A recent cascade of life-lessons washes over palimpsest soul--that subconscious tablet with its near illegible marginalia from an ancient epoch and remnants of remnants of multiple selves--reminding me of the recentness of salvation and the extent to which rebirth takes hold and the time it takes to make-it-real, finding room for the next scripture or, rather, the next perfection of the version at hand. Two potentialities and two negations but not without two moments of truth and beauty: one of acceptance and the other of respect. 

The former moment ended in the only way it could have, assuming full context properly held, yet it was the most painful and most trying--not necessarily because of the depth of the investment but more so because of the distance of the fall from potential to actual. "Wherever something stands, something will stand beside it"--except when it doesn't; then it occurs, that dichotomy that portrays intimacy while denying desire. I cannot footrace with ghosts. I cannot fill a physical space with [ethereal, emotional] light. I cannot accept one without the other--no matter which comes first. Neither should You or anyone or everyone.

The latter moment ended the the less favorable of two ways, but [only?] because of my blind naiveté, my inability to act on a value because of my fear of betraying a Platonic "ideal." [This foolishness needs neither debate nor explication.] And while there was/is emotional distress, it doesn't approach intractable. Yes, perhaps I kept a healthier distance but more so, I think, because there was seemingly no contradiction--no dichotomy, no desiring the unearned, no wanting something without that something to stand beside it. There was acknowledgement and concession--benevolence and understanding--honesty and caution. Ultimately, there was respect. 

Both moments have a sorry-grateful ending--for what I learned and what I could/n't have done. For the former writes on the tablet a parable of what it means to love myself and to know the difference between selfishness and rational selfishness, and the latter, directly atop that parable, a regretful-happy etude with bombastic lyrics and melancholy tone--one I'll hum for awhile until its theme becomes remixed in life's greater symphony. 


It's not unexpected, but still surprising, that for the first time in a long time I want to go home. The holidays are approaching, my mother has been sick, and I've experienced some emotional potholes on the road to perfection. Objectively considered they're minor, really, but enough of a bump to cause discomfort and to make me second guess my driving. Could I have swerved? Taken a road less traveled? Walked? All important, legitimate questions to consider as long as I keep the subject of the inquiry in focus and don't make bottomless pits out of potholes--as I have a tendency to do.

Unhappiness is an exception to life's rule, and this exception will pass sooner rather than later. Because this time I know how to read the map.


Show some passion.
For the sake of our lives, my man, BE KNIVES!"

I'm going to read this every day until it happens.


When the signs are this clear, there's no need for a TomTom. Stop planning and start driving.