Los Angeles, so you know

It is quite possible, maybe even nearly guaranteed, that I will not be there on your final day. That is, in the final moment that defines that day. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but if I did it would just be untrue.

I wish it didn’t have to be so simple. I wish I didn’t have to be so wrapped up in myself just like everyone else, and I wish that I could summon the superpowers I always dreamt of one day having, so that I could be in two places at once after all; so that I could be as much the magic to you, as you’ve been to me over the course of so many days.

I am only human, however. A being bound by two hands and two feet, with just one heart and one mind connecting each of these extensions to the body. Even if in my mind I can fly, the rest of the time I’m pulled to the earth by gravity like every other one of the planet’s organisms.

What’s more, even if I could actually fly through time and space, the truth is that I would still have to leave one part of myself to get to you on the other side. This I could not do.

Last night, at the peak of dawn there was a tremor through the earth. I could not fly and get away. Nor could you. Instead we both had no choice but to bear the weight and worry of the tumble that marked the earth’s transformation, a transformation all but guaranteed to continue indefinitely, or at least, long past either one of us.

We had to be somewhat brave, Los Angeles. For a moment each of us faced the specter of being taken from one another and the impending doom thereof. Yet there we were. We made it through the strenuous trek. Now, we continue with our own transformation through the times. We are living, breathing organisms too, after all, each of us with whole worlds to fill out through these things.

That said, there will also be a time when one of us cannot make it. On that day, even with all the bravery in the universe coursing through our veins, we will still be broken through. Separated both from one another and within ourselves, the sky will be blotted out by an endless sense of abandon. We’ll then be left to course through the dark of the night as new, less certain selves. Broken selves.

That brokenness is also likely to extend through the course of more than just one night. It may even take a lifetime to adapt to a world without one another, but we will once again transform through this. It is our destiny to expand into the universe through each of the events that happen to us, and through those we happen to. Indeed, without this indefinite transformation, I could not write this note to you today, nor any of the notes we’ve shared. And even if the notes one day vanish, I’ve got a feeling they could only disappear to take time and space in another form, too.

Of course, there will only be one Los Angeles through the course of time and space, just as there will be only one JIMBO TIMES to express so uncompromisingly such a fervent dedication to Los Angeles.

But in the meantime, with what time and space is still left, I want to express my gratitude for everything we’ve been able to form together.

You have made me, Los Angeles, and I can only hope in some way I’ve made you too.

When the time comes to remake ourselves even beyond one another, then, even if I can’t be there to say goodbye, I trust each of us will still remake ourselves well, just as we have for so long.

Bravely, uncompromisingly, and indefinitely, you have my best in this journey.

And remember that we have to keep going, Los Angeles.

Indeed, the rest of the pueblos out there depend on us doing just so.


Born Again,

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,