Such a strange feeling. I am in this life, at this time in history, with this society, and I am supposed to be within it all, even as I become more and more aware of the distaste I have for it all.
Of course, a large part of this distaste comes from my haunting. I have always felt haunted, and as the veil has been pulled back some, this makes sense. But I seem to have a problem with the order of operations, if you will. In my mind, I want to become clean first, then go about making choices of what life I want to live. Making choices while unclean seems to me to guarantee that the choices will be tainted in some way.
I have within me a force, a force that wants a release, maybe even demands it. It seems to have been ever-present. Like encapsulated molten lava, the building pressure to escape has reached to just below the surface now.
Other pressures have been building as well. The pressure to be honest, responsible, forthcoming, knowing, courageous, brave, and the willingness to bear the consequences for all of this life.
I have put the brakes on my life. Full stop. Quit my job. I have withdrawn from the trivial, but everything is trivial in the presence of lava, isn’t it? Money is disappearing. Few friends left, but the ones left are beauties. Attachment to things, gone too. And balance? Well, I may never have had it, but any remnants of what I had are gone.
I can see only one goal, just one. It is to be cleansed. Cleansed of the deeply embedded emotional shrapnel that will not let go. Or is it me that will not let go?
For me to become “clean” (whatever that means), I have to allow forces I do not understand to have their way with me. This involves surrender and a nakedness that feels like annihilation, a death. I wonder if I am up for it, but at the same instant I know deep within that I am not up for denial or retreat.
Messages from my ugly little past have found their way to the surface. They have travelled many, many miles and decades. They have worn down the sharp outline of my once wide shoulders, leaving them rounded and worn. Classmates and friends have born witness to my behaviors saturated with the evidence, writing me off as a flake of some kind. Ex-girlfriends, ex-wives and ex-partners all marked by my stains, leaving them to doubt themselves when the doubt was really mine.
Over the last few years, I have realized just how dependable my intuition is and has been, and in this recognition, I fully trust what it is that I feel, that all of these sensations are guides to my knowledge, my wisdom, to my truths. It is this force that has sustained me through all of this. So I trust that the forces rising within me mean something, and it scares the hell out of me.