Come

October 16, 2014

A Sunday after I first visited Mount Rainier.
I would have just started my Sophomore year in college, visiting home for the weekend.
I had just turned 20, but we found a bottle of vodka and made an occasion of it.
A treasure of a memory, perhaps with my most intimate moment with the Earth, singing to a little mountain stream with my ukulele.

I now use the word "Call" to embody this sentiment of "come"
Forgive any triggers you find around the bible, it's verbiage was how I felt connected to and processed spiritual ideas. I used the word "sin" in place of what I would now express as shame. ("I have sinned" = "I am ashamed of my action or inaction")

I use the word "temptation" in a self-judgment sense. I used it to express my struggle with a mix of  activities to the ends of "numbing out". I use the word drowning to describe feeling caught in a cycle where numbing behavior begets the suffering that inspires the numbing behavior to begin with.

These were my reflections immediately following the mountain trip:

“Come.”

I experienced a really spiritual kind of melancholy the other day. My ultimate goal tonight is to start my writing with where I am, and arrive at the top of a joyful hill. My invitation is to be open in yourself, breathe, and take a walk with me.

This is the spiritually celebrative part:

When Jesus walked on water, he invited Peter to join him in a very simple word.
For me, his beckoning in the story captures the wash of peace God uses as an invitation to the grand love fest.

Simplicity makes me think of silence. I’ve considered the honesty found in silence and the expression found outside of words, so I thought about swallowing these meditations for once, but God made me a writer, so I will write.

Right now, I am working from a self-designed bad day to sitting atop the lofty embrace of joy, because that’s where I want to end up. I want to invite you, too.

Here’s how today starts, and where the shadow work is: I have sinned.

I steeped my knees in carpet for forgiveness, as I do. My knees dried and I turned around to sin again before dinner. I do not like to be without God, but to be without him is more immediately enjoyable. I dwell with myself, loose my bad habits like a spoon trying to dig a salt shaker. I am not alive in these moments. Though God fights these waves of temptation for me, still I drop, I rise, I drop.

Two days ago, I celebrated the song of a streambed down Mount Rainier with an old friend. So sure of God’s whisper, I sang in awe of the vista, the listening, and the heart. Upon returning home, my foot sank out of faith into temptation, the wind blew some distraction like it does.

Leaving the comfortable understanding of the universe I had, we tore doubt in our faith together to consider the other’s view. I, in some arrogant evangelism thought I could recite a candle to life. While this lost yelling goes on, still, supernatural grace brings me warmth. What selfish, power-hungry and corrupt human would engineer such a thing as grace?

I am thus drawn to continue exploring this grace-given love. Still, I grieve over these word documents I fall into. I look and suckle light into these fiber-published fonts, but I am afraid that I only dilute, fog, and dim the good words that are already there. After all, doesn't fire ruin a good wick in order to be fire?

So, I’ve been ignoring and forgetting God in key darkness where His strength can shine brightest.
This is where the story shifts.

I recently learned about the introduction to 1 Corinthians and I am reminded again that more noise does not merit greater listening. It is the whispers in these small places that deep wisdom dwells. According to the sermon I heard, the Corinthians had forgotten Paul’s teachings after all he sacrificed to teach God’s love. I am the Corinthians.

I am lost, and here at home, my frequented comforts are the easiest and simplest to find. When love does not find me, I claw at everything I have to drown the suffering of love. My heart becomes heavy and seeks drowning between temptation and loneliness.

I leave, I return to God, but what has stopped me from returning to that dry fountain? I have returned again and again, and each time I lose more faith in myself. When will I consider myself old enough to be too mature for and so finally capable of overcoming temptation?

Only when I make room in my heart for more than myself can I stave temptation. I am already holy, and I take it for granted, so I’ll forget all that I have promised and all that I have released for a quick fix. I consider myself, then.

What do I keep in my life?

If only I had just a floor and a bed. A mattress and a floor and this light. Could I live without this guitar? Can I be without these screens? These cameras? I could be with a pen and paper. I would be with God’s words. Yes, I could write poetry, as well as read it. I have been blessed with reminders of what it was like without internet. What if I only kept anything given by God?

Tonight was not a joyful night.

I laughed and ignored my family again. I grow fear in my heart in the face of wide goodbyes and new hellos that litter my horizons. I step through mountains into plains, and I often grow sad looking back, remembering the mountain’s wildflowers.

Tonight I looked back at the peaks. Some small fruit of joy in the past risen against the dry soil I choose to roll my bare legs in. Ahh, these self-inflicted woes, what joy is there in them? There must be, since as best as I understand it in Christian faith, I have been saved from sin so that I may write joy.

