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Change

There are easier things than waking up every day, standing on the floor and bribing yourself not to lay back down and sleep for ten more minutes.   There are easier things than sitting down to explain exactly how you feel at any given moment, or to give the details of a particular event that had just passed.   I used to be a writer, you see.  But it's the details that make the moment, the event, the life worth telling about and I am lately void of details.
Something changed in me some time ago.  I'm not sure if it was a single event, or the culmination of a series of things.   Most people have a subtle power about them, an aura, if you will.  A lot of those people aren't aware that they have it and generally don't notice it in others.   There are people who have this in a diminished capacity, while others exude the energy so naturally, even the most mundane of us can't help but be drawn to or repulsed by that energy.   I was one of these people.  I had power, energy, an aura.
I'd written once about darkness, about the shadow that I wrapped myself in, the strength I drew from it, and the comfort and security it brought me.   I'd told about a time that I spent "in the light", and how it affected me.  A part of me never really let go of that light.   It tainted me.  My mind had let go the idea that I was powerful, because I experienced weakness, that I was invulnerable, because I had experienced vulnerability.   My armor was flawed, my black became grey, and I was less for it. 
That is not to say there weren't things that could be gained by my new weakness.  I cared now about other people, which opened me to new experiences.   I laughed more readily, and still do.  But my emotions seem to have become unstable and moody.  I became more hot headed, reactionary.   Where before I planned everything, compensated for myself and my abilities and looked at the outside influence of random people as stationary, mutable things, now I am spontaneous, unpredictable and impetuous.   I explain everything to people now when they look at what I do as chaotic.  I no longer hold close the secrets that made me feel unique.   I seek understanding, acceptance, recognition, gratification.  Especially the gratification.  I learned through a series of hard lessons, that one can only amaze people for so long when you give away your secrets.   That people will no longer look at you as unique, as brilliant when they come to know "how" it is all done.  And worse, people learn to feed on your power, they control you, use you up.   They chain you to their great energy sucking machines and leave you a broken husk.
But I digress.  In letting in the light, I didn't become a new grey.  It instead was light/grey/black.  Where the two came together there was a third created.  I have come to know myself as a vast being, a soul mostly only bound through the limits of my mind.   Each of us, carrying the Divine spark, has the beginnings of everything inside of us.  The God(s)/Goddess(es) essentially lent their power to us, brought all the elements and powers of the universe to bear to create life/anti-life.   And so in me, the light and dark, fire and ice, came together and shaped within me a new being, a new life, a new universe. One which I have since been trying to resolve.
The dark parts of me are darker now, and the light brighter. I am the child and the monster now, the masculine and the feminine, the lover who waits by the window for love to return and the lost warrior who may never been home again. I am the rabbit and the dragon, and I am still the predator who hunts the prey within himself.
I don’t know that I am ever going to truly lose my mind, ever going to become those things that I dread, go down the road that I have seen a friend go. I feel coherent, together, but these are often the lies we tell ourselves, aren’t they?
At times I feel the energy returning. I feel the old winds stir in me, the dark secret paths through the woods, the wings I once had. But it ends there most of the time, not lasting for more than a few hours. The wings aren’t there anymore, as if they had been ripped from my shoulders. The paths are overgrown. The winds have become silent and stale.
There are still many secrets I know, many things I keep, not sharing with the world. I will forever have those lost corridors, the broken tunnels that led to rich libraries, to wells and forests never touched by anyone. A part of me still lives there. The powerful thing that was me, that sleeping force. I visit him sometimes and he opens his dark eyes to me, and breathes a heavy sigh. He reminds me about the deniable truth. About this reality I’ve created and how it is only real because I believe it to be. That there is an end, should I choose it, I am the creator of this. I can change it. That the ultimate consequence of my desicion or indesicion only holds the weight I give it.
This part of me, this lost, secret part, doesn’t concern himself with the weight of morality, of physics, of law. It understands everything.
Am I truly as fragile as I think I am? No. I am a fighter, a warrior, the dragon spirit, the hunter. I have created a life where the world outside is no longer dangerous. Where my enemies no longer face me and where understanding and peace has become a routine. That fight, that fire, turned inward. My war became with myself, and the universe I built has become merely a stage on which my conflict tries to destroy itself.
Or, perhaps, looking out on the expanse of my soul, at the vastness that I am, I simply cannot comprehend it. Perhaps it is enough to say, "this is what I am, what I have made myself to be," and accept it. I don't remember if things were always this way. I suspect not, that I have reached a period in my own life where the questions have only brought more questions until I end up with an enigma.
Perhaps I'd lost what I set out to write in the first place. Maybe the writing itself is the point, just a flow of thoughts, a stream of feeling that I need to follow for a while. I feel better now for having written something. It is something I really haven't done since the post that was intruded upon by Clayton. I've been guarded since then, wary of publishing, even if I didn't admit it. Time for change, for mutability. Time to adapt and move on, to stretch out again and let my mind and heart go. I am a wild thing, and being chained, caged, confined makes me crazy.

posted by September @ 5:02 PM