Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Spiritual Weaponry (pt.1&1/2)

Just when you feel like you're ready to give up on some things, life will sometimes surprise the fuck out of you.

And sometimes, just when you feel like everything is going to be a certain way in life, well then, life says "HAVE AT YOU!!"

And sometimes, I've no choice but to lay there, curled up in a ball and whimper like a 5 year old until the darkness hath passed.

And then of course, sometimes, I need to just be a fucking adult about it all and stop letting these "pockets of time" collect in my life, allowing them to be master and commander of my tower.

And then, there are other times in life, when you must realize that you can't keep getting away with starting a sentence with the word "and" all the god-damned time.




Hell, even in this fucking moment.....

Have all been deep moments of clarification for me. SCARY moments. I find my heart beating staggeringly high tonight, and I keep sighing that infamous sigh, like the ones you keep doing after you let out a good long cry? Except that I haven't cried at all day today. Not a good hard cry at least. I get moments of tearfulness that have been surprising the dogshit out of me, but no good bouts today.

I feel like a ghost. A ghost in denial of being a ghost, who just wants to get back to life, and the living, like Patrick Swayze firsts starts off in Ghost. I wanna find that tall mutherfucker on the subway transit, and MAKE him show me how to touch reality again. To force him to show me how to feel the way a real human should feel....Not this transient otherwordly bullshit that is flowing through me. I get shaky, and afraid. All the fucking time. Like my body is constantly floating away from itself, or rather, my spirit, or soul, or whatever the hell you wanna call it. I call it "the spirit", because she's still well aware of her surroundings, and DOESN'T want to be in this worldly world of living. But when I speak of the flesh, it doesn't feel the same. And it also prefers being called it, rather than he/she/him/her. It's and it, and fine with "it".

There are a million things I wanna say, with not enough daylight provided in time and space to do so. My fucking heart aches and yearns in all of this, like maybe I'm destined to say every word that has been "God-Spaken" unto "thee", yet I lack the confidence in doing so, in such a small frame of "timeandspace". (Yes, I wrote it as a one-word-interface on purpose, so FUCK YOU.) Everything just seems to float in and of one another, and I confuse one thing, matching it with something else totally irrelevant. But somehow I manage to make them relevant to one another, in my own "midnight ramblings of a madman", and I feel spectacularly schizophrenic in my creative ability to make sense of things no one has the ability to do.

Ever had the pleasure of indulging in any of Richard Kelly's works?

It's JUST FUCKING LIKE THAT. Just so.....I remember watching Donnie Darko for the first time, and just being utterly BLOWN AWAY by Kelly's ability to speak the minds of the insane, and make it all sound sane. There was reason to his rhyme, and all along, I spoke the fuckin language of the speakless.

What was even moreso, was "Southland Tales", which is based in great proportions offa his graphic novel series, which I had never even fuckin heard of, until of course I saw Southland Tales. I was won't to be a tad secretly dissapointed when I first saw a youtube preview of it all, what with "THE ROCK" having the star role, and Sarah Michelle Gellar as his sidekick. But FAITH told me not to doubt out loud, and so I didn't. And when that movie spoke it's realmic ancient language to me, my rustic wings took flight, and soared far and beyond it's worldly limits. And here I am today, still taking snippets of the adventure with my morning tea, living in a realm my body doesn't belong, but my spirit does.

This blog was started by faith. A faith ignited millions of moments ago, it's trailings of existence in a galaxy far far away, but I know it has served it's purpose. It's been therapeutic for my need to spiritually bleed. And oh how it fucking hurts to bleed all over your beautiful kitchen floor like this, but there is such a strong sense of gratification in knowing I can finally die this death in peace. This child-death. A fragmented patch of humanity that only existed in darkened hallway corners and linen closets. And now she can say goodbye to the goodly world, and be a bane of existence for all humankind.

I have eternally struggled with boundaries and limitations. I now know why, but I had a need not to know. I turned my head this way and that, covering my ears like that of an autistic, blaring out the hurts of loud noises, fire alarms, barking animals, yells. Whatever the fuck made my spiritual ear shrink in bodily terror and rage. But this time I was made to give listen, and I have no room for denial. The agnostic beauty stands toweringly so above me, showing me I no longer have a choice in the matter. Time to absorb the beauty and be embued with the power of truth. "So sit still, and shut the fuck up", it relays to me. "It's gonna be one hell of a ride."

There are still so many blanks. So many patches of nonsense that don't add up for shit. This frustrates but soothes me. I have a need not to know, remember? Everything is ironic to the extreme right now. I was birthed in irony. My bloodlines run deep in the facets of irony. And now that I have a universal proof of this, I want to disown it with all my being.

From what has been understood as MY understanding, it has been reported to me that I never did "walk" like most other regular babies/toddlers. Rather,I got up and RAN down the hallway, as my mother put it."I never even KNEW you could walk in the first place, Rachel. You just got up and ran one day", is what my mother said.

The same can be said of my husband. His mother retells the story with ASTONISHING similiarities.

More can be said at the opportune, but faith advises me against it...

I will only say that, metaphorically speaking, this is how we play out our lives in the long run of things:

We've known how to "walk", for a very long time, mind you. We've seen the ins and outs of everyone falling on their asses too, and prey witness to how much their asses hurt in the aftermath of these falls. We astutely observe these happenings, and make for ourselves our own path. We decide that we don't want to let everyone know we can "walk", just for all to see us fall time and time again.

Our path is clear:

Let everyone think what they will. We will be ready when we can walk with our eyes closed, and our hands tied behind our heads, and just when they think they know what we'll do next, we'll bolt upright and head for the hills, where no one will think twice about who we are or what we were, and then we can be on our merry way.

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