So, if I am saved, I remind myself that, when the majestic peak fades from the HERE to the background, to return to the wild mountain flowers at the foot so often overlooked in considering the peak. I hope to learn about them again so that I might cry again with the lord, and feel his hand on my heart again.

I am frayed knots of lost spirit. Tonight, I am woeful by my own design as my spiritual pangs fill these wings. Tonight, I write in the joy of writing for the sake of my heart and spirit, for the joy of writing what joy God has to give in the space of this self-induced middle class misanthrope.

I leave you here to consider the small, unappreciated introductions at the beginning of grand creation. The wildflowers at the base of a mountain.

A Process in Forgiving Myself

 

 

I share my process today from a lonely, tender, heart-nook place. 

A confession of the Truest Loneliness of my humanity. 

An exhale, of sorts:

~~~

I have had a hard time believing that my close relationships will share their "no" and today and yesterday that fear was realized twice. 

This mistrust is rooted in that I, myself, regularly withhold my "no" to spare my friends feelings, or for the pride of being "good", or so nobody knows how picky and slow and frustrating I am. So I can be an "adult". So I can be the better man. If I am the better man, I cannot be shamed, you cannot speak shame to me, hypocrite, I am justified because I have done my part. 

So I carry my fear of others doing the same to me, and so I carry my anxiety to be hypervigilent for unspoken truths. Anticipating and manipulating. I make myself responsible for tending to my friends because "I am better than that," (meanwhile I am wholly negligent to others and the guilt eats me up, but that's for another time). And in that hypervigilence, even surrounded by love, my heart is alone and thirsty and unable to drink, convinced the well is poisoned.

Today and yesterday I was told I ran blind across two "crossed boundaries" and I'm finding it very difficult to forgive myself and this is why:

1.

There's an old group of friends in my nervous system interpreting the pattern as an indicator of wrong-doing. I am Job. There must be something wrong that I did. Something wrong about what I'm doing. That I am oversharing and inconsiderate to the needs of The Other. The judge says good people do not make others uncomfortable like I am starting to do more often lately. I say I am learning to love myself. The judge says I am alienating myself and being inconsiderate and selfish and nonsensical and rude. I say I am looking for God. The judge says if I was living right I wouldn't have to worry about looking, that God would be here already. 

2.

The ache is coming from fear of a trend towards more and more broken connections. I believe these broken connections are the path to falling apart into what my spirit truly is. Phoenix. Resurrection. The judge says these whims are pulling me from my connection with God. The judge is saying "people are your connection with God, and you are making yourself farther from that relationship by being so selfish and hurting them. It is the opposite of God. You are hurting God by your selfishness. He will not love you until you resolve your selfishness." 

"You are not worth X until Y" is a message I carry deep in my body as I navigate life's dance floor.

3.

I received the idea of exhibiting 

"The wrong kind of curiosity"

Wrong curiosity.

The idea of a "wrong curiosity" lights up a core fear that what I am doing, that what brings me light, is only a selfish act of cruelty. This is a fear I have been waiting for because I am convinced it must be well-founded. How could I be good and live a good life that fulfills me? Certainly I am not taking on my share of the load. How much other unspoken hurt have I sown with my wrong curiosity? I am not worth a good life without working and suffering. I am not worthy of attention and love until I have proven myself. 

~~~

The judge tells me this is a pattern now, a trend, that I should stop being so foolish before it is too late. That I should be quiet and careful. I am afraid that the judge is right, that whatever happened is from a piece of myself I'm not willing to compromise on. That I will lose connection with others unless I bury my heart like I did. 

I care so deeply for connection. 

Relationship is so important to me.

I have passively (and ":justifiably") manipulated so many people to create the falsehood of connection. Deceived them into thinking I am agreeable and nice when truly I am picky and particular (this careful eye also comes with many gifts, mind you, but I carry it as a burden). A connection founded on "charity" and manipulative jabs of mutual guilting to prod the relationship into the field is a conditional connection that does not celebrate Truth. I have not believed many of my friendships to come without condition. Only this year did I realize how mistrusting I am to be myself. In my heart of hearts I believe to "let it all hang out" is to be undisciplined, irresponsible, and worth abandoning. 

So what is the dance when I am not willing to compromise in the face of these fears?

What is compromise in my Self?

What is compromise in Relationship?

"[Maybe you should be different]"

In so many words, perhaps conditional relationship is human, the judge whispers, everyone will leave you even with all your effort to them. Everyone will let you down. So still my heart carries on its beating song:

"I will only find Unconditional Love if I hold out my Light in The Dark so Unconditional Love can recognize Me." 

