Some days
Sometimes you have a clear vision of what you want, but no idea, not even the hint of one, how you could get there. On a good day, I tell myself that it's good that I even have things I want, but on others, I tell myself that it's just a dream, and the reason I can't see the road to it is that there is no road.***
Seeing an old friend the other night made me sad, or would have done if I was not permanently sad. I couldn't help thinking about the people I have let slip away, or have let me slip away.
Sometimes I just want to say to them that I have so much to offer -- I know I do -- that I wish they would forgive me whatever it is about me that is preventing them from allowing me to give it to them. Other times I realise that I let them slip away because I truly don't believe I have anything to offer at all.
You know, I really do believe that we are golden, and we accrete coats of shit that we can never shed. It should be easy to put them off: just a matter of saying "no more". But we are never quite able. We slide back into our coats.
But I will forgive you if that is what you feel is preventing me from allowing you to give me what you want to give me. I will take your coat and put it to one side. You can trust me in that, because I hate our coats but I love the golden child that each coat covers. I won't ever lose my faith in that, no matter how much or how often you hurt me.
***
And what I want is so small, but when I start thinking about it, it swells out of all proportion. I realise that what I began with was what I would find consoling, what would improve my life, and what it has swollen into is what I actually want.
I want the world in which I fit. Or a way to make myself fit this one. I have never found either.
***
The other day, I was driving home from dropping off the kids at kindy and school. It was one of those beautiful late winter/early summer days that we get here: sky clear blue and fresh. There was music playing in the car and I was singing along, as I do all the time, because the tapes in the car are mostly full of songs I love and know every word of, and I'm not afraid of bellowing tunelessly, even if people are listening.
Then I stopped. I realised, in a flash, that there would be a beautiful early summer morning without me, a world without me. I mean, I know that, but you don't think about it.
I cried with anguish, the song long forgotten. I couldn't stop myself. It became almost a full-blown panic attack.
It doesn't have any deep meaning, no twist, no moral. It's just the story I'm telling about me today, just a boring old man afraid to die in a place that hates him.
posted by Dr Zen @ 3:42 pm
12 Comments:
"I want the world in which I fit. Or a way to make myself fit this one. I have never found either."
There is a school of thought that has us as fleas upon the planet's back. Perhaps this solar system is in quarantine, which is why no-one has ever visited.
hich is why no-one has ever visited
That or they read Zen's blog and had a fucking rethink.
Or maybe they heard Venus was hot for this time of year and went there instead.
"That or they read Zen's blog and had a fucking rethink."
You know, some people, if they can't say anything good, should learn to shut the fuck up.
You know, some people, if they can't say anything good, should learn to shut the fuck up.
And deprive you of a blog?
No one is forcing you to read it.
A damn good job too, or I might spend more than twenty minutes a week of my life here.
Yawn. Did someone give you the Ginormous Book of Stale Lames for your birthday or something? Grant finished with his copy and passed it on?
Dood, you retort like you're visible to as many as might bother to read you on a newsgroup. You forget we, the blog reader, have waded through your sorry arse'd shite just to be 'insulted'.
The world isn't out to get you, dear. You're just too jaded to see it.
Happy birthday for soon - and know that I miss you - but I miss you, not this pitiful version of you. This version of you makes me want to vomit and makes you want to ban my comments - although I wouldn't bother. I won't be back.
Bye. Mind the door on the way out.
"Mind the door on the way out."
Nearly lost my fingers with the
last whore I told that too. Slammed
the fucking door right at me. Just
a week ago. Then she called the
manager of the hotel told him not
to trust me. Manager laughed, thank buddah.
Favorite paragraph? Mine was this:
It doesn't have any deep
meaning, no twist, no moral. It's
just the story I'm telling about me
today, just a boring old man afraid
to die in a place that hates him.
Seems so typical of a lot of us.
Well, me. I'll speak for my self.
nice one.
boots sez:
"...and the reason I can't see the road to it is that there is no road."
Make a road. Through the wilderness if you have to. Kill a bear with a pocketknife if that's what it takes. Die trying.
"... just a boring old man afraid to die in a place that hates him."
The place doesn't hate you, it hates the coats of shit that you've not yet burned away with the brightness of your will.
We're taught a lot of crap in our youths. Total crap. It won't go away by itself, like some rodent you've politely asked to leave your home. You can live with it or hunt it down and replace it with an empty space in which something good can grow.
You're not the only one who finds his world uncomfortable, but perhaps you never learned to smooth out the sharps, break them off at the nub with a rock and rub the annoyances until they're smooth.
Set about doing it; you'll find a way.
Do you ever laugh at the different responses you get to your posts?
A
Post a Comment
<< Home