sǝuoſ ǝuıɥsunS | notebook, journal, inter-web log

I admit it… I’ve been editing myself.

I know that’s probably something of a shock considering the variety of content which ends up here (I tend to go into it and add pictures and music too) but lately I’ve just been editing myself.

Silas died and I wanted to process it privately. My friends in real life have been with me, on my phone, in front of me, beside me and I have been so very grateful. The memorial is on Saturday and I am going to be in Philly. Part of me feels like I got off the hook, and part of me is ashamed that I am not going to be here. I spoke with his family, and suggested Jill as a replacement usher. All is well, understood, and I am content knowing that I celebrate my dear friend’s life every day, and have no further use for grief.

Also I have come to see that the queen of my heart is deposed. Indeed, I have been spending a lot of time in reflection on friendships, associations, connections, feelings, and my bouquet of thoughtless actions… those things which happen without my considering them and the feelings which I take much too seriously. I want to be plain and write something simple like “I am not in love with you any more,” and then thank you for being so patient with me while I recovered. It took years for me to add up the difference between what is in the past, what was shared, and what is happening today. Hanging on to old friends, ancient love, desire, hope.. there is nothing there but a basement filled with boxes of heartbreak.

Rather than admonish or complain, it seems to me that spending some time with the thought that the past is simply in the past, and the present is where healing is, where the action is, where love lives. Yes, here and now. It is the only place to be.

And so I have been editing myself because I didn’t want to write things like “I can tell by the way you… that you… and I feel… and think…” about the innocent and beautiful people I have encountered upon my path. I love my friends, new, old, present, distant, and past. It may come as no comfort, but I love you all the same.

The discouraging insults, the lack of input, the silence, the greedy, slobbering mouths of people in my life are nothing more than decisions I’ve made, as always based upon myself, to remain in debt, in a state of sacrifice and scarcity. Somehow my brain and poetic heart may always believe at first glance that this is some kind of virtue. That makes me laugh (when I can see what it is I am doing, otherwise it makes me cry and stay up all night playing the piano.) Surely abundance is here and now. And truly there is a heart of fire who’s abundant love and light will stand beside me with beauty and calm. I have so many dear friends. I am sort of releasing the bats here, but I am observing the change, and feeling really good about it.

How’s that for a diary entry laid bare for you? I’m sure I will be misunderstood, we’re so funny. But I am less and less worried about how my stalkers and enemies perceive me… it is chicken shit to be so creepy. You have to be careful when you dig, because what you find is yours. It is for you. And it hurts. And you can blame me if you want to, smack your forehead and wonder why I would live such a public life, write these journal entries for “everyone” to read. This makes me laugh too. The ultimate arrogance is perhaps the idea that anyone reads these things at all. I write for me, to feel, to see, to heal, for clarity.

Read at your own peril, and enjoy the company which swiftly arrives.