WHO ARE YOU WEARING?
Is there something wearing you? Something wearing you down, ironically, by way of your distance? Is it easier to pretend away it’s there by way of layered, colorful distraction? I know I’ve been good at that game.
Today I came across a Picasso quote. “Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone.”
Real love is saying it, no matter the ramifications. As I finally cross the threshold into not needing to be liked, into not needing to be loved back by any one person, I know it’s time to let my relationship with communication play catch up.
If you’re wondering if I’m alluding to things in my intimate relationship, I am not, and for that I celebrate atop whatever chart of life rewards we must all come in with, and that I only recently discovered.
But our lives are an intricate web of relationships, are they not? And inside of our days our egos fly around hitting everyone in the head mildly, forcefully, sympathetically, colorfully, violently, softly.
And sometimes our pains are so similar to another of common fabric, that one party of the two will build a wall to the other.
Where the ills of one landscape match another so perfectly, there’s the fear they will cancel each other out if they hang out. For in truly meeting one another, shared stories of pain may cease crying out for impact.
And the ego’s desire to live IS its ultimate addiction. There’s no 12 Step To The Source, per se.
There are a million steps, and they usually have to be taken alone.
It’s so much easier to name our friends among those who delight, rather than challenge us, who are tickled by our egoic fly arounds. But when the walls come down between two of common fabric, there is a strange explosion of tinsel and pastel confetti that cannot be staged. There is the release of the wrong and heavy coat from the body.
It is a rare occurrence, and one that I’d love to have again, or more probably, for the first time, if I’m really taking stock.
Because to refer back to Pablo’s words, no, I wouldn’t be comfortable dying without a certain expression, to a certain intolerant, hurting, similar someone.
I must surrender to the brambles along the wall.
Photo of me by Nathalie Michel.
