Something happened in Andrea's class this two Wednesdays past. We were working on a simple diagnostic of our breathing and how we use the breath to communicate. She was touching my solar plexus and looking me straight in the eye as she explained to me that I either didn't give enough breath to carry my intention to my intended target, or that I was straining to send the message; that there was no ease to my speaking. In that moment, certain circumstances of my life, which I have recently been dealing with all came to a fine point. I had a sort of epiphanic experience where many things suddenly became clear to me.
I realized that there were some rather old wounds that I had thought long healed that had perhaps not mended properly; I had felt my problems had been allayed, but like a broken bone that doesn't stitch properly, I had come face-to-face with the realization that I was, intact, perhaps still not well. As she continued on to work on my classmates, I watch, and wept with the ideas that were now swirling in my head. I tried to set it all down to be digested here, but ended up with far too much to publish in one go.
I mentioned in my last post a degree of emotional apathy that I had discovered after much of the anger had abated. I was in Sacramento without much desire to do much of anything with myself. Successive failures had left me fairly devoid of the passion for reaching for anything. I was without a focus of direction.
It should be stated openly and honestly that my ability to grasp the French language is the equal of a purblind man attempting to pluck granules of dust from the ether in a strong breeze... with tweezers.
I had come to terms with the fact that I needed to live under my parents roof again. I was horrendously in debt without a solid job or any hopes of any great advancement in the future. I reconnected with some old friends in my home town, while trying to figure out where to go from there. I couldn't, however, shake this feeling that I was still a non-entity; that who I was and what I had to say and think and feel was of little import.
I had begun to write again. I found through writing, an artistic outlet to get out a lot of things that I felt that I couldn't express in my life. I also made the decision to go to move to NYC and give myself a fresh atmosphere to hope to encourage myself to continue to grow. This may sound cocky, but I knew that I was going to go to Columbia. I was driven to do it. I knew that if I didn't get in this year that I was going to keep trying until I did. Fortunately it was a short wait, and I honestly could't be happier to be a part of this class, at this point in time. Something that I probably don't share with them enough, but the whole point of this series of posts was to express my inner sense of my own failure to communicate.
So I've found my direction; I am on a plotted course. I know where I want to be, even though the way to get there is often clouded. I feel like I've rediscovered myself; burned away (almost) all of the things that don't work and have a fairly good sense of mine own strengths and weaknesses.
I know that I've found my words as well, but I am still faced with this new knowledge that my collection of... fears have found a physical expression and that, previously unbeknownst to myself, my body is sounding the bells of those fears for everyone to see, whether they recognize them consciously or not.
I need to love myself better. This may cause some people to snicker, especially if they have seen my cocksure affectation that I put on. Entering a room I can sometimes be counted on to ask, "All right! Who wants to make out?" I have no problem with levity. I express myself rather competently when I write, but when speaking and when things get important I do recognize two feelings:
1) No one is listening.
2) No one cares and it's all rather futile.
These things can stir up that fury and that feeling of, fuck it; fuck you; fuck everything; and especially fuck you... all because it immediately takes me back to that place of feeling like a non-entity. How's that for tension?
I had a few more sections of this that I've decided to cut. Things that I feel help illuminate where I've picked up some of these habits, but they can always be made public in the future! I know what they are. I've had my reflection and there's no need to return to it nightly for the sake of what might be an interesting post. If anything, I've got a cache of wonderful titles for you in my back pocket. It's time to return to the present.
I write these things down, and I believe I disclaimed in part one that things might get a little emo... I know I've had some conversations with a few people who have told me that they read the blog and joke about how they now know more about be than they probably ought. I write these things down and give them to you as an admission of self. I have some anger in me. I own it. I don't think it's all bad. in the right place it can be incredibly healthy, but I need to give it up that which isn't. To let go and attempt to... recenter myself; learn to trust more openly; be brave. Not just for my "art", but for myself.
Thank you for coming on this little journey with me.
"Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart."
-Mohandas Gandhi
I relinquish. I want to be with you... here... now.
-Nix
wow.
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