Thursday, September 30, 2010

No Imprint

A person's past is full of moments. Moments of splendor, love, excitement and treasure. For me, however, the shape my memory takes most often is the invisible toxic spectre of regret. I blame myself for so many things in the past, anger, self-righteousness, ignorance,and most of all, failure.
I often look through the window of my mind's landscape and wonder who that person was. How could this monster have been me? How could I have been so misled, so wrong?
In those moments I am overwhelmed by a thousand parasitic entities of shame, I lose all faith in myself, hope is squeezed out of the future, and I find myself in a kind of unshakable shock.
"Is all this mess I've created, is this what I was born for? To destroy, to hurt, to fail?"
I want to bang on that window, tell a hundred different past versions of myself to change, change before it's too late!
I want to save them from the complete lack of meaning I'm experiencing now.
And yet, I can't go back. I can change nothing in that past, so why do I so often find myself at that window.
I think the answer is simple, I can't forgive myself. I can't show myself mercy.
I'm struggling to learn to live in the now, to not transport my conciousness into expectations of what tomorrow should be, or demons of yesterday that I never should have been.
I'm trying to get to a place where I need nothing. Where I have no fantasies or hope. A place where I simply am. No identity, no voice, a shape that exists without imagination. A shape that leaves no imprint.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Burning

It seems now that spending even a short time in the sun causes me to get sick. Even a few moments leaves me feeling fatigued and makes my sinuses go crazy. I know what caused this...I just didn't expect the effects to be quite this drastic.
On labor day monday I went hiking in Palo Duro Canyon. The temperature at the bottom of the canyon was somewhere between 105 and 110 degrees.
To make a long story short, I suffered heat exhaustion, and was taken by ambulance to the hospital. I was well prepared with a lot of powerade, but that didn't help. I got into trouble really fast.

I'm not about to say I came close to dying. The truth is I have no idea. What I do know is, without Elizabeth, I wouldn't have struggled to hang on, I would have just let go. There were moments of peace in that dizzy, nauseating disorientation, laying in the dirt, in the shade of what I think was a mesquite bush, though my memory on that is foggy.
I guess the big question I'm left with is purpose. What is my purpose for being in this world? Maybe the purpose is to learn there is no purpose. There is no special fate that awaits me, no plan that steers my life. At least it doesn't feel like it.
I don't know. It's confusing. What kind of purpose would I want, what kind of purpose is enough?
The thoughts churn inside me, until I force them into silence. I tell myself to just stop thinking. That day, out in the sun, was just an event. There is no signifigance or meaning, unless I project one into it.
For the moment let me be at peace without purpose. I think the following says it best...

Saturday, September 25, 2010

The Beginning

It starts slow, like a single drop of water plummeting from the sky, or blood seeping through a small cut. It is just words, a means of venting out the darkness that tries to stagnate deep in the ominous labyrinth of my mind.
It's nothing profound, just one person's perception, voiced and forgotten.

I will be writing about all the things going through my mind, which by the way, is not reader friendly. The audience is not the point, the healing is, working through the chaotic maze of thought to find a new life, a new hope.

When I create music, there is another force flowing through me, it gives me answers, and when I write it is the same. Sometimes there will be no answers, only the relief of bleeding out and letting go. That alone makes creating anything worth while.