i like trapping sunlight within my eyes. i like lazing in a car and smiling out the window in anticipation, ready for when the sun will shoot out from behind the buildings, waiting, waiting, soon, almost, past another house, and there! - it hits my pupils so hard that it hurts and i close my eyes and keep in there, leave it hammering against the insides of my lids, and oh oh oh how good it feels, so close to painful, this strange pleasure of mine.
lazy hazy and so on and so forth. what to do, what to do. maybe this is the christmas jitters, the old butterflies born again in the pit of my belly. so restless, and somehow nauseous, mind a-flutter and a-woop. what i want to write is words, how and what they are, why they are, how strange they are, how truly perplexing and magical and inane, as well. useless. words, sign posts that guide us all into a bog of misunderstandings and false notions. yes, i say 'love', but what do you hear, human, what do you hear when i say 'easy' and 'hard'.
last night i lost another word. be proud of yourself, she said, and i realized that i could not. there is no pride in me, not for myself and not for others. there is joy and contentment and happiness in place of where pride used to be. why is it not enough, i ask her. she has no answers and then we have silence. i can't speak what i don't experience, and i can't experience what i don't experience. so goodbye, 'pride'. run along with the others that have gone. you'd only hold me back from being where i now am: not working with the future results in my mind, but working with the present work in my heart.
i do not want christmas gifts. and i'll not say anything of the sort to people, knowing that they've gone through the trouble of buying something already. yes, it's nice of them to think of me, to want to gift me with something that they hope i'll like. but i think i'll let them know next year that i'm happiest with empty hands. the other day i went walking around and suddenly it made me so sad to be standing in the midst of all those things. christmas this and christmas that, christmas on the floors and hanging from the ceilings. row upon row of christmas. yet it was not. it was only stuff. as if love should be expressed with something that comes with a ribbon around it. there's sadness in this. but oh well, for now.
last night i lay in the dark, on my back, in silence. close my eyes and press my palms against my ears, tightly, tight enough to feel the pressure building up inside myself. hear the bones of my hands creaking, press harder so that the tension will build up enough for silence to exist. now hear the life in my body, the quiet hum and rush of my blood, the spacious sound of my breathing, entering and leaving my lungs. afloat and adrift, in emptiness.
in sleep, i dream of apologizing to people whom i've hurt and let down before and suddenly all panic is lost and everything is all right again. wake up to a new day that feels special, because it is. today is glittery, to the eye as well as the thought.
i look forward to next year, to falling back, staying behind, watching it all again, immersing myself in silence and in words, quiet nights for my own and days filled with people and with learning. i do not want to run away from a thing because hiding is never quite of a solution and what im lacking here severely is really integrity and courage. plain old balls of guts. and i've none.
so many loose ends to catch and follow, back to where everything comes together and makes sense. so much to write about. but maybe i'll go talk with someone instead, now. let them know how good it is to be around them. such things don't need to be kept a secret.
merry christmas to you and im sorry it hadn't been a good year. it will be better, i promise.
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