My Life, My Rock Pile

"A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral."

~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Our lives are so unnecessarily complicated by what we try to make them be that we often forget to see them for what they have the potential to become. We see potential in other people, in other lives, other ways of being, other opportunities, other everything -- and feel jealous. But we are rarely realistic about ourselves. About the fact that the only thing that separates us from the "others" is vision. We are inspired by what lies outside of us and envy it, mimic it, covet it, try to dominate it, be a part of it, anything to own it or co-opt it for ourselves. But we lack inspiration in our selves -- we lack a true belief that we are the same as everything else and harbor the same potentials.

We wake up and think, "why is that happening? why is my life like this? why? why? why?" Instead of the more obvious, "What can I make myself into? How can I evolve? Who can I become? Where can I go?" The questions we ask represent our plights and foibles -- when really we should be asking ourselves what challenges we've yet to encounter and how we can seek them out and grow.

This may all sound really over-optimistic or self-helpy, but I hope that isn't the case. Really the crux of the matter is living one's life is like creating art. Dreaming of the unimaginable and setting it into motion in life -- rather than on canvas or paper or in sound. Actually working the energy into an artistic experience of our existence. And that takes true vision and clarity of self. Something that, up until recently, I completely lacked. I had the black cloud of the beta lurking over everything in my life and dirtying my aura and I couldn't see anything except frustration, obstacles, and impending failure. But freedom from that situation has reawakened my self to the world of possibility. The art of becoming other.

Not for the sake of mimicking that which is outside myself, but for the very point of acting out an artistic version and expression of my inner self. And for the first time since I was in high school, I no longer feel acute pain and emptiness and agreement with one of the most brilliant quotes from one of the most gut-wrenching plays in the history of American theater. Tennessee Williams wrote, "We're all of us sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life!" And that quote used to weigh in the pit of me like an albatross.

But in this new manifestation of my gowth, the mirror doesn't reflect rocks, it bears the image of a cathedral.

Fallen in Love (with Illusion)

"I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me -- the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe is the reason for every work of art." --Anais Nin

For someone who worked in publishing for as long as I did, I must admit I'm a terrible editor when it comes to my own life. I mean, here's my created world: completely ass backward and not what I meant at all. Everything is 100% contrary to the plan. Ha. And here's me: gasping for words, air, anything that will resemble a time when I was satisfied, satiated, and feeling connected to another person.

Everyone keeps saying I shouldn't need a man. I shouldn't need a relationship. I should be fine on my own. And, fuck them all. Because I'm more than fine on my own. I feel great on my own. I'm doing great on my own and I am rocking every day like it's a blessing and a challenge and a gift. And I'm actually enjoying the process -- I like coming unraveled, it reminds me that the perfectionist standard I hold myself to is just another illusion. But none of that has anything to do with the fact that without a relationship there's a whole part of me that has no voice or form of expression and that part of me is not ready to be quiet. In fact, on the contrary, that part of me is screaming from the depths of my soul -- and the horrible truth is that I am the only person listening.

And why? Because everything that came before was so manufactured. I worked so hard to build -- to write and create -- the world I wanted to be living, the life I wanted to have, that I forgot to acknowledge that it was built out of stage props and scenery -- and founded on all the lies he told. Which made everything so easy to manipulate and move, so transient and malleable , but also, so unreliable and contrived, so built on stilts and weighted too heavily to stand without support. What was I thinking? On what level did I think -- as long as it looks pretty it won't fall down. As if aesthetics really supercede essence.

But in my created world I thought they could. I thought I could "squeeze the universe into a ball" and bend it to my will.

Control. It all comes back to control.

I am in love with control. So for all my reality -- for all my honesty -- for everything that sets me apart from the fakes and the posers, the brutal fact is that I am in love with an illusion, a ghost, a figment of my own imagination. And, he was just the same -- totally unreal.

Funny how it took me so long to make the connection between unreal, him, and that first mix he made, titled "Your Unreal Is Here Now" -- oh, how stupid I was at twenty-one.

And that strikes me as the greatest hypocrisy and narcissism of my existence -- that I love illusion.

But the very act of admitting that hypocrisy is such a relief. I'm so happy to see it and look at and dwell on it a bit. To reveal how flawed I really am.

So the story isn't just about the ugly things that have happened to me, but also the ugliness that I harbor in my soul. I much prefer to expose it, show it to everyone who cares to see it, and admit that I'm not ready to give up this love affair. Not the one with the long-gone beta. I surrender him to the wiles of the universe -- may he travel lightly and make his way very far away from me -- but, rather, I am not ready to break off this passionate romance between me and control.

I may have uncloseted it, so to speak, but I'm not ready to let it go quite yet. I'd rather look at it, try it on, search it up and down, and find a way to integrate it back in me -- I mean, it's an art thing, right? I can't create without it, so I need to learn to live with it and embrace that there are things about me that have an air of dishonesty about them. And, since I'm human, that's okay.

"And I feel it like a sickness, how this love is killing me, I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly. And dance the edge of sanity, I've never been this close. I'm in love with your ghost."

Rising

Completely moved into my new old house I am comforted by the fact that the work is nearly done and I am so pleased by the results. I have reclaimed this house from all the energy of my failed beta-ship.

I thought that I never felt more satisfied than the day I got engaged -- I finally had an answer to the question of where my life was going. I don't think I ever knew security that hard and fast and concrete and Absolute like that a single other day of my life. But, as it turns out, the best day -- the best feeling and the most satisfying -- was the day I got un-engaged and rose up out of me and my life into the limitless possibilities of becoming.

Being home in this new manifestation of me feels like home never has in all my life and this security -- in the rootedness and steadfastness of me being me -- is more real than any false feelings of hope and knowledge I felt in that other person.

I'm so thankful to have a second chance at everything and to really hear myself this time. To let my heart speak and honor what it says. It really is the evolution of my soul -- and it's so beautiful to experience.