A Split End

I dust hit my head against the cement wall behind me; not a hard hit, not enough to feel pain... in fact, now I cannot feel any emotion, momentarily? I believe so, for as I write this (thinking it a second time over) the desperation at the thought of never again having emotion rises, for what could be more dreadfully dehumanizing? But perhaps it was in due time, for it allowed me to escape from the welling pressures I've been nearly succumbing to -- the whirlpools tugging at my spirit and displaying a force that would have me crumble into myself. I've fought off all these would-be emotional breakdowns, *syper vibes at thought of spreading passion for 23* holding in the tears and attempting to cope my way through. Stopping now. I believe that while a break-down may initially generate a larger wave of debilitating emotion, the floodwaters behind the dam I'm creating are becoming unignorably present, pushing against the walls of my mind and nearly threatening to release themselves at any time, possibly even in public, which has only occurred that once in recorded history (save family, which is a different matter). Anyways, it is difficult for me to tell whether self-respect in my "toughness" and self-controll or just being able to say that I have cried only three times in the past three years is the main incentive for this. That I wish not to spend tears solely on myself may also be a strong component, but how much longer I can keep this up... forever, possibly, but then what would my existence become? I feel desperately I need release, though do not wish to do anything irreversible... that, and it would seem false to designate for myself a time to break-down, knowing that I can suppress it; almost as if I am creating or initiating the collapse. My hope now is that I will be able to speak to someone who knows my mind, soul, body, and mostly heart, which I hope to work as a surrogate -- not an inadequate substitute that only pushes the consequences further, but a way to really release what I feel without having to water it down with rationality to anyone here, for I feel (except for Brindley?) that I neither could nor should ask that of my friends. The relationships do not have deep enough roots to have created such an understanding or committed bond or sense of responsibility... if I am wrong, slap me, but I would rather take stone off their scales than weigh them down. This could be my protective side which is unwilling/unable to be so vulnerably open, but through experience I would rather be wrong this way than to spill myself in front of someone who would not even realize what had happened, or not feel confident enough to know how to pick my pieces up again and hand them to me.

I have thought of letting little springs out at a time, either as tendrils to feel the strength of my supports, or as a way of bailing out a cup or two to lessen the pressure, but it often feels artificial as I to quickly must pretend to come to a resolve, for they hardly ever feel that they can leave a job undone; that everything must have a resolve. (God is a good glue to pull out when nothing else sicks). One instance in which this has been able to work for me was when I came across a swell which was fairly well isolated from the others, so I might deal with it entirely without worrying about the other waters flowing immediately into the cleared pool: Tension had been growing between Kelly and I, or at least between myself and my projected Kelly (me hiding behind a bush that she might not see the near malice on my blackened face) for I just cannot prioritize health over life, which is her identifying authoritative position. We forged a semi-resolve when I expressed to her that my compromises (such as wearing a shoe on one foot [I could still hop if injured] or bringing them along in my bag) where not meant to be uncooperative or difficult, but rather as attempts to comply while maintaining my identity (though I did not put it in these terms as I doubted it would mean to her what it did to me), for I did not wish to compromise myself, though realized that part of me was also held in that (cold) "eye" of the community. And so I constantly have to be checking myself, that I do nothing too unacceptably outrageous [unfortunately, the inspiration and desire to do such things increases while with others, so even as I am more self-suppressing in such circumstances, I appear to be less so, creating in some [even to myself, at qualm times] the thought that I do these things to show off, by which idea I am repulsed in its raw form). Well, this impulse passed the security (although some may only with force, this one passed with fair ease, partly as the group was familiar with my love of climbing) and so I asked Brin if she would kindly pass my food up to me once I had reached my perch in the rafters above the picnic table. However she declined, likely as the result of her unfortunate duty to conform to the callings of a leader (counterintuitively as non-supporter in such cases), though she did not stop me as I placed my food on-the-ready up on the beam and began my ascent. Unaccustomed to having something protruding from my head and the need to be aware of the space a visor takes above my face, I -- to my dismay -- knocked with that unnatural, dratted appendage my food from off the beam, which then fell and scattered to the ground. Now it was not the dirt which bothered me but rather the fact that this clumsy mistake ill represented and sullied the name of climbing. So I crept back down, frustrated in my failure to promote my beloved activity, and proceeded to pick the dirt-hugged pieces of pizza bread from the ground. Hardly had I touched them however, before voices of protest came to my ears as sounds of disgust and disapproval. Already downcast and lifting only as I saw I might make amends to the fallen food by rescuing it from the dust, I took the commands to drop what I was doing with quite a clash, feeling trapped in a pit and told for reasons contrary to my beliefs that I could not use the one ladder for my escape. In retrospect I see that embarrassment did play into my reaction, though the moral conflict is not to be underestimated. It happened as this: the Black Knight had his joust ready-aimed to pierce the problem of potentially wasted food, but the Blue Warrior stepped out representing the voice of the King. I do not have any piece of mind against eating from the ground, parking lots or such, and have pushed this at times to evoke shocked reactions in those observing, but these were quickly tucked away as their influences were impotent in the face of this higher conflict. The Black Knight nobly stood for a life of fulfilled intentionality, and sought to transform what I had learned into reality. The opposing Blue Warrior represented an obligation to authority and conformity to group desires. Both being from the Kingdom of Morality, the Black Knight saw no reason that they should engage in battle, and so instead of spearing the insolent Blue Warrior through as he would have with a foreign opposer, he reared his horse and halted it in his track that he might meditate on how best to approach the Blue Warrior, and muse over what this meant to his mission.

