Above The Vastness, A Dimensional Tightrope.

Some call it a temple. Some call it a high place. Some took it as destiny. A wise few stepped back, went their way, and found new heights on steadier ground, never to know whether monsters or angels awaited in the wings to bear them up. Maybe they shudder in the darkness of a memory where and when they might have chosen the other way. Can you see that shadow and his outstretched hand, as you find yourself before his presence again? Do you feel the wind before you and the pull of gravity below? Can you see the eternal stars above and the city lights on the horizon? And do you know what the next moment will bring? What are you feeling? Is it fear? Is it wonder? Is it the balance between gravity pulling you down and the wind holding you back? What are you feeling and why? You trusted yourself. That took quite the leap of faith. And how did it end? Was it really what you wanted? I need to know lest I take this very same stand in that very moment of decision. Do you feel what I feel? Beep beep, goes the alarm, jolting me from the peace of this dream, a rude awakening to the reality that I somehow wish were somewhat better. It's Mourn Day Morning once again. Bummer. Can there be any divinity to be found in this day? How can I bother taking seriously, the here and now when it seems to me to be a cosmic joke? With one hell of a punchline; an ironic continuation simply to remind me that it's all over, that it has been over for a very long time now. It is a restless wind that refuses to let settle the dust of time that would otherwise have long concealed these fractures and fragments, these scattered shards of what was once whole, ancient ruins, exposed for all to see. An illusion, an afterimage of long lost love and familiarity, Another day of exile in a strange world, surrounded by strangers I thought I knew. Tell me, tell me, imaginary friend, temporary friend, what does it mean to be alive? And please tell as well just for what and for whom is this old heart still beating? What does it mean to have meaningful connections in this life? I am the type of person who never ever wants to be anyplace that I don't feel wanted. Call it social anxiety. Call it dignity. Call it whatever you will. It's probably all of the above. I can't force people to like me or love me. They will think, do, and say whatever they will. I don't claim to be perfect. I've got my quirks, quarks, and Captain Kirks. Still, this self-worth and self-esteem has been the toughest lesson, and it has taken me so many years to learn. Such efforts shouldn't be wasted time. I have indeed made my mistakes. Some of them, I admit, were boneheaded and stupid ones. It's not only dumb people who do dumb things. Sometimes, it's intelligent people blinded by emotion. I know. I've been there, done that, got the tee-shirt, and damn near the straight jacket, too. (What the hell is wrong with these damn sleeves?) Everything's playing with my anxiety these days... As if it's Eddie Van Halen and my nerves are the guitar strings. Now, it's the bank's online portal still acting weird. Guess I've gotta make some phone calls to figure that out. Uncertainty gets Mr. Anxiety going every time, especially when it comes to that almighty dollar. I've got to be certain of where all the moving parts are and exactly where and when the other shoe is going to drop. I may never know the exact state of fate and God, but I should have zero doubts about my finances. At least with that, I have some illusion of control and agency. Caesar and God both exist in the same universe, after all. Still.... Rome eventually fell, and knowledge casts quite a revealing light on the shadows of belief. Ah, but it's still the same universe. There is a sound from deep in the swamp on a moonless night... Ribbit-ribbit! Ribbit-ribbit! Ribbit-ribbit! "Ribbit, fix me!"said the frog. My life lesson again and again has been that I'm a lousy Mr. Fixit. Really, it is the greatest illusion. We can only really fix ourselves. And even for me, that has been a job and a half. You can show love and support. You can encourage and cheer their successes, but you can't fix them. Is it society? Is it biology? What is this instinct, desire, compulsion, whatever to be the hero, and save the day? Remember this, all potential Knights and superheroes: No matter how noble your cause, no matter how pure, genuine, or from the heart your feelings may be, they are NOT a magic power. Magic is for fairytales. Even Knights need rescuing once in a while. My heart is open. My world is open. My arms are open. One could truly come home for the first time ever. Yet, time and again, they throw their heart and soul at the feet of those who prove again and again they will never love them as I do. I suppose hell is sometimes a choice. And maybe, just maybe, I realize that I chose a similar hell a long time ago. Though my feelings seem to have nothing to do with choosing any damn thing at all... I choose now to deflect my focus from those feelings to the knowledge that happiness can be defined in a thousand different ways. There's no point boldly setting course for a star I'll die from old age long before ever reaching the halfway point. I wished so desperately to be just the soul they needed, just the heart they sought. My dear friend, my love of all loves, so far beyond the cosmic horizon. I'd give my soul if it were possible to reach beyond it all for hands to meet, but there is no point in sacrificing anything for the impossible. I can not overstate the depth of my regret that I can never be the hero they needed. Love for the impossible is the next level of hell. In the end, I can only rescue myself. When setting free a person, place, thing, or concept you have feared so long to let go, the real shocker is the person you're really freeing is yourself. Remember, you are doing no favors by being the only one holding on. Time to move on. Clean cup move down. Goodbye is meaningless when you've never had a proper hello. Might have been never was and will never be. There might be an infinite multiverse of possibility beyond the dimensional divide, but it matters not when it is this universe alone I must live in. I am genetics. I am environment. Because of this, alternate parallel versions of myself (for want of a nail) could never be me at all. My experiences, good and bad, have changed me. I honestly hope they have at least helped me to become a better person. That may be the only positive thing I can derive from some very painful moments of my life. When those who were close to you, leave, through choice or not, through separation or death, you lose a bit of yourself that must be rebuilt without the definition they once provided to your life and yourself. You can never be the same without them. Understand, my friends that while the well of the soul is deep, there is a bottom. You can bind infinity within your heart, but it only stretches so far. What goes up must come down, and what leaves must come home. You must rise from the ashes of pain to become someone new. A new creature, still having love in your heart for those who have gone, but also able to continue with a life that must be redefined. You can't live in the past forever, no matter the depth of your love, no matter the persistence of your pain. It just isn't humanly possible. And don't you dare blame yourself for being human. Soooo. How's about another clean cup move down? No room? I hate intrusive thoughts, don't you? They're like annoying internet ads for the brain. Except, they're not trying to sell you little blue pills, or tell you about supposed hot singles in your area. Mine are more like vivid memories of bad moments. As someone once put it: Spicy Deja Vu. It's like a TV show where only the episodes you hate get reruns. Yep. I guess I can forget seeing the first two seasons of Star Trek ever again. Ah, but "Spock's freaking Brain" is gonna be on repeat! I hate that episode! Pain! These daymares either involve things I couldn't do anything about in the moment, or things I could have done something about back then, but didn't and I sure as hell can't now. The latter are the absolute worst. You can't escape your own mind. It's the worst prison ever, and they use torture. Believe you me, be glad you're not the great Cosmic Wie. Clean cup? I think it should be a basic human right to have a limited number of consequence free "Forget This Crap!" vouchers each year that they can use at any time. To invoke a voucher, one must throw up their hands, look around, and shout, "FORGET THIS!" (or words to that effect) then calmly walk out the door. And by my new rules, everybody must pretend it didn't happen the next day. I think we should get at least 5 or 6 "Forget" this! vouchers a year. I think I would use one today. Oh well... It ain't what I want but it is what it is. Remember if you find yourself relegated to the corner of anybody's circle: Circles do not have corners. Have a looooovely day...