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in power we trust the love advocated
Nov. 14th, 2015 03:43 pmi feel like i need to be better about experiencing experiences while i am experiencing them. probably everyone feels like that to a degree, or if not that exactly something very much like it. we are all of us always cutting into cutting away from cutting up ourselves, severing necessary nerve endings and interpersonal connections, taking ourselves that much more out of the moment by obsessing about how we are not really in the moment at all.
entering into the now is a sort of trance and, as previously established, i’m not great at those. don't anticipate and don't recall. disassociate yourself from all prior associations. don't perform for anyone. don't judge your behavior. don't worry about your appearance, your safety, your checking account balance. just be in the moment. don't concern yourself with who or what or where or how. don't even contemplate "when." these are all concepts that push you outside of the now. not reality, but your resource-intensive synthesis of reality, that which takes so much time and energy to support you'll never manage enough of a letting go for a good drift. all my life i've been praised for my awareness, my presence, my powers of weird observation and it could be this is the very thing that's destroying me slowly. not being able to forget. not being able to let go. not being able to now.
there's an end to the questions, woman. there's a point at which a question turns back on itself as an answer. if i need to ask if i am loved in a situation, and i need to ask that enough times in enough ways it should start to become apparent to me that no, there is not love in this situation, love is distinct from attachment, haven't i figured that out yet?
and the answer is of course i have. at so many times, in so many ways. but with regard to certain issues i can't jive the logic, the logic doesn't stick, i need to clean and appropriately condition the working surface for that and it's a terrifying prospect with a far-reaching kingdom of negative emotional experiences.
except never dealing with it is so much worse. such matters breed, in the dark hidden corners, under the sofa cushions of one's subtle housekeeping. one anxiety met with one unresolved matter of guilt can lead to some horrible infestations. compromised structure. slow, inevitable implosions. o my god o my god. why have i forsaken me.
it's strange how a thing seems to be going one way when in truth, it surrenders its opposite. like how many of the things you insist on doing to make yourself feel better actually make you feel worse. addiction. compulsion. escapism. sloth. presuming to build our safe havens and strongholds out of matchboxes and toothpicks while our most regrettable enterprises rise re-enforced from masterful foundations, sure to still keep out the winter chill in a century’s time. really, at times, i marvel that such ignorant beings are left to manage their own lives, moreover significantly influence the trajectory of others.
as i wrote (scrawled) in a writing i've been meaning to edit into workable form, many of the things my brain does in attempting to comfort itself are dreadful. scrubbing salt into the wound is much too gentle, as allegory goes. the most comforting fantasies, the ones i slide into like the best lover, they're the sort of stuff that, should i indulge in them too much, can (and have) spiral me into self-loathing and despair. that much more, i push myself away from the things i might need to heal: and those things? seem ill fit and unappetizing. boring, at best. i mean, what the hell, judith? why do you do this to yourself? unfortunately, and you knew this had to be the case, there are some things that i write (scrawl) that i can't stand to even look at again because jesus fucking christ and that's not even the worst of it, on those pages.
i need to call on the duende, channel the creative spirit towards its own end, bite my own tail into a regenerative cycle, something climbing out of itself if only into something deeper and more strange than even this most recent cycle of introspection has proven to be: but what if i am missing something? i mean something significant? i mean something like the entire point of why things have gone the way they've gone of late, what i'm supposed to recognize, what i'm supposed to finally see?
entering into the now is a sort of trance and, as previously established, i’m not great at those. don't anticipate and don't recall. disassociate yourself from all prior associations. don't perform for anyone. don't judge your behavior. don't worry about your appearance, your safety, your checking account balance. just be in the moment. don't concern yourself with who or what or where or how. don't even contemplate "when." these are all concepts that push you outside of the now. not reality, but your resource-intensive synthesis of reality, that which takes so much time and energy to support you'll never manage enough of a letting go for a good drift. all my life i've been praised for my awareness, my presence, my powers of weird observation and it could be this is the very thing that's destroying me slowly. not being able to forget. not being able to let go. not being able to now.
there's an end to the questions, woman. there's a point at which a question turns back on itself as an answer. if i need to ask if i am loved in a situation, and i need to ask that enough times in enough ways it should start to become apparent to me that no, there is not love in this situation, love is distinct from attachment, haven't i figured that out yet?
and the answer is of course i have. at so many times, in so many ways. but with regard to certain issues i can't jive the logic, the logic doesn't stick, i need to clean and appropriately condition the working surface for that and it's a terrifying prospect with a far-reaching kingdom of negative emotional experiences.
except never dealing with it is so much worse. such matters breed, in the dark hidden corners, under the sofa cushions of one's subtle housekeeping. one anxiety met with one unresolved matter of guilt can lead to some horrible infestations. compromised structure. slow, inevitable implosions. o my god o my god. why have i forsaken me.
it's strange how a thing seems to be going one way when in truth, it surrenders its opposite. like how many of the things you insist on doing to make yourself feel better actually make you feel worse. addiction. compulsion. escapism. sloth. presuming to build our safe havens and strongholds out of matchboxes and toothpicks while our most regrettable enterprises rise re-enforced from masterful foundations, sure to still keep out the winter chill in a century’s time. really, at times, i marvel that such ignorant beings are left to manage their own lives, moreover significantly influence the trajectory of others.
as i wrote (scrawled) in a writing i've been meaning to edit into workable form, many of the things my brain does in attempting to comfort itself are dreadful. scrubbing salt into the wound is much too gentle, as allegory goes. the most comforting fantasies, the ones i slide into like the best lover, they're the sort of stuff that, should i indulge in them too much, can (and have) spiral me into self-loathing and despair. that much more, i push myself away from the things i might need to heal: and those things? seem ill fit and unappetizing. boring, at best. i mean, what the hell, judith? why do you do this to yourself? unfortunately, and you knew this had to be the case, there are some things that i write (scrawl) that i can't stand to even look at again because jesus fucking christ and that's not even the worst of it, on those pages.
i need to call on the duende, channel the creative spirit towards its own end, bite my own tail into a regenerative cycle, something climbing out of itself if only into something deeper and more strange than even this most recent cycle of introspection has proven to be: but what if i am missing something? i mean something significant? i mean something like the entire point of why things have gone the way they've gone of late, what i'm supposed to recognize, what i'm supposed to finally see?
