Friday night / Saturday v early. It's been raining and misting for days. I have come, at last, tired, to the other side of the river. I don't know how I got here and I so much want to write it all down. For a future me to come across and find the way back, again. But it's different every time, isn't it? I mean it's the same and different.
I deconstructed, entirely. The scaffolding came down, too. But because I'd done so much work before, had done the hard labor of cutting a path through those woods, finding the way back didn't take six years. And the other good part this time was the ability to watch myself fall apart and, with intense curiosity and radical acceptance, a strong stomach and a lot of faith, watch myself figure out how to come back together.
There are still things I don't understand. And I don't know if I can bring myself to a place where I can watch with open eyes (truly knowing) the mechanisms there. I can watch and accept what is happening, but I can hardly bear thinking why. I'm pretty straight most of the time (except for a persistent celebrity crush on Clive Owen of Closer & Mike Colter of Luke Cage) but then for a little while I am very, very gay. This has happened several times now and it's perplexing every time though this time I recognized it as a part of this bigger mechanism that follows certain kinds of events or feelings maybe and then it works its way out of my system.
There's a memory component where everything that leads up the deconstruction becomes hazy and eventually fades away. I think I'm getting there, now. Or very soon.
It's good that life tests your mettle periodically, I reckon. And when you break, it's an opportunity to watch how the pieces fit that somehow make you whole, again. To map the terrain, again and again, in case you keep having to pass this way.
“Forgive everyone for your own sins
and be sure to tell them you love them
which you do.” - Jack Kerouac
