this edge this feathered edge this edge of light, this edge of prismed light. this edge in leaded glass, this edge in a dense mirror. this edge of my identity, this edge of boundary, this strange unknown edge of who i could be. where the anger begins, because sometimes the anger doesn't seem to come from inside of me. where the anger comes from, because sometimes it seems like the anger is a pre-existing shape i can lock into in the physical world. we are all sometimes taking shapes of emotion that already exist in the external world. we are all often taking the shapes of emotions that already exist in the external world. we are all falling into patterns we never made, only endorsed, only supplicated ourselves to. oftentimes we are not angry, but enacting someone else's anger. oftentimes we are not happy, but wearing the attitudes of long-dead clowns.
the one consistently originating emotion, the one emotion that tends to identity us as unique, the one emotion we create, this is love. love shapes us. love gives us the true shape of who we are. love is a true emotion, so when we feel deep love we might be feeling something true. in the service of deep love, other emotions also become true: we are as we were as we always will be. anger in the service of love. happiness in the service of love. quietude in the service of love. fear in the service of love?
i’ve long believed that the shadow presentation of love isn’t hate, isn’t indifference, isn’t apathy, but fear. the author respectfully requests that you please hold all donnie darko references until the post has come to a full and complete stop. because this isn’t about abolishing fear. this isn’t about evolving past fear. fear is pretty damn important. it's limitations, mortality, boundaries. it's what might be necessary to make you act on love. remember that a shadow presentation isn’t the opposite of a thing, but that which is brought into being as a consequence of that thing’s existence. some might say it’s the "bad" version, the "evil" version, the "unevolved" version, but thinking like that forces these qualities to behave as antagonists toward one another when really it’s more of a fertilizing irritation. the shadow of a quality is the challenge of that quality. the shadow initiates one toward seeing what is actually there instead of what one placates oneself with the idea of. the shadow initiates. look, fear exists because of love. fear can be love’s vehicle. what are you afraid of losing? who are you afraid of never talking to again? who have you witnessed experiencing fear at the idea of your loss? i’d ask ‘and how did that make you feel?’ but i have an awful lot to say about that so maybe another time.
is it love where we name ourselves? is it love that gives us our true name? or is it love like an excuse, love to excuse us from ourselves, from our lessons, from our responsibilities? is it love we wear as a mask to hide who we are from those who know better? love is an exposing thing so love should make you feel exposed. lit up from all sides. somehow scrutinized in your most private moments. maybe not? we're always starting over is the thing. individuals who love, we're always beginning again. if you are resistant to the idea of starting over from scratch on a minute by minute basis, if you don't like the idea of trusting someone enough to love them even though you'll never really know who they are, if the idea of that makes you yearn for the sweet ease of death, then maybe you don't know what love is about.
that's okay. someone will be coming for you later.
yet on another level, love, as a concept; love, as a word; love as an assumption; love as a bonus with purchase: this sort of love can just as easily be another shape we take, another shape we force ourselves into. a habit. an addiction. something with which to distract ourselves from the horrible inevitability of death. we’re looking to become a person, we’re looking to draw some boundary lines to make us who we most want to be: what better way to do that then with the chisel tipped stinky perceived permanence of love as a product for consumers? i’ve done that. i've been that person. i’ve lived in denial of love. i’ve said that word when i meant it in an entirely different context than what i let convey. not that it matters, because once you've known love, the nature of who you are when you are alone changes entirely. what you need in your connections? what you want out of an experience? all of that changes in accord, though you can certainly pretend otherwise. i've done that, also. i didn't understand that was what was happening, at the time: i didn't know, so i went a little nuts. maybe insanity is another true emotion. maybe insanity is a tool of love. if crazy, if acting crazy, if thinking crazy, if re-papering your bedroom walls with seventeen manners of i didn't think i could be any crazier than that, then love?
then love, but maybe not in the way you were expecting it to present. maybe not in that way where you ever actually bring that crazy to another individual. maybe not. sometimes love we believe is directed toward another is misfired love, love we intended to direct at ourselves. sometimes unrequited love is love we need to reclaim for ourselves. love renames us. love awakens us. love forces us to be true to who we really are. if love is truly love, it cannot be concealed forever; though plenty of individuals have ended entire incarnations with their caged up love breathing wet and heavy all over them deep into the night. plenty of individuals have lost control of their current incarnations because of love, love that killed them slowly, love that could have just as easily redeemed them, brought them into the light and shadow of walking with truth, of walking with love. it's okay, even if it isn't. either way, love will swing back around and be waiting for them the next time. death isn't a reprieve from love.
love is, in fact, stronger than death.
is love truth? truth is a tool one can use to find love. truth is one tool; longing is another, more unstable one; stillness another. stillness will let love ripple its surface. stillness will celebrate love with countless widening interlocking circles rippling out in every direction: and here is love here is love here is love and here again is love is love is love is love is love love love love, laced up and interlocked, a ring for every finger, a line at every cancerous throat. is cancer a tool of love? cancer has a certain absoluteness to it it that can resonate truth. but cancer causes strange behavior in a lot of people who generally seem perfectly capable of loving, so i don't think it's a s simple as cancer plus truth equals love: i think cancer plus truth equals fear, equals avoidance, equals grieving:
but listen. as it turns out, where there's grieving, there is love. if love, then grieving. there is no truer answer to what you love than what you mourn. listen, is there something that needs to happen here? listen, is there something i should know? i walk through the apartment in slight spring humidity, in strange, strange light. i carry the censor. i call the quarters. the quarters call back: the tickle down my ear canal, the stickiness far up my nose. i clear my throat. i walk my path. around every corner. over the hardwood floors. everything is salt and mystery, at least in the end. what is happening? why is it happening? why does this occur?