I cannot experience Unconditional Love if I am hiding within the netty blanket of conditions and bank-loan friendships that keep track of who owes who.

"I was there for you, you owe me."

Or worse yet

"I was there for you, now I'm the better friend. You should be grateful for me."

Unspoken crossed boundaries can be spoken in other ways.

Unspoken resentments to fuel self-fulfilled pride rooted in dependency on and so fear of oppression by The Other. Lacking connection with Self. This is my path, my walk.

I struggle in my self-forgiveness and self-care. I death-grip cling to shame, especially in relationship. To be inconsiderate of The Other's experience is a primal sin. When time alone is a constant drain, the nervous system of The Other (a witness, a friend, support), becomes wildfire-important. Rest on my own quickly whispers promise of depression. Watching softly the ruins of failed friendship I fear I will shrivel up into Alone. That asking for what I need will eventually lead me to the end of the road where nobody is left and the sidewalk is gone. 

I reach out to my friends, increasingly hungry for support, but it is not just any support I want. I am particular. I am picky. So I am afraid to say what I need.

My fear of asking for help:

I am firstly exhausted by unsolicited "fixing energy," the urge to be taken out of my experience when The Other is uncomfortable at my discomfort. The energy to guide the fixing energy to the place in my heart that needs nourishing. I feel the need to justify my pickiness. So I shrivel deeper into isolation until somebody "owes" me enough to feel like I can cash out their patience the way others "cash out" on mine.

In the eyes of a friend who is only "returning a favor", or "doing their duty", or overreaching their own limits, I am a picky beggar. I am ashamed for asking too much, too soon.

I want my support group to know their limits and to first and foremost to take care of themselves. This is why I employ a network. To follow where the nutrients are, and to pass them along where I see my own excesses are needed. We are trees with knotted roots.

I want space-holding from a soul who is not only centered in itself, but curious for my own being, who delights in my process and desires to observe and notice the quieter parts of human experience together.

I now believe I am worthy of this.

-deep breath-

My soul yearns to be witnessed in its process of struggle. I do not want to be taken out of this experience (no matter how much my body sings to be taken from this experience) and I must swallow my thirst for escape. It is in that indulgence of thirst I stop listening. I want to learn to express my needs and release the expectation. So my friends feel good saying no if it is a no. So the humans in my life who are full of YES can find me. 

My heart only wants to be fed by another heart that will be nourished by feeding me. 

So I hold. So I continue to track what comes up. This weekend I practice quiet, I practice waiting for my ask to materialize as words. I practice expressing that ask and learning also how to fill it myself in my own Unconditional Love relationship with the holy matrimony of being in my body for my entire life. 

This weekend I practice allowing my human experience in for nobody else but me.

Allowing the discomfort. Allowing it to be and whisper quietly like a child who needs help but doesn't trust the world. So sings the song of Unconditional Love. 

My invitation today is to Be Gentle with the Self and The Other. We never quite understand what The Other's experience is. The beauty is we never will, and that is Always Good Enough for Love to take root. 

My Name is Going to be With Me

6/6/13

Woah. I just realized my name is going to be with me my entire life. Riley Scott O'Boyle is going to be the name of a father, of a husband, of a professional, as well as the letters that will be inscribed on a tombstone. I get to wear those letters through all times.

It's felt like such a kid name all through my life, and being on the transitory cusp, I'm hitting a balance point where I'm all tripped up by new expectations hitting old skin.

11/11/19

But now, in this latest transitory cusp, I realize also that my name is not me.
None of those uses of the name are promised or sure. Simply imagined.
My name is only what context the reader (including myself) brings around the name. The adjectives. The verbs. The nouns associated with Riley. Past, present, future. Imagined.
My name is how the reader felt in relation to Riley or how others talk about Riley.
My name is where my story finds rest. Stillness. Constant.

"Riley" is a name that means "all that this animal has encountered, all he has done, all he has left, all he has taken". I see now Riley is a legacy that, when I am ready, I can pick up and lay down.

I am apart from "Riley". I know this because I, in my essence, (though not necessarily my actions) would remain equally deep, moving, and mysterious with another name. The very fact I have a name is evidence of the context in which I was born. The people surrounding me at my birth. I was born into and live in the agreement between lives where names are how relationships are kept track. My name is a waypost in my future relationships so that our trust-building does not start at 0, and so our established trust can be tracked. Imagine meeting me without a name. What would we say? How would you remember me? Perhaps you'd remember my eyes, my smell, the sounds and movements I made with my body. But how would you describe me? Suddenly with just a name, all of the essence of Myself that you and others can know, are simplified with one word.

