“All right,” I said in my head, a soft bedrock of tranquility supporting my resolve, “take me.” 

I’d been fighting my afflictions for years; resisting them, decorating them, and ignoring them. The struggle against my sorrows has aged me. I’m 32, but I look and feel ten years older. The one thing I’d never tried—the option I didn’t dare consider—was to let all that darkness do as it wished. It seemed like defeat, or a decision that would result in certain death.

Yet as I looked around at the state of my life, body, mind and room, it already looked like defeat. As if the battle itself was the loss. So, I opened up to it, because why not? What did I have to lose? I’ve already had my nervous breakdown and suicide attempt. I’m too old for that shit these days. What’s the point now? The sunset I tried running from happened years ago. Since I knew I wasn’t going to throw myself in front of a train, what was there for me to fear in letting go, in letting it take it me?

Anyway, it’s as much a part of me as my fingers and toes. How could I ever unleash this latent “Complete Person” without completely acknowledging this sense of being incomplete? 

We’ve managed to create seedless apples, but the human heart is still full of potentials. Like apple seeds, these potentials are toxic in themselves. Only by planting them can they grow into something healthy and giving.

I guess I’m living among the fabled “Dark Night of the Soul” even though I don’t believe in souls. And if souls do exist, I’m sure mine was snagged by some ghoul years ago.

I didn’t intend to become this—this off-brand Camus or Kerouac—but in taking down my defenses, I found that I was already there. The coat, hat, rye whiskey, former chain smoking habit, and ironic deadpan sense of humor—I’d fallen into accidentally. And still, beneath it all, a streak of tie-dye and the innocent adoration of simple beauty.

Who am I to argue with my karma or resist time? On break at 4am, a chilled fog hovering of the half-melted snow, writing in my little black faux leather notebook, the bitter wind is everywhere. I breathe it in. Purple glitter shimmers on the sidewalk like frost in Wonderland.

 

1 Comment

  1. Kerouac…..indeed one of my favs..On the Road…first edition..lives here with me…love the Beat Gen….Brautigan….In Watermelon Sugar…another fine first edition…lives here too…
    Thanks for sharing…Namaste’

    Like

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