You are very far away, but never far from my thoughts. The warm spot behind my right shoulder? That's you. Reassuring me. Giving me advice when I need it. Love when I need it, too.
As children, we have "invisible" friends, but as adults, we understand that no one who cares for us should ever be invisible. You are real, of course. You are just not here. Though I can't see you, you still exist. That's not quite the same as having a childhood friend no one else can see. Yet, the reason you are so present, even when not here, is for the very same reason my "blue man" protected me as a kid when no one else could (or would).
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
The human condition is remarkable in that one may be surrounded by other people yet still be completely alone. Because you exist, I'm not alone. In fact, I may be less alone now then if you were standing right next to me. We have the "perfect" situation in some ways--you never judge me. You never say an unkind word. You never try to hurt me or pressure me. You're just there. Always there. You don't even ask for anything in return, though I wish you would. I want to be there for you, too. Maybe I am. You'll have to let me know when we next meet.
Life is not complicated--people are. They may really love you but don't love themselves, so push you away after pulling you close. Men, in particular, lie to themselves more than anyone else. Using women for their own ends and justifying it as acceptable behavior while muttering under their collective breaths, "She's getting something out of it, too."
Believe me...she's not.
Self-sabotage will always be a person's most insidious enemy. It derives from the individual, but not because of the individual. The individual is unaware of their self-destructive acts because someone else has hurt them in unexpected ways--usually more than once. The trauma of betrayal (and the loss that follows) creates disconnects that only a doctor can recognize and treat because the abuse leaves behind these invisible, if not deeply inset, scars. Scars appear subtle on the surface--nearly transparent. This only means that the abused individual doesn't recognize when they've lost control. That's usually when an otherwise apathetic society suddenly pipes up, "Addiction/depression/anxiety/insomnia/health issues/joblessness is your fault. Because, no one can really hurt you unless you let them."
That's a blatant lie. A convenient one though. It absolves everyone but the victim of responsibility in the same way anti-Semitism perpetuates the myth of the "evil Jew," an attempt at absolution for the world's crimes against an ethnic minority for ten long years. Twenty-two countries make up the Middle East, but the tiniest of them all is the problem? Basic math skills can easily prove otherwise.
Anyone can hurt you at any time without your permission. How you deal with the injustice of another's unilateral decision-making and subsequent behavior is up to you--but only to a certain degree. No human being can continue to take unexpected beatings for decades, and miraculously keep getting back up again. It's not physically or psychologically possible. While the human spirit has no limits, when the body is injured and not allowed to heal, or is so badly damaged it can't heal--death is inevitable. It's the same with our minds.
Pain easily cuts you down, like a knife sliding between your ribs as if your flesh were warm butter.
To love unconditionally is a curse as a physical creature. You will always be lonely. So few have developed the capacity, finding an equal is like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. Paper has more meaning (not more value) than love on 21st-century-Earth. Ego and pride now matter more than anything else in the competitive hearts of humans. It's a deep frustration--to feel unconditional love, be able to give it, yet never receive it. Someone always wants something from you. Usually sex. But free labor is another biggie. Maybe both. Again, men with split tongues have split minds and split hearts. Who else would allow things like the Holocaust to happen? Or, every World War? How about separating innocent children from their families? Or, defending another man for raping a woman by blaming underwear? Those same men will always say, "Women are just as bad." Except, women are vulnerable to men. To say anything else is absurd. Another lie.
Of all the things that make me tired in this existence, it is the lies that take the most out of me (and from me). In every way imaginable. All humans must lie to survive. Even me. But you and I...we are alike, my visibly-invisible friend. Survivors. People who have not seen the depravity we have cannot understand. I perhaps miss that the most--you knew things I didn't even have to tell you. And then, you said them out loud! Thank you for that. For everything.
To recognize another's suffering is easy--but to acknowledge it??? That's takes a purity of heart uncommon amidst our species. A kind of courage that is altogether rare. Yet, it is the most beautiful thing any of us can experience. Even if only glimpsed for a moment. Like seeing a near-extinct tiger dappled in shadows as he passes silently through the trees.
Your voice is the voice that tells me to trust my own. Some might argue your voice is really mine. I would agree, but not for the same reasons....
Maybe it was the moon. So full, so bright, so big in the sky. Maybe it's that you have a birthday coming up. Maybe it's none of those things. Just me, missing you. Even the parts of you that can hurt.
Lions, unlike tigers, sulk when a thorn sticks in their paw. All their power and glory is ignored for the sake of a tiny object shorter than a hair from the lion's mane. But each of us needs the time (and space) to lick our wounds. Being honest with ourselves after experiencing loss and trauma is the only real way to heal. You are still healing, I know. I am, too. It's not often you stare Destiny in the face and live to tell the tale. The only other time that happens in human existence is when Death calls us home. But life can make long-distance calls, too. Most people just can't hear it. We did though.
Is ceol mo chroi thu...you don't speak Irish anymore. But I still remember it from another lifetime. Like the grave in New Orleans. And, the little hidden cove across the bay in Sydney. Or, the forgotten cave in France that has an underground spring. Or, the secret entrance in the Scottish Highlands--when the sun is at just the right angle between the mountains as she begins to set. And of course, the echoes of firelight casting shadows on the ancient stones in Ireland--that's where we first met. The origins of the "511."
A long time ago, I said the very same words to you. Just like magic, your response was the same, too:
"That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me."
By no small coincidence, YOU are the most beautiful thing the Universe has ever said to me...I'm so fucking grateful for that. And, for you.
