Since as long as I can remember I was driven by a tremendous love for the world, which to be sure, was also a great reeling from the world, in that it hurt to love something so much.
But while “being driven” implies some form of control over my love, I wasn’t always in control. In fact, it might be that I was in control less than a third of the time. The rest of the time, it felt like I was only reacting to the things made by love, as if one day I just got up when the world started to open its arms to me. I had to react. I had to express myself. I had to write.
Except that I simply didn’t know how to treasure everything I loved all at once. In turn, I mustered what I could with the scraps of time I was given, dropping the world again and again on its head. Now, being more removed from so much of what I’ve loved over the years, I can certainly claim to have no regrets with how I reacted, but that would preclude that I know the whole of myself; the fact of the matter is that I’m actually still getting to know the different projections which add up to myself. As for what that person regrets, I’m still finding out.
How does a person imagine their whole life to make up their mind about how they feel about it, anyway? In any case, I realize that this time around in reflecting on things, I can see I’m now somewhere along a middle space.
I can also see that I’m supposed to cross this passage onto the next span of my race through the cosmos, but that instead of lights beaming all around, it’s actually a rather dark terminal I’m standing in.
A part of me wanted to come back from all of my travels this year stronger, but another part of me was highly aware of how I could actually only come back from them in a more vulnerable state than before, estranged from my surroundings as I tried to make sense of just what mattered the most in both the places I left and the ones I returned to.
I’m now rummaging through that vulnerable state, because everything to be found in it is a collector’s item. And I’ve come to believe that I’m supposed to get to know my vulnerability better in order to move onto my strengths for the same purpose.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve decided to step away from so much of the driving force as of late; while the last time I checked I wanted to immerse myself full throttle with the world to uncover its farthest dimensions, it’s now the polar opposite; I am like the night, swollen into a dark and spacious state of things. There is a balance in it somewhere.
I know this when I open my eyes through the darkness to find the other part of myself; rather than being afraid of its difference, I am immovably at peace with it, accepting it for as long as it needs to be with me.
I don’t always need light to observe my existence; even through darkness, I can sort through its contents to still find enough of what I need from myself; I understand that just as I thrive with light, I’m meant to thrive without it as well. The result is something I’m rather happy to lay bare.
With more soon,