"Riley"

It echoes just as we give names to quantities and measures.
There's utility to names, just as "six fish" is easier than saying "fish fish fish fish fish fish".

I speak this so I do not take my relationship with "Riley" so seriously.

So this name has served me, and so I have served this name. I have rallied energy to action in order to uphold the trustworthiness of Riley. The good lawful behavior of Riley. So as to find safe passage through a room, the street. To garner respect, I have pushed myself to my edges of comfort so the name "Riley" can mean valiant, hard-working, I have poured kindness and sought adventurous experience so "Riley" can be known to have lived. So "Riley" can be invited in. So "Riley" can be worth the time of day. Because when "Riley" is met, so I can be met. So I can be known.

And in part, I serve the name "Riley" so there will be a funeral and tears shed in the name of Riley so I can feel satisfied that my having been here meant something. To live for a legacy, and for that legacy to be a name. If affected lives can gather around this name and likeness, it will be as if I left a mark, like I was known in my wholeness.

The information age has taught me that knowing more about something does not mean I understand the thing. Just because I write a lot, because I'm all over Google, because I'm on YouTube and there's photos of my body and legal documents about what my life means, none of these data points can express my full depth. I will never be known so intimately as I know Myself. As deeply as God understands.

I write this with a subtle tone of whimsy at my word games.

So I separate Myself from "Riley" in my heart, and no longer treat it as a means to being Wholly Understood.
(which is to say in my heart I will identify more deeply with the quiet of my Being, and know my name is a word for relationship)
Yet, all of these data points associated with my name are beside me. My name and the flourish it inspires is my companion. My own personal bard to follow me as I walk through this life as a man.
So it is with the pride of my name. I fear shedding the pride and utility of Riley will bring into light how unimportant all this hustle is to me. I fear without the hustle, so the promise of Love will fall away. I will face heartache and abandonment. I fear I will fall into laziness or otherwise "fall off the path" and return with my tail tucked between my legs to a chorus of shame, of the debt-song of "I told you so, and now I'm here to save you".

Still, I do not need to serve this name as I once did. My name is my inheritance.
My inheritance is not what grants me Love.
My inheritance can be spent for Love.

So suddenly I am the Prodigal Son, full of fear, poised to leave home with my inheritance.
So also I am the good son, bitter and jealous at my irresponsible brother's celebration. I did not find my light. I did not test the water, and do not understand the grace afforded to me.

My intention, in this moment, is to live such that "Riley" inspires a softness and vulnerability in others, at least in those I am called to meet. I am a gardener of the heart. A cultivator of Truth. So I bear my name, walking as a friend with my ancestors, my reputation, my aspirations, a resting place for all the stories that swirl around the experience of my life.

Still, my heart tells me there is more than just this, than names and wonderings and realizations, so I continue to trod down my path.

 

 

Off the Path and Into the Garden

I'm practicing my Presence like a one-man band to the teeth with musical instruments.
This is my garden of Now. I am cultivating Beingness Fruit.
I am awkward and clumsy with this infinite instrument. This body with all of its physics and blood and electricity. I am present, I am deep in projections, imaginings, supposings, hopes, wishes, wonderings, refinement, practice, I am breath, I am avoiding breath, I am present.

I changed my living arrangement the same weekend I said goodbye to an exciting new friend who moved away. Chapter's end and a chapter's end. A physical closing for an emotional closing.

The past 3 years I've been describing as:
1. Anxiety
2. Concerts
3. Self-Discovery (slowing down)

We're a few months into the 4th:
4. Cultivation

I know Self-Discovery never really ends, but I'm TELLING YOU I've never been so introspective in my life. And now it feels like a moment to slow down. Notice the patterns of introspection. Let go of those patterns. Hold. Release. Grab on. Let go. Define. Unravel. Enjoy. Feel the texture of the yarn with my eyes and my hands. All that's left is texture.


SOCIALLY:
I'm saying "no" to "investing time in my relationships" which sends me into anxiety around feeling inconsiderate and self-isolating. I realize much of my "investment" has been pride-driven anxiety-run noise maker guessing games going on in my head throughout much of what I imagined my life to be. Every time my vast network of guesses was discordant with somebody's action, I panic and feel hurt or confused and would resolve the energy by being quiet, or playing up my persona so my heart could hide, hide, hide.
I was waiting for a castle of security to go where I wanted. To claim the wilderness and surround it with walls. I wanted an insurance policy. I wanted everyone to know my needs so everyone could stand up for me so I wouldn't have to. I still want an insurance policy. I'm still scared to stand up for myself. Freedom is scary.