#InAHeartBeat
As children, we have "invisible" friends, but as adults, we understand that no one who cares for us should ever be invisible. You are real, of course. You are just not here. Though I can't see you, you still exist. That's not quite the same as having a childhood friend no one else can see. Yet, the reason you are so present, even when not here, is for the very same reason my "blue man" protected me as a kid when no one else could (or would).
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
The human condition is remarkable in that one may be surrounded by other people yet still be completely alone. Because you exist, I'm not alone. In fact, I may be less alone now then if you were standing right next to me. We have the "perfect" situation in some ways--you never judge me. You never say an unkind word. You never try to hurt me or pressure me. You're just there. Always there. You don't even ask for anything in return, though I wish you would. I want to be there for you, too. Maybe I am. You'll have to let me know when we next meet.
Life is not complicated--people are. They may really love you but don't love themselves, so push you away after pulling you close. Men, in particular, lie to themselves more than anyone else. Using women for their own ends and justifying it as acceptable behavior while muttering under their collective breaths, "She's getting something out of it, too."
Believe me...she's not.
Self-sabotage will always be a person's most insidious enemy. It derives from the individual, but not because of the individual. The individual is unaware of their self-destructive acts because someone else has hurt them in unexpected ways--usually more than once. The trauma of betrayal (and the loss that follows) creates disconnects that only a doctor can recognize and treat because the abuse leaves behind these invisible, if not deeply inset, scars. Scars appear subtle on the surface--nearly transparent. This only means that the abused individual doesn't recognize when they've lost control. That's usually when an otherwise apathetic society suddenly pipes up, "Addiction/depression/anxiety/insomnia/health issues/joblessness is your fault. Because, no one can really hurt you unless you let them."
That's a blatant lie. A convenient one though. It absolves everyone but the victim of responsibility in the same way anti-Semitism perpetuates the myth of the "evil Jew," an attempt at absolution for the world's crimes against an ethnic minority for ten long years. Twenty-two countries make up the Middle East, but the tiniest of them all is the problem? Basic math skills can easily prove otherwise.
Anyone can hurt you at any time without your permission. How you deal with the injustice of another's unilateral decision-making and subsequent behavior is up to you--but only to a certain degree. No human being can continue to take unexpected beatings for decades, and miraculously keep getting back up again. It's not physically or psychologically possible. While the human spirit has no limits, when the body is injured and not allowed to heal, or is so badly damaged it can't heal--death is inevitable. It's the same with our minds.
Pain easily cuts you down, like a knife sliding between your ribs as if your flesh were warm butter.
To love unconditionally is a curse as a physical creature. You will always be lonely. So few have developed the capacity, finding an equal is like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. Paper has more meaning (not more value) than love on 21st-century-Earth. Ego and pride now matter more than anything else in the competitive hearts of humans. It's a deep frustration--to feel unconditional love, be able to give it, yet never receive it. Someone always wants something from you. Usually sex. But free labor is another biggie. Maybe both. Again, men with split tongues have split minds and split hearts. Who else would allow things like the Holocaust to happen? Or, every World War? How about separating innocent children from their families? Or, defending another man for raping a woman by blaming underwear? Those same men will always say, "Women are just as bad." Except, women are vulnerable to men. To say anything else is absurd. Another lie.
Of all the things that make me tired in this existence, it is the lies that take the most out of me (and from me). In every way imaginable. All humans must lie to survive. Even me. But you and I...we are alike, my visibly-invisible friend. Survivors. People who have not seen the depravity we have cannot understand. I perhaps miss that the most--you knew things I didn't even have to tell you. And then, you said them out loud! Thank you for that. For everything.
To recognize another's suffering is easy--but to acknowledge it??? That's takes a purity of heart uncommon amidst our species. A kind of courage that is altogether rare. Yet, it is the most beautiful thing any of us can experience. Even if only glimpsed for a moment. Like seeing a near-extinct tiger dappled in shadows as he passes silently through the trees.
Your voice is the voice that tells me to trust my own. Some might argue your voice is really mine. I would agree, but not for the same reasons....
Maybe it was the moon. So full, so bright, so big in the sky. Maybe it's that you have a birthday coming up. Maybe it's none of those things. Just me, missing you. Even the parts of you that can hurt.
Lions, unlike tigers, sulk when a thorn sticks in their paw. All their power and glory is ignored for the sake of a tiny object shorter than a hair from the lion's mane. But each of us needs the time (and space) to lick our wounds. Being honest with ourselves after experiencing loss and trauma is the only real way to heal. You are still healing, I know. I am, too. It's not often you stare Destiny in the face and live to tell the tale. The only other time that happens in human existence is when Death calls us home. But life can make long-distance calls, too. Most people just can't hear it. We did though.
Is ceol mo chroi thu...you don't speak Irish anymore. But I still remember it from another lifetime. Like the grave in New Orleans. And, the little hidden cove across the bay in Sydney. Or, the forgotten cave in France that has an underground spring. Or, the secret entrance in the Scottish Highlands--when the sun is at just the right angle between the mountains as she begins to set. And of course, the echoes of firelight casting shadows on the ancient stones in Ireland--that's where we first met. The origins of the "511."
A long time ago, I said the very same words to you. Just like magic, your response was the same, too:
"That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me."
By no small coincidence, YOU are the most beautiful thing the Universe has ever said to me...I'm so fucking grateful for that. And, for you.
#InAHeartBeat
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