The Walking Dead

Hmmm.  How to tell this story without sounding overly dramatic.  Eh fuck it, I’ll just dive right in.  This Wednesday past I hit a bereft-of-hope, nothing-left-to-do-but-check-out moment. Let’s just point out that clearly I’m still breathing so there’s no need for any of us to get carried away.

The few people I’ve told about this pleaded with me to call them, admonished me for not calling them, checked and rechecked that I was Ok.  I’ve been struggling to put it into words, but its nothing they could have helped with. It was deeply personal. During it, I vaguely acknowledged all my responsibilities: my son (and the miserable understanding that he would be Ok without me); my friends; the option and rejection of short term pleasure (i.e. make a shitty decision) to appease this unbearable pain; the experiences not yet experienced. I knew then and I know now that nobody could have eased my path that night, and nor would I have wanted them to.  Its a funny thing, that sincerity of purpose to exit. My focus narrowed to a point where I couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t see anything in the future worth living for.  All the rich complexity and wonder of life had collapsed into a singularity of anguish.  Some part of me did die that night.  And it fucking hurt as it died.  As it was dying I implored the creator for help – the last and only hope – while my head and heart split with sorrow.  And then I slept. Since then I have been living in a confused daze, occasionally catching myself reflecting on how it could be that I was still walking around.

Every time I close my eyes since then I see a bare concrete construction site.  Whatever had died had left behind a tabula rasa.  I know it is my privilege now to adorn this mental space with whatever new artefacts I find pleasing, fitting, that will better serve me than the old.  I’m in no rush.  I’m enjoying the peace of oblivion.

A huge part of my crisis moment this week was the hopelessness felt in recognition of my seemingly inescapable romantic attachment patterns.  I choose inappropriate women as partners.  Or I choose appropriate women and end up turning them into shit partners, perhaps (if I listen to my own philosophy) it’s because that’s where I believe it will end up. Manifestation 101. Wherever you go, there you are. Or perhaps it’s due to unconscious recognition of, and attachment to, abusive, neglectful women like my mother – my primary, foundational romantic relationship (Jungian psych, not the creepy variety, though it’s a fucking grey area, looking back).

I don’t know what the new world order will look like for me when it comes to women. But I know it’s not going to work like it used to.  That part of me is now dead.  Oh sure, I’ll no doubt fuck up and make bad choices from time to time in the future – that’s my right as a human. But I’m going to go in with my signature heart-open, loving honesty. And this time I’ll ensure that I clearly communicate my needs and get them met, while also blow her fucking doors down and hold the space so that she can simply be the spark of the divine dance that she is. Where there is a mismatch in ideals we will work it out or we will walk away with love.  I refuse to believe relationships need to be as hard as they have been, especially for a man like me.  I do believe a huge part of all this shit I’ve been through this time around has been a wake-up call to hold more tenaciously to my ideals and not settle. I give so much.  I love so earnestly.  I build so fervently.  I deserve a reflection of the focused, deep, loyal passionate connection that I give. And I know I will get it, because I will settle for nothing less.  The next girl is going to love me with unbridled ferocity. She will drop a boundary around us and defend it fiercely. She will want me, us, over everything else out of the recognition that our sum is far greater than our parts. And I will honour all this by never expecting it, and never calling on it.  And we won’t worry anymore, because we will both relax in love-as-action. We’ll be free to simply love, and build, and nurture, and greet God through each other’s manifest form.

I’m not sure if I’ve said this before but it’s something I’ve known for a long time. Typically people contract, close their hearts, when they are hurting.  It makes sense, right?  You don’t want to be hurt again.  But I’ve found the secret. The key to living a beautiful life is to open your heart more through the pain.  Only love can heal.  Only love can set us free. Contraction is a natural part of the tidal sway of relationships and personal disposition, so honour it if that’s where you’re at.  But for me I’m going to focus on continuing to amplify love, express and connect, push outward and upward in all things as much as I possibly can, even if my heart is covered in scar tissue.

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