I'm practicing leaving my phone on airplane mode. I find my craving and anticipation of notifications is curbed.

Keep checking in on me. Radar pings of hello are nourishing. I'm practicing my No. Gently accepting my No is nourishing. Leave lots of space for me to develop my ask. There is a lot of deep hunger in me and there is a whole vocabulary to build around that. To build trust with you to know what I mean when I ask. To trust you only use your Hell Yes. I do not want to take what you need. I do not want to owe you. I do not want you to resent me. I do not want you to be jealous of me. I am tuning to your language and what you mean by all your words, too.


INTERNALLY:
My relationship with the present moment.
This idea of being ENOUGH.
I'm noticing the rhythm of my thinking RIGHT NOW.
I've been fighting, fighting, fighting, categorizing, and now I'm letting go, taking notes, paying attention. I'm noticing thoughts about the past and the future in terms of RIGHT NOW.

I AM ENOUGH
RIGHT
NOW
.
Anticipated/Rehearsed conversations: I recognize anticipated conversations as unresolved conversations in my head. Whether it's a conversation I have ON my schedule or I NEED to put on my schedule, I'll run through my interaction with the person. When I see them as myself, the anxiety slows, calms. I let the conversation happen and I play with imagining myself as the other person.

I am already enough.

Commuting: My throat is tight on the bus.  I wonder if I'm going to the right place. Home is decentralized for me. Home is wherever I am in tune with my heart. But where? I am wrapped in denial and confusion. There is static. What song is my heart playing? There are so many ideas that are justified in logic. Did I leave work too soon? Too late? Should I go to the grocery store? Is my heart in a major key or a minor key? Should I take care of myself? Should I visit a friend?
Breathe.
The noise is still there.
Breathe.
I imagine being home eating my dinner. While I eat my dinner I imagine eating desert. While I eat dessert, I imagine feeling full and happy on the couch. While I am on the couch I imagine being asleep. I cannot sleep. So I am stuck. So I am beginning to recognize this "stuck" as just another thought, just like the pizza. So I have a wider view. I oscillate between this wider view and right there between the pizza and my teeth. I remember dinner. I regret my decision and so that regret echoes all the way back to the minute I decided to leave work. I don't know what to do differently tomorrow, but today I failed.
Breathe.

I am already where I am supposed to be.

Journaling: I'm paying attention to what I choose to write now. First I just wrote SOMEthing every day. I used to stretch my mind through the day and hungrily gather the most words I could from the day before I grew fatigued or felt complete. My journals were my immortality. I'd write in the way I wanted to be remembered. Now I write all the most memory-triggering words. I figure if I want to go back and unpack the details of an experience, I can flit around key words and entire experiences will become available to me. Even then, my journals are not so much an account of my life as they are a practice. I remind myself every time I journal that the pages will not outlast me by much. Breathe. The way I choose words is beginning to change.

Even writing fades.

Going to bed: This practice is changing. Normally it's "go to sleep". Or "Distract myself until I feel tired". Discipline tells me I can affect how quickly I fall asleep. If I fall asleep too late, it is my fault. I didn't exercise enough. If I am awake, I am ashamed. Distract, avoid, ignore. Thinking and creating keep me up. It's a show. If I don't fall asleep within 42 minutes, I'll be up another three hours. I'm tired of watching this show, what's a good episode? Breathe. There's still so much noise, I know you're trying to manipulate me. Breathe.

I will always be enough.

Romantic stories: I can now see the storybook I am in even now. I write these stories in my mind so I can live them so I can tell them. By projecting a dragon and a romantic and sexual tension, I create opportunities for myself to be brave and earn my worth. Both as a lover and a storyteller, there is social worth to this romance. I recognize myself as my own gatekeeper to peace. My fear is that if I allow myself to rest on this, I will not be motivated. I will not lock down a partner, and everyone will know I wasn't good enough to be loved. I will wear this mark of shame and attract "should" energy for all the ways to go about fixing myself to be worthy of a partner. Breathe. I love the stories I create, for these are the bells and gongs I ring that sing out my poetry. But oh the pressure to "win!" I can release the pressure to win. I can experience it and be ashamed and share that shame and continue on, grateful for the gift of the story. I also know I am more than these stories. I am more than a romantic. I am more than a storyteller. I am more than a lover. I am my own gatekeeper. Breathe.

I am already worthy of Love.

Love is Here.
Love is Now.
Love is Always Here Forever.

Attachment 1 - Anxious

Dear Beloved,

It is strange that if you really fall for someone and they don't like you back, even if you never really get into a relationship but have been spending a lot of time together as "friends", then finally after some time (way too long) build up the courage to ask and get shot down, that can hurt as much as anything.  

