And Oh, About That Thing

I suppose the real question for today is where do we stand?
Where do we stand with what happened?
Where do we stand with the unhelpful things that came after what went down?
Or, wait . . .
What are we planning to do with the unwanted past or the unhelpful ideas and memories that always bring us back or drown us in the unwanted tides of an emotional quicksand?

Where do we stand?
This is a great question.

More to the point, what are we going to do about this?
How long can someone walk around and carry the weight? How long are we willing to walk around, blind, and carry the tragic torches of what seems to be the only thing that lights our way?

There needs to be a change or a split from our old direction.
We need to change the pace or suffer the consequences.

I have thought about the ideas of forgiveness, or what it means for one to forgive or lay down their crosses to bear.
I thought about the forgiveness of self, as if to be absolved, washed, or bathed and cleansed, and somehow, we could finally be baptized in a sense and, just like that, the details from our regrettable yesterdays are gone, dead, and buried.

Why is it that we have become fascinated with disturbing the wounds or picking scabs so that our cuts never heal? Why does it always seem like the scars only worsen over time?

Why do we relive old arguments or play out the thoughts in our head?
This does nothing else but hurt us. Am I right? 
Or worse, why do we consider the scenarios that trigger our thoughts to become our upcoming predictions? And next, we prepare for the worst and assume that something awful is on its way. If this is so, we have become like the rotten society who thrives on irrational fear. We wouldn’t know what happiness is. And we wouldn’t know about peace either, not even if it jumped up and hit us in the face.

What needs to happen to be free?
What needs to exist for us to remove the old math from our mind?
Or, next, how do we subtract ourselves from the mental equations that degrade our final number, or leave us divided, and keeps us empty?

It’s all in your head, they say.
Am I right?
It’s a matter of thought. Isn’t that it?

Change your thinking, and change your behavior, and then you can change your feelings.
Of course, this sounds right.
Simple too.
Of course this must be true.
But before we can do this, we would  have step away from the thought machine, which is always ticking and always winding, always adding and calculating the numbers, adding the unwanted sums of guilty and insecure truths, or shameful secrets, that caused us to disturb the peace and cast a shade on the brightness of our truth.

There is something to be said about the word “Why”.
Why did you do that?
Why did you say that?
Why did you let your entire life get away from you?
And, of course, why did you let your lightening out of the bottle?

And now what?
Holy Shit!!!

You let it all go, son.
Why?
“I don’t know.”
But the truth is . . .
yes you do.

Where do we stand?
Where do we sit, aside from a lonesome place where the regret is unmerciful and the contempt is thick around the tongue—and, of course, the question persists: how do we allow ourselves to fall into a role where we are the emotional intruder, responding to an internal poverty?
So we rob and we steal, because we are unaware of our next meal—only, it’s not about the meal or the feast, but more, this is about a fear of the light and the fear of exposure.
This is about the awareness and uncovered scars that would otherwise deem me as worthless, unwanted, or imperfect.
This is about the fear for the discovery of our imperfections. We are afraid that this would equal us to a dying light from a star that went out light years ago. And otherwise, our light was untrue, like a shadow, or like a card trick, and once the people who mattered saw us for the smoke and mirrors, they lost interest because our magic has faded, or was uncovered to be worthless, or unworthy of mention.

I’m afraid.
Alright?

How long will insecurity thrive?
How long will my fears degrade my truth to its smallest factor, and if I stay like this, how long does it take for our spirit to be more like a dying spark than a fire that guides our soul?

I have been told that acceptance is the key to personal freedom, because to accept means to admit and understand that I am who I am, and that the uncontrollable and unchangeable need to be left as they are, so that I can build a new level of opportunity and become something better.

Forget about love for a while. Forget about the wonder of matchable souls or the settlement of unmatchable people who gathered or clustered together, simply because they never thought that they could find themselves, linked perfectly with someone, and irreversibly in love.

Forget about the mismatches and misdiagnosed errors from the past. Forget about the scars for a while. And forget about the intrusions or the sad, mad, or crazy bouts which we had with ourselves, and which led us astray from our path.
Forget about the intruders or the trespassers and forget about the victims and the volunteers who offered themselves to be emotionally sacrificed like the head, lumped from the body of some codependent need—and forget about the lies and forget about the pain.
Just breath.
Forget about what I’ve done or what you’ve done. For the moment, consider the wealth of a small campfire at nighttime.
Think about how the flames sway and crackle, and dance amongst the reflecting shadows that come with the fire’s warmth and causes ease to the heart.

I need a drive.
I need a long one.
I need to let go.
Or maybe I need the music from a long road trip to play and take me away from the details of self.

Maybe I just need to relearn what it means to have fun, and be like a kid again.
Maybe I want to be like a teenager, raging with adrenaline, and free enough to break a rule or two, like cutting class in high school and finding myself in a make-out session, shirts unbuttoned, and hidden in the bushes near the golf course at Eisenhower Park.

When boy?
When are you going to find whatever it is you’re looking for?

Well, I know what I’m looking for.
And I can see it all clearly—I guess the real question is when am I going to realize that this is already mine? And next, when am I going to grab hold of my lightning in the bottle?
(And never let it go again.)