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.

~~~