So here is my confessional. My process. My heart compost (or spoils). My letting go.
It does not need advice or comfort. It is a song that simply wants to be heard. A book to be read. A joke to be told. A hug to be held.

~~~~

I told a woman I loved her

I meant it

"How'd it go?"

That is 1000% out of my control and is unimportant. 

I spoke my truth in a moment of truth speaking.

I'm telling you, I told her I loved her. 

And in that moment,

I meant it.

~~~~

It begins from the ball drop of New Years 2019 into

a

slow

year

long

b

u

I

l

d

and ends

.

.

.

In September

with the echo (echo) noise

of sharp rise and rapid violent clap.

-a dance-

the sound a round of volleys

off mountains (echo) through the valley.

This:

the gas pedal

before

(a Moment)

and after

a stone wall.

a primal fire dance

If the moment was a flame

The memory is a cloud of smoke

A distinct shape on the skyline of memory.

A bliss high. 
The gift of feeling first-hand a dream-vision.

In contrast with

A twisty knotted pressure division tension string held taut.

Where "Should" is king and both hemispheres are tugging and red.

Where all hindsight action is colored by some shade of "Regret",

of this or that pouring cold "If Only" over my head.

Waves of self-induced responses

to the responses

to the

(Moment)

to the

(echoes)

I've built Procedure (spin-cycle thinking) since I was in middle school (I've been trained for this) for processing emotions. From observation. From advice from all shades of relationships in my life. Wiser-than's, Older-than's, Prettier-than's, More-Successful's, Care-About-Me's, all manner of Ethos to figure out what to do with my feelings.

procedure to relax,

procedure to anticipate (avoid) more pain,

procedure to relax,

procedure to win the day,

procedure to a right life,

procedure to hide anxiety, noise,

procedure to become strong

procedure to escape mental noise only adding to the noise.

procedure intended to protect, to learn, to avoid, to grow.

Wounding created from the process that is not proportional to the Moment by itself.

Be gentle with yourself.

This post ends with gratitude. Thankfulness for being triggered into all my old 2010 coping processes and getting to revise with these new 2019 eyes.

(gratitude for the process.)

~~~

My Dear Projection:

all the PRESSURE effervesced from

My wild heart-centered supposings

in the wild firecracker called adolescence

that leaked and molded into Expectations and

blew such Disappointment.

My "if she's like this, and she makes me feel like that, she MUST be this way."

I speak of Her, not you who prompted this post, but the Divine Projection of my Partner, who I fell for in the 5th grade, and have projected on every Love of my life since.

My Lover.

My(self) Love.

My Projection (a characature of a partner shaped like all of my voids)

The One I always imagined inhabiting all the women I fell in love with. 

The One that was mothered all of my Expectations.

The She who has made my heart flutter at

Women

Who I Loved.

And.

Never.

Actually.

Knew.

(echo)

And You,

My friend.

(The Other outside of me)

The mix of our CARE 

and the WAITING I’ve been steeping in

and the HEAT of the Moment

Conjure-snapped 

My Projection, 

My Phantom Her,

Onto You.

My Projection.

Lovely poem that She is.

It is my work (and perhaps my solemn joy) to recognize and consciously process this Projection out loud as separate from the actual women who come and go in my life. That I can meet Her, and set Her aside, to see the real life process of the woman in front of me. That I can better appreciate what my Heart is capable of, as I walk through the spin-cycle of enchantment and disillusionment, held by the gravity of a human heart's predisposition to Attachment.

To notice Her and who She is 

To distinguish 

You and who You are.

To better know You.

To notice You.

To be (here) with You.

~~~~

~The conjuring from friend to lover~

(My misinterpretations in the heat):

When you found me, I heard Her say:

"You're worth looking for."

"I missed YOU"

"I've been meaning to show you I CARE"

"I know I can be cold and distracted and difficult to follow, but I care"

"I care about you, even though you don't feel it"

"I trust you and I'm comfortable with you"

When you leaned into me, I heard Her say:

"I feel safe with you"

"I know you've been patient"

"You deserve this"

"You are good"

“Don’t let me go”

When you whispered in my ear, drunk on the fire, I heard Her say:

"This is your break."

"This is what you've been waiting for"

"You are worth this. You are worth me."

"I want to mix and explore our energies together."

"I want to play with you. To be the music of the universe."

"I finally understand your depth and masculinity."

"Every time you doubted yourself as a man in the eyes of a woman, she just didn't see you the way I do now."