Back in their world, they directed down to me, "stop sulking and take some food." Not only had I become less than keen on indulging any physical needs at this time, but I also had refused the "extra" food they offered on principal of self-sufficiency and the Black Knight's code (and I could not tell them, but I hoped in secret to recover the food and eat it later). I appeared to them childish, as I sat there on the ground apparently sulking, but the truth is the reason I first attempted to climb was because no seats remained at the table, and I aimed to make myself a place. Also, when stricken with embarrassment and in conflict with another, the last thing one desires is to admit weakness/sate of lacking and accept an offering from that other "higher" party. My blood burned with these in emotion and thought, and I realized that I needed to cool off before making any decision, that I might cope with not with what I found unfair, but in a deeper sense -- not right. There was nothing wrong with my food, and their excuses that bacteria might have leapt onto it I shot down with my own scientific fire that bacteria are highly species-spesific, and seeing as we were in a place predominantly belonging to wildlife, I saw this as a no-risk zone (>0.00%) as opposed to the small-risk a parking lot pie might have. This did not matter to them, however, for rules were a priority; not any spirit housed therein. After much tense twisting of my brain, I finally reached the conclusion that whether or not the food was safe was not even the issue at hand, though it was their sole argument. No, I had to go deeper since this did not even matter to me had it not been. I saw that I needed to acknowledge that the Warrior had King-ordained jurisdiction, whether or not the law actually aligned with the ideals of the kingdom. It was more than difficult -- it was an existential struggle for me to arrive at this, that my obligation to my relationship with the community must be prioritized over moral obligations I held, but as I finally expressed this to Brindley, I knew I had made the left (for right was left) decision. I felt cast-out and wrongfully accused (even for setting myself apart, as I needed space/time before I could face them as I should, and also there was no place for me there,) so it was a warm island in a raging sea to have Brindley understand me and my conclusion, and then offer me food a second time, knowing that I could now accept it. The anger, hunger, conflict, and sense of accusation and rejection all abated, as I munched on the gifted pizza bread and carrots in my right hand, smiling that I had overcome their obstacle and found a way to join them without adopting their fears or forgoing my beliefs, which hovered hidden in my left hand, teleologically suspended. But they would never know.

Profanity Proper

I have come to realize that my profanity as expressed by the word “fuck” is reserved for my existential frustrations, while my mere ontic worries warrant “shit,” or some less harsh swear. And being disinclined to engage in ontological crises while with pleasant company (the inconsistency makes conversation rather flummoxed, though entertaining from our perspective) it is scarcely to never heard in public. I become whoever I am at that time in cordial company, and suppress whatever I am trying to be until a safer time, where a wider area is provided for my boundless volatile self. Fuck this falsity, I should be able to let SOMEone know of this capricious spirit bottled inside.

