October 28, 2018
I chase a white rabbit that is forever illusive and maybe doesn’t even really exist at all. That gentle holding. An overwhelming emotion. The final embrace.
Is it neediness or is it love? Or perhaps it is a little of both.
But heartache. Yes, oh yes, I recognize you. Each time, being torn apart. What is so familiar is that stunned feeling where the heart muscle, the energetic command center, is caught in the headlights of life. Suddenly, it is on the verge of collapse or breakthrough.
When, through the pain, the colors of life become a bit brighter, a bit different, a bit transparent, this is when a person could shut down, slip into numbness. Allow things to simply happen all around them.
Or they could embrace it.
Once upon a time, I went through two heartbreaks. One, a relationship I held on to too long, after the exit point had already come and gone and I was alone already. While at the same time, I slept next to someone, a stranger I used to know. Who by then was a shadow. A concept in a painting. A curved line heading out into the distance.
The other was a quirky friendship that slowly turned into something else and then…nothing. An abyss. A cliff I stood on ready to jump. Until I realized that I was completely alone with my expectations. With my feelings. An idiot on the edge of the deep, dark Void.
From one Wanderer to another, when have we not felt the loneliness of being here on this planet at this time? The subtle (and not so subtle) cry of HOME, of familiar yet etheric arms that once in a while embrace us into remembrance, often when we least expect it.
This is what we long for, isn’t it? To return to a home that is physically so far from here. Yet as close as closing our eyes and going within. As close as a whisper in the trees. As close as the next breath.
And in the meantime, we bide our time here. Do what we came here to do as best we can given the circumstances of mud in which we wade in.
And on full moon nights, we long for connection to something other than these platitudes and pleasantries. These stupid masks that threaten to become permanent.
We almost forget who we are. When connection comes here on earth, we take it.
Sometimes it comes as flesh upon flesh. Sometimes it comes as conversation . Or a touch of a hand. Or a smile. Yet, we are not stupid nor niave. We know what not to expect from fickle human hearts
We know that, here on earth, these interludes will always fade in comparison to the brilliant yet vague recollections of spirit.
Comments