Mining The Chaos Inside

Creme brule.  Undestroyed by human appetite.  Smooth, hard surface winking like a frozen pond smiled upon by winter dawn.  I must call upon the predator within to crack the hard, sweet shell of protected perfection and reveal the thick sea of heavenly cream within.  I call on the tigress inside, that I may slide easily beyond this fear of landing on the page.  I never imagined I’d become someone who grazed elbows and danced slow with writer’s block.  I wrote because I had to.  Because there was so much inside and if I didn’t pour it out, the darkness would engulf me.  But today I am not her.  I tremble half wilted and desperate at the precipice where silence becomes voice.  I beg Love to use me.  I beg as a tiger begs.  With thick, strong claws and a soft, lyrical growl, a dangerous, hypnotic purr.

 

Why am I here?  Because I believe in love.  But I don’t want to write about love so that it tastes like a mouthful of skittles swimming in granulated sugar.  Love so much more than sweet feelings for a selective bouquet of “nice” people.

 

Rrrrrraaaar this is hard.  It’s starting to rain.  The girl at the bus stop across the street is fondling her buoyant turquoise balloon.  And jazz flows through the atmosphere of Pizzaiolo with its own compelling, fluid buoyancy.  I must back off and stalk this topic as the tigress slinks amidst jagged jungle shadows.  The words are coming slow.  There is a density in my chest and a tang, like lemon juice surging toward tiny and fresh open wounds.

 

On thursday I turned thirty three and Nikki gave birth to a baby girl.  On friday my beloved friend Brian and his buddy drowned while vacationing in Kauai and Judy gave birth to twins.  Life and death have risen from the depths and now play on the surface of fresh days.  That’s what I’m driving at.  I’m awake to the fragility of life.  I’m also aware of holding myself back on the page because I’m trying to write for “YOU”.  A you who might not even exist.  I can’t write for you.  Because then suddenly I am pressed between two heavy stones named “right” and “wrong” and the quicker they smash me to death, the better because I’d rather die than flail about in a sea of bullshitty pretense.  Yes.  I feel angry.  Maybe I’m not here on the page to blaze in love.  I am on the page to express myself.  And yes, I’d wage a head-turning penny that after the storm of life as I know it deluges this page, the after-calm would surely smell of love… but for now?

 

For now, love is an excruciatingly cheapened word.  And it is not a word that I have earned the right to preach on.  2013 and I am lost at sea.  Violent, choppy sea.  Here come tears as I rip at the skin of my consciousness, desperate to reveal the vulnerable, ugly guts below.  Martin Luther King Jr. day just passed and I am present to the possibility of living (and dying) for something pure and true and ultimately meaningful.  And then there is the life I’m living.  I dance.  I eat.  I take naps.  I think about myself so much I am drowned and suffocated in existential mania a thousand times over.  Please God, let me open and spill all this poison upon the page that I will be left empty and available to truly serve.  Fuck I just want to cry for a full minute, an hour, an ocean.  Because I want life to add up to something and… all of the meaning I’m mining is hollow, shallow and false.

 

Fifty minutes until Pizzaiolo closes and I can run from this bottleneck of bullshit in my mind, this thick, clogged pore that is my soul in the infinite body of God.  Forgiveness.  Athena… Give up trying to sound wise or brilliant or seductive and dedicate this next forty-seven minutes to forgiving.  God, please!  Come with me in to this dense black cloud and shine a single audacious beam of light that perhaps, with your grace, it will dissolve and I might be left standing naked and bathed in the glorious light of truth.  I am often awestruck as I revisit the revelation that I need never wander alone again, for I can always call on the ever-indwelling presence of the Great Love.  The idea of egoic aloneness is an old-world indulgence, a holographic, anti-caloric banquette of masturbatory nothing.

 

My heart is struggling against an invisible fist, clutched in a frivolous death grip.  Please God, let tomorrow be a better day on the page.  I hate today.  I want to shout it again and again on the page I HATE TODAY!!!  But I have renounced using the word “hate” forever.  It’s toxic and cheap.  Now are my words ejaculating like a frivolous fountain into a sea, dispersing into instantaneous meaninglessness like an ocean of cold, salty alphabet soup.  My lips are hard and unsmiling.  My face is in a state of self-important rigor mortis.  What if I just smiled right now?  Not must my lips, but my eyes, my chest, my belly.  The soles of my feet…

 

I want to make a difference in the world.  But first I must face the terrifying, yet vacant possibility that I won’t.  Maybe I’ll live and die in a pathetic, desperate clutch at survival alone.  Only to be born again in the same intoxicated spell of delusion.  Om hrim haum namah shivaya.  Om hrim haum namah shivaya.  Om hrim haum namah shivaya.  I stand in half awake titillation as I wait for inspiration to rain from the hidden sky inside me.  It feels wrong just to stand here… but I don’t know what else to do.  Except maybe dance.  And say more mantra.  Oh and of course poke some irreverent fun at myself for being so fucking self important and serious in the face of this massive cosmic joke otherwise known as life.

 

But I’ll come back tomorrow.  I promise, I will.  If I am still alive, that is.  And maybe something great will happen.

 

Live,

A

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Geoffrey
    Jan 25, 2013 @ 00:58:53

    Wow, Athena, thank you for blogging again, such generous modesty again, no, this is self-deprecation, and that’s getting dangerous – you DO make a difference, you HAVE made a difference – well to me !
    Remember the story of the boy on the beach throwing back the stranded starfish: “made a difference to that one” – well I am one of those “that ones” and how many more are there ? ? ? who have been beautifully touched by your presence, your words, your care, your love ? ? ?
    Yes, live and keep loving Athena and come back tomorrow, lifted up by all us who are different because of you :-))
    love Geoffrey

    Reply

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