Initiation
All is forward momentum, continual damage. Self-harm seminar. I start to doubt the wellness movement like there’s an identity crisis on my hands. When I look down at my hands, I see hundreds of eyes.
Today, we’re digging into the crates of Open Thought’s third volume, Changing Boats.
Here comes milder chill weather. Overheard bits of conversation, misconstrued, not the truth, your own version, I suppose, which is not necessarily the truth. Not a blatant lie, either. A miscalculation. The two fit as haphazard shards of glass back into the frame. I identify more with a rock thrown.
What does it take to live in this city, or to live anywhere for that matter? Ultimately, the ego cannot survive. This is the spoiler alert. You will have to go through the trials, like it or not. If you survive, this is just one of many initiations.
To survive a great trial paves the way for increased gratitude. Lack of gratitude for longevity and vitality is fuel for more ego.
This is how I choose to look at it—all I’ve been through has been various processes of initiation. I’m not the same person I once was. This is necessary. I can list out ways I’ve changed. You might get to know me as I begin reveal myself.
Pressing along in the writing space. Walking steadily through the city. When I’m done, back uptown I go.
Paper plastic panda ponderous ponderosa.
Plan the plea. Exceptions to the fool. No more tea for me, please. No ticks or flees. Bricks to tease. No longer.
Those were days of old, a previous chapter. We attacked a gas station because the gents were mean to us, can’t remember why. We tore the place up when they weren’t looking. All the karma came quick. It hurt my heart—why had I done such a thing? I had no grasp.
We threw little canisters of ketchup at the school busses. The kids will have their say.
Now, they build ghost guns.
Timer frame, the framework, listener. The great healer. A friend, the journal safe space in which you can write for miles. Not all friends last a lifetime. That’s the simple fact of it.
Zig zag progress. Winding down the trouble. You can see clearly where I go wrong. Shadow work, shadow blockage. Layered up more.
On my right is Manhattan Market and a building in need of scaffolding, for whatever reason. Lime green turns a darker shade, continues turning. There’s a large group crossing at the zoo.
Doors closing. A view down into the forest. A couple gets on with a baby carriage. I just have my carriage returns. Two higher end grocery stores on my right, in Cleveland Park. An old woman is talking to the young couple about their baby, reminiscing.
A sign says “Imagine a city without lead.”
Tilden Hall says, “These are pet-friendly apartments.” An Amazon truck parked out front with blinking hazard lights. Everyone must be patient with Amazon as it continues its all-encompassing takeover, sweeping the globe.
End of day, I’m sitting in guided meditation, realizing my stomach is upside down. When walking through the city, there has to be thicker skin. Otherwise, everything gets to you, nags you down to the bone, turns your stomach into a queasy gymnast. The news speaks of World Mental Health Day and I start to suspect this is coming around more than once a year. The news is saturated. A meat grinder. Upgrade now and you can jam what’s left of your heart in there.
There’s little concentration for me these days when I come here to write. The reader is invited to come along with me on the journey of working on the self. If I were to only write what’s positive, however, I’d lose credibility, because that’s just not how things go.
Morning notes open to recognize the vast array of the inner life swirl. Another audiobook is snagged or downloaded.
My voice gives out and I must meditate mantras silently. Continue to apply pressure.
Symptomatic static. Everything is connecting Karens with Darrens into a network. Fusion reactor. Swap out what could be with what should be. Swipe either direction, you’re manifesting. Start your career choice, don’t get ripped off. The news offers tips on what scams to avoid, keeping viewers informed. Home is warm. A guy purchases three hundred dollars worth of materials and converts his small closet into a library nook. The design elements of straight line flow, also curving a ceiling arch.
Morning pages like eyes closed shutter the vision, they close, allow for imagination to take form, this way or that, sudden, quick. You don’t see it coming.
Quick, you’re in the zone and talking to one of your best friends, the page itself, open and ready for you. Available. It’s eager to see what you’ll come up with, if a new dream will be revealed, if there’s a new found footage horror movie you’ve discovered and wanna share notes about it. Create the notes that will mimic the thoughts as they’re just starting to form.
A couple watches the first Paranormal Activity and the lady has her hands up over her face the entire time, as if this will protect her. We cannot unsee or un-breathe.
All is forward momentum, continual damage. Self-harm seminar. I start to doubt the wellness movement like there’s an identity crisis on my hands. When I look down at my hands, I see hundreds of eyes. Dreams are vivid enough to have trip reports written about them. It’s a miracle to witness consciousness waking up.
A dead rat is photographed after its murder. Don’t send the photo to me. Can’t un-breathe reality. A group shuffles through the cafe and on up to the children’s section of the bookstore. From the street, the long steady walk south leads back home. A thought mirrors self-doubt and repeats inner torment like I said—damage is as damage does. Live awhile and hopefully, you’ll start really looking. The landscape is troubled. One day I come here and there’s a weight on me, I open my questions up relating to depression to realize that I’m in a state of shock, from the death, the suicide that morning, later dreaming that I’m ascending on a pilgrimage. A woman whispers, “It’s a good thing you’re not looking out the window right now. This is what they call Suicide Mountain.” Thanks for the heads up. I wish somebody would’ve said something before. Well, I guess it’s for a good cause and I shouldn’t complain. This can be an actual process of initiation.
Says you. Yes, says I.
The they them that’s over
and done with, done away with,
gambled, garbled, gargling, gone.
Say more. I said. Salad is the whole meal,
a steal, a sealed deal.
Free the symptoms to flow
so that they go. An ongoing search
through the woods in an autumn mystery,
crying my eyes out, the sorrow, the separation
from your beloved. We understand separation.
We are caught up in the world of external energy.
It’s brilliant. It’s what’s going to make us suffer more
until we get back to a change of perception.