulling away from my peoples resistance and I exhaust them in this way and many more. I can easily snap the connection and pull away from it. I do that because I keep coming back to these same feelings and experiences of unfulfillment, maybe?

    Like, throwing 10, 20, 30 different strands of string together in a box and all of them staying out of each others way. Everyone stays intimate but untangled. But the tangling is what pushes against my soul. Does that make sense? I don't mean making a mess of things and emotions but traveling deep and entangling souls together so it becomes one continuous string that makes a ball of yarn. The kind where you pull the string from the center of the ball, that's it.

    Instead, I'm met with a latch hook design. Everyone is still making something and complimenting each other which is still good and meaningful but the it inside me can't seem to be at peace without exploring the ins and out.

    When I go exploring everything crashes to a halt. A crashing I create I'm sure. Every time I reply, I realize I know less and less.

  9. Yea, it's something like that.

  10. It sounds like you want, instead of a knotty tangle, a blending of the threads so that they become themselves one much larger thread in a skein.
    {I looked up 'skein' to see if that's what you're describing (the ball pulled out from within), and I notice this word also used for naming a flock of fowl, specifically. Waterbirds in flight. Something similar enough about fowl flying and strings untying . . .?}
    I really don't think that's going to happen with just jumbling the box, though. I mean, maybe it'll take a certain kind of box, a box-machine that takes the threads and slides them along each other in such a way that they do become stronger and bound together, for a while, unless they get afraid at the ends.

    Maybe there is a way of thinking about the strength of slipping alongside each other that's a way to resolve this: a strong bond without the "tangle" comes from allowing more and more of yourself to unthread alongside their unthreading? Slipping along one another is neither pushing nor pulling.

    What does it look like for souls to slip along one another's unthreaded souls? It seems like it's a willingness to become part of that larger thread, the thickness of a larger soul.

    Is the latch hook design uncomforting because it is, in a way, constrained to a particular pattern, whereas you prefer the peace of exploring other ways of bringing threads and strings together?

    Why is that peaceful in your mind, though? Is the pursuit for finding peace or is the peace you think will come a by-product/side-effect/epiphenomenon/extra feature of the pursuit of the strings or pursuit of the inner within people themselves?

    If your gravity crushes people, if exploring crashes, then it's your own wall and your own draw that does this. You 'create' this, but that doesn't have to mean it's intentional. If you intentionally crash/crush people, be honest with that: is that what you think you are "meant to" be? If you do not want to do that, where withdrawal is both protecting them and yourself, loneliness is part of the path of virtue.

    Until you find people who get and understand your "event horizon" and how to choose wisely whether to cross it or not, to fall into you with the knowledge in their bones that they will never come back, in which case you might not be so lonely. You might also find people who orbit around you, and maybe you slowly both siphon and shed the trailing exhaust of your mutual attraction, all those X-rays and gamma bursts and mass ejections killing lower life forms in their wake.

    Some people do that, too. It's a big universe with small gods all throughout it.

    I think I'm babbling, but maybe there's something in this to burp up an idea.


Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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