My misinterpretations. Shown to be only shadows in the light of day. Oh, those malnourished parts of me feeding themselves only in a state of fantasy. The play of light and smoke.

When in reality.

I am perfectly alone.

I've already (I'm still) only starved(ing) myself all of the Truth.

I am my own gatekeeper. And You are the key.

(the gate is unlocked)

The Truth--

I am already missed (I am the one who misses Myself and looks for him in The Other)

I am already worth looking for (I am perfectly lost)

I am already cared for (so I am perfectly found)

It is already safe to be open (and closed, if need be) with me

I already deserve to dwell in such Love (it is all around me)

I have already found what I'm looking for (there's nowhere to get to)

I am already the music of the universe (my heart is a drum machine)

However I am seen, my beauty is already Absolute and perfectly Known.

(And so terribly human)

Still, I am human,

(so terribly human)

These truths are unavailable to me

They feel out of reach without the Other.

So sings Attachment

~~~~

The song of Attachment.

(Attachment to my Projected Lover by way of You, The Other)

Attachment as a tidal wave.

The quiet withdraw and then the energy, the energy, the energy.

Attachment is like telling you

everything I've had going

through in my head

when all I've had going

through in my head

is telling you

everything in my head.

Attachment is telling you

I don't need to tell you

anything

anymore.

Attachment is I lose the silent game

Attachment is wondering what I could have done differently to still be connected to you.

Attachment becomes habit and is identified as and mistaken for the self.

Attachment is believing "letting go" is a sign of cold and callous uncare.

Attachment is the weight Enough hinged on the external circumstance.

Attachment is believing "holding on" indicates care and sensitivity, 

Attachment is not quite wanting to return to the present self.

Attachment is foundational in patience and life partnership.

Attachment is fear there's nothing better out there for me.

Attachment is ignoring the gifts of the present moment.

Attachment is everything that happened was real.

Attachment is paramount in holding the self back.

Attachment is loud static when it's pushed away.

Attachment is getting over you so we can talk.

Attachment is "what if I can’t find you again?"

Attachment is I miss who I wanted you to be.

Attachment is loneliness by another name.

Attachment is lukewarm and bittersweet.

Attachment is shame-caked-self-pity.

Attachment is taking life for granted.

Attachment is evidence of humanity.

Attachment is airplane turbulence.

Attachment is greener grasses.

Attachment is integral to love.

Attachment is on and on

And on and on

And on

~~~~

The washing machine thinking says:

"I'm so attached to her"

and "I care so deep"

and "Why is she gone?"

and "I'm so attached to her"

that I care enough to get her back

or wait for her to come back

or go get her back

or be okay on my own

or I hope she'll come back

or I'll wait for her to come back

or I'll go back to her

or wait for her to

ask

me to come back to her

come back

go back

let's go

back

I care

so much about her

that I'm proving to myself 

that I care about her

I just need her

to prove it to me

so I know

by I, Myself, 

abandoning Me

(so she'll come back)

I can show her that I really do care about her

and I'm not just trying to "please the judge"

I've abandoned myself to show her

(one of us needs to compromise here)

that it's okay to come back.

(come back here to now)

Look, that's love.

Being alone, I mean

I'm leaning into myself

By singing out the song of my heart

My human attachments

to her

(she’s not there)

((I'm letting go of her so there's room for her to come back))

This heartache and

faraway

manipulation of her

only in my head

to

will

her

back

here

(where I am)

she's already here

((by myself))

because I am

(((with Her)))

a projection of me

~~~~

Noticing attachment

Her

No

to me

Is heartbreak and rejection and insecurity and

And then there’s

Your

No

(not to me)

to a romantic, committed long distance relationship

Your No

(that is to distinguish Yours from Hers)

is an untrod (and hidden) path to a new kind of friendship. A friendship we might be able to build after I've already confessed my heart. A friendship that accepts and understands my heartbreak as mine. And looks for our connection buried beneath the pavement.

And still your name brings

The Moment

(with her and I)

Like a match back into a state of longing (responsibility).

(the washing machine)

((back))

Rejection after fire.

Snuff.

Noticing I'm able to take Her rejection less personally when I see the romance was a projection of my mind. In the quiet I begin to make it easier by guessing Your friendship was false to me.

I change my assumptions of You.

To ease my hurt around Her. 

Noticing I don't want to guess Your friendship (with me) to be false because I want it to have been real. 

I accept the discomfort of Her being gone.

I accept the search once more begun. (For with Her in my arms it was done)

I want to remember The Moment with fondness at having found something instead of shamefully misunderstanding. 

I want it to be difficult because I want it to be real.

So I hold on to what was.

So I let it go here in confession.

There are moments of return. Where I am wildly rooted back to who and where I was before I met you. Where it's all the same as The Before (before the gas pedal) except this new wild depth. It's precious and releasing my attachment will allow in more goodness.

But in the rebirth of my friendship with You

I will lose the sparkle hum from the fiery bolero song with Her (me).

I know I have had this buzz before. (this buzz is my own)

I have held those heights before. (this height is My Heart song)

I have released them before. (At risk of never knowing myself again)

I can release them again. (I trust my heart, also, is looking)

But too soon.

Not yet.

My heart sings to me:

(come back to THIS moment Here)

((come back here to now))

~~~~~

So then also jealousy peeks in.

