Tuesday, October 23, 2018

10.23

If anything was ever consistent about me, deep down in my core, I thought it was the fact that I could see myself clearly, that there was no separation, divide, or lacuna between my concept of myself and the way I am, and that I am my emotions. To talk about disengaging from my emotions, to detach, disentangle... is nonsensical to me because every last bit of my being is that very emotion. This might sound narcissistic, but I know some part of me always operates and navigates life as though I am in a movie. That everything I do, every gesture, every expression is on display for the world to see. More specifically, for that certain someone who was birthed from the same serendipitous coincidental meeting of time and space and the same energy and fiber, the person who has the capacity to see me for me as I see myself. When I listen to music on the train moving, going, changing time, place, space... I always feel like there is a presence about me. Watching, feeling what I feel. Maybe that's the way I've learned to live with myself and my loneliness. Some part of me resents being my own company because that company never feels like its enough. And paradoxically, I'm not alone because my emotions are themselves a close presence, always making themselves known. I am them and aren't them at the same time. What does it mean to embody emotions? They're not simply things entombed in a body. They are an energy, a sense that is is engraved into your every nerve ending, the weight of your body, and the feeling of the ground beneath your feet. Written and rewritten like a palimpsest. They're magical and otherworldly in that way. Radiances of a body and soul. I always had words for them, no matter how alien. I could paint them in my mind. Not an exact replica, because they're not material of this world or of this dimension, but a convincing forgery. A forgery masterfully crafted by the hands of the very artist that created the original. I feel as though I have lost that vision. That otherworldly sense that gave me access to this otherworldly existence. I can overlay the forgery on top of the original and map every brush stroke, every point, every monad as they coincide. Yet there is no resonance. No compounded amplification between two beings of a feather that recognize each other. No frequency, no vibration, no recollection, nothing. And everything is ash. And you can't feel your body anymore. So you sink, and float, and sink, and float...