Black Flowers March 17th, 2012
Last night, in a quiet place, I packed my bags through someone’s inner space… or, the lack thereof: I met someone who experienced amnesia. Twelve years of memories, lost. Every now and then he gets a snippet of recollection back, usually brought on by random conversation. I was honored to watch one such long-gone traveler return home while I listened.
Weighing heavily on my mind lately are thoughts of people who seem to have wished for such an escape. To have wiped away the pain of rejection, of mistakes, lost time, of vulnerability, of yearning… is that preferable to not having the emotional experience, to not risk of being ripped apart, leaving others to clean up the mess?
What of the choice (is it?) of whether to rip? What of the choice (is it?) of whether to put one’s name in the race in the first place? Should one avoid such inevitable conflicts by simply turning the other way, trying to save face?
I must remember, it is not all dark clouds and tempests. Sometimes no one falls into the pit of despair. And for some, the sun shines brighter after the storm. I was one of those people. But I stood alone.
They say the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but inevitably the parts come undone. Why can’t the unwinding of the parts be greater than the previous whole? That’s what I want, for ALL parts. Does that ever happen?
I’m keeping a lot in lately, timidity veiled as kindness, fear of failure or success, frustration, elation, disappointed reassessment. Last time I felt this kind of deepened emotion I ended up lashing out in my confusion and introspective feelings of defeat. Thankfully someone heard my cry then. Thank you, again. I hope I can be more constructive, more creative, this time.