The Lighting of a Fuse

That place... that one crevice into which the Sun creeps at night, leaving the crust in lonely dark... that meeting point, where Fire and Earth coalesce in perfect solidarity... why must it be so impossibly remote? that when I make chase, the Sun only flies up into the sky? or sinks still away should I stand by to see? Would that I could lay on that horizon of the setting Sun, in pure energy where Sun stokes Stone.

あ恵なちた 枝下私を、知木で保なさい

should I attempt translation, the meaning would suffer -- not only factually, but emotionally; mostly mythos being lost. The japanese have a beautiful language and way of wording, such that no translation will do its beauty justice. So all I will say here to aid understanding without terribly misrepresenting the saying is that the themes involve nature in the particular, and wisdom as a benevolent and protecting force. I was inspired to write this after experiencing a constancy under the low-hung branches of an ageless pine holding snow as in clouds above my head -- the wisest tree I have ever met, and certainly the most beneficent. Unlike other trees, its branches expanded only to the extent of its height, which, coupled with its curving formation, resulted in an orb of green, upheld by a central wooden framed, and upholding an encompassing blanket of snow. It thus maintained within Itself an entity free from the proceeds of the season -- It truly is timeless -- yet did not fail to embrace the snowy scene. Despite its humble four feet of lowgrowth, the cedar sprung from a turret of stone, placing its perch at the height perspective and perfection, and giving it rise to a vantage point above all other trees of that thorn-strangled wood. Those cyclical branches circled into infinity around its self-cast figure, inviting a lone winter wander as myself to find respite under and in Its arms, surrounded by and around the overarching limbs as a mother bird's wings stretching over her head, protecting me from the elements on every side, and underneath as well by Its firmly founded roots. I cried for definition through relation to its Being of power, benevolence, and sagacity, and thanked it for the solace, encouragement, and inspiration it instilled in me.

This is my God.

Epiphany Reversed

I have read about and discussed the relationship between a word, it's meaning, and the learner of the word, where the three components relate in such a manner termed (by Walker Percy, that is) as the "Delta Phenomenon".  Now I made a connection between this, or rather the reverse of this, with saying a word so many times that it doesn't sound real anymore during one of the class discussions in an epiphany of fascination: see, in learning a word there is a change that occurs within the "mind" so as to allow association between a word (e.g., the sound of the word "ship") and a thing (e.g., a physical ship) so that hearing/reading/feeling the word is no longer a mere sound/combination of letters/gesture, but becomes a pointing arrow; a symbol bearing meaning.  However, when one repeats a word ad nauseum, what can occur is what I might refer to as a "Reverse Delta Phenomenon," wherein the speaker actually experiences an reverse epiphany. What I mean by this is that in repeating a word over and over, one becomes over stimulated, and the imagery of a word such as “blue” disappears as the neurons normally firing in response to the sound begin to decrease in activity, despite the repentance of the word (all theory I came up with just now, but as supplemental explanation, and not the actually basis of the phenomenon.) In this, the sound of the word is heard independently of the mental simulation of the thing to which the word refers, and thus in a way the meaning, or our reality of the word slips away momentarily as one in a sense “unlearns” the word. These orphan words fascinate me; detached from their meanings, they float as mere sound in the air as we hear them anew, just as before we learned they even had parents. I love twisting reality, and for me this is tantamount to bending the proverbial spoon in the matrix.

Blaze of the Blizzard

To test and see if rabies I had,
I stepped onto the open sill,
And then from there: the roof.

I froze in a frigid frame,
With cheeks rose in fire untamed.
Iced stone well below me,
Tomb stones just before me,

And winter winds sending snow
To encircle my form,
Breathing life into me as proof

El Bosque no Conoce

In the forest I was lost
So made the trees my home
But by and by, with skin on bark
It grew quite tiresome
I acquainted self with elf and lark
But scoffing was the gnome
For all the branches I might cross
And never nearer come