Imagining, for a moment,

All the men she talked about,
All the men I imagined her with,

All the men who didn't give her

what

I have

for her

If only I were them

But I'm not them

I'm me

Here.

Let go.

and look Here.

at what I have for her.

Look what you could have

(even if it’s not yours)

(and it is not yours)

(so I march on)

So, again, we are only You and I once more.

~~~~

This verse of attachment ends.

It ends.

Or is so quiet.

There is room for the next.

This morning I put on my sweater

and smelled the stale smoke from our ritual fire dance

And like a cloud over the sun,

the gold-light is gone and you are human to me.

A human I know and deeply care for

and none of this glow and longing allures my eyes,

When I see my Projection on the Other (like when it was you), I fall into

martyr-istic and proud-love tendencies

like "she can be whoever she wants, I still want her"

and there's like

mismatch

(that I can't see)

the mismatch I wanted to "save" her from.

(me avoiding myself)

you're doing your work

(and I love that you're doing your work)

I'm doing my work

(we can still work together)

we're both doing the work

(this can happen platonically if we both want to do this work)

I welcome you in my heart tribe

we have unique access to 

depth

support

witness

that's true.

the sweater steeped in stale smoke smell

brought clarity to all the ways I wanted to fix you.

(the ways I wanted to avoid myself in pursuing you)

All the qualities I was okay with is a "friend" and would not be okay with as a "lover"

(the ways that You (the Other) and She (my phantom Lover) are different)

so clear

the rose tint dimmed

the glasses 

fell 

off

(peeking ahead to the next chapter of a book)

~~~

Turbulence

I met You while I was centered in myself. While I wasn't looking. I was in. I was with Self. I wasn't hoping, I wasn't waiting, I wasn't watching. I was with me. In my flow. Sad, and a little lonely, but Embodied. And you said hello (She was there) and I was ready To Follow.

Ten months later, my heartbreak high descended from a point of being Met Again (so sings the Merry-Go-Round) and there She was while I was so profoundly centered in myself and my moment, and while I was so deeply ready To Be Met.

These are lessons to return to myself, consciously, as a Separate Being in a Universe of Whole Oneness. Centered in self to find what I'm looking for. To be ready to be met, to follow, to go.

So I return to Center. Hold. Breathe.

Hold.

Attach.

Release.

Breathe.

The cycle of this heartbreak fades into the next.

Hold.

Breathe.

Attach.

Notice.

Breathe.

Release.

Already the next is beginning.

Breathe.

Notice.

Hold.

Attach.

Breathe.

Release.

Notice.

You.
Her.

Laminar breath.

~

The last time I met Her

(my Projection manifest two years ago)

I was at a rooftop bar

Whitney Houston's

"I wanna dance with somebody"

was playing

(yesterday)

the song in the grocery store

Whitney Houston's 

"I Wanna Dance With Somebody"

reminded me 

(in the grocery store)

of what attachment feels like

(after two years)

when it fades away.

And so this attachment also

will fade

it ends.

even writing fades.

~

Attachment

it's fine when it's fine

and it's consuming when it's consuming.

I don't need to give away my heart to someone who doesn't want it

to chase

to hold

to wait

(give it away to You, thinking You’re Her)

((but You’re not Her))

I know what I deserve

I know You deserve the same

and I know I do not have to be the one to deliver

the Love

Just because I FEEL the Love she has coming to You

does not mean I have to BRING it to You

I can rest easy knowing that love-energy is looking for You, 

this love is looking for my dear friend, The Other.

just the same as my Love is looking for me

(it is Here Now)

this Love is not ours, is not mine,

this Love is Big beyond comprehension.

and we know what it feels like

we know its intensity

(we have felt it)

by the way it presses up against the lids of our eyes

To the Other

like a dog's snout against the glass,

looking for the Other (as it looks for us)

vision all smudgey ecstatic, 

All love-hurried around the house of Being,

Dashing from window to window, 

eagerly awaiting us to Come Home.

~~~