I have gotten away from the original goal of this blog it seems--that life has lessons, whose profundity does not rest upon whether a given set of events are big or small in themselves. We give events their significance, usually without regard to their intrinsic importance. This blog was meant to be a point of sharing--in the hopes that others might find some solace in some of what is written.
Perhaps you, dear reader (certainly I haven't had many readers), have experienced heart break. Perhaps you have known the deep solitude that comes from standing at the brink of the ocean--where sand or rock meets salty water. And you brace your being for the wide expanse--the endlessness of what is not known. Heart break is like this. And I wonder whether it helps others for me to write that heart break is like this--a standing at the brink of your being, wondering whether anything at all will become clear, wondering whether how you feel in this moment will ever end, whether the horizon will ever come. It never comes--because it was never there to begin with. And you ride your loneliness, your self-doubt, your tears and sadness like waves where suddenly the vastness and the unknowableness becomes comforting. Because if there is no horizon, if there is nothing that will ever be totally certain, if there is nothing that could come close to meeting the human condition, then why wait around trying? This is what makes life rich. It is also what makes life shit. It is why God invented crying. And weeping.
Have you ever wept? Like, really wept? Like, your entire selfhood or subjectivity burrows itself into your chest and you scream it out--you howl at the moon? It is likely that if we all wept at little more, we'd have a better time of things. I can count on one hand the amount of times that I have wept--deeply, profoundly let go of my sorrow and let it fill me so completely. Afterwards, I cannot recall ever feeling anything other than relief.
Have you ever wanted to confess? To confess your sins, because so many things have gone wrong? So many things will go wrong. It must be vestiges left over from when Catholicism reigned. The guilt, if it were water, that I feel for some things could quench an entire dessert. So many components of sorrow.
Does it feel better now, that I have written what is true for each and every one of us?
Of course there is also joy. The joy of connection and intimacy--of partying and raucous laughter. There is nothing quite like laughing and laughing and laughing. There is nothing quite like deeply felt safety--the kind of safety that at once fills you with such relief and at the same time sings such beautiful rejuvenation into your soul. Do we make enough safe spaces in our lives? We need people and places with whom and where we can, as they say, take off our jackets and remove our shoes, and nuzzle and burrow and be held. Where are these places for you? Are they with a lover? Are they with friends? Are they in your home?
Does it feel better to know that in the midst of our mundane despair we have companions? People who will walk with us, as their best and worst selves, and with whom we also can walk as our best or worst selves, these are the people we must keep. These are the people who should form your inner circles, the lifeblood of your being. We are innately social--incomplete without others. We cannot be alone for too long or we will get sick and die--for realz.
In the midst of all the change in my life--starting a year ago and before, to now--I have never been so thankful for the many loved ones in my life to whom I can say, "I love you." This simple act, in itself, makes all the difference in the entire universe.
For Now,
and with much more love to give and to receive yet,
Zachary
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