Men are Mad to see the Inside

When the essences begin to swirl in my gut, I feel so moved to act that almost nothing can satisfy the pull.

Is this statement true? Perhaps it is the plug, the untruth that keeps all of the truth contained. Alternating colors. Truth: I'm feeling anxious to create a post.

I am afraid of seeing myself. I am afraid of that which is stale. But. In this time of my worm I have called upon myself to move and be moved. To give and ... be gived.

Ok. The plug. is...coming out....ffwo8fr up9823yr[ 29p38r[39hfblehhhhhh.

gurgling...

drip   drip         drip



drip.

Perhaps one of the greatest questions to put to an american of my age and race and economic background is: What to do in the absence of convenience?

Isn't it so nice when one is in the car, and suddenly all forces coalesce, imparting an expansive feeling of euphoric grace. Celestial bodies sing to accompany my speech, my every move!

Well, this is true, but it is also true that they are singing constantly for they can do nothing else. They sing many songs and none are less songy than others.

Song of war, of brutal murder, of hate, of understanding, of confusion, of remembering something very distant that may have been a dream.

Song of chaos.
..
Fine.

How graciously and courageously can I accept what I have given myself?


To submit oneself to sensitivity is to give up convenience. 


My fear is that if I reveal my fears, all of the people at the cafe will see me. They'll see me walk in the door and they'll just see into me. All of these eyes caressing me like a billion rough hands in an unfathomable darkness. This, in the entrance of the cafe. 


As a person, and those closest to me can validate this, I really keep very few things private. 
...


Hm. I say this, but then another voice immediately responds, "ah, but we are so tricky. you know how we are tricky."


And yes, there are many organisms that create my body and that need my body and all of those organisms are one with me. From the moment I entered the birth canal I began sharing my worm with other beings. Playing host is the price of admission.


What of non-physical sharing? What organisms find a home in the ethereal places that I protect? I suspect that my constant revelation of uncomfortable truths to those around me actually carves out a very subtle hiding place. 


I confuse. I dazzle. 


Marie at Melt one day said that I reminded her of the snake in The Jungle Book. The one with the swirly eyes that would put you to sleep. 


And, now that I've mentioned it, I can think of a few things I haven't shared. 


To one who truly sees, there is nothing hidden, for in every gesture, every feint, all is completely betrayed. 

One night in the Pecos Wilderness I was with friends and we had built a structure out of large logs and sticks. It felt very primal, as if we were able to flip a switch and suddenly our bodies just began doing what they knew better than our brains to do. I suddenly cared very much for the safety of all of us and did not want anyone's building body to be crushed in our attempt to protect ourselves. We separated by gender. Laila, the only girl, tended to the fire, and the men built the house. We called it The Aegis. It was a terrifically beautiful structure and we slept in it that night. This is the Aegis that I sing of in the song Damien's Face.

I began thinking so much about men and women.

Later that night we ate mushrooms and I became terrified of the inherent madness of men. I said, "Men are mad to see the inside."

Fine.

Fear.

I'll end by saying that once upon a time I showed myself to someone and they loved me anyway.