Karma

When you lose someone you love all that remains is the pain. Don't be fooled by those who tell you to cherish the good memories. Those very same good memories become your dreams at night. The hunt you down in your sleep. You relive them every night and they seem so real, only to wake up in the morning and realize they were just dreams. You realize that your heart is being squeezed in your chest and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. Reality floods back in and you remember what you did. You remember that it all ended as if it had ended only yesterday.

No. The fond memories will not save you. They were not meant to save you. The fond memories were meant to be building blocks in your relationship. Instead they are now the weight that crushes you when you try to go on with your life and see what you can do.

Move on. What a stupid word to say. As if you passed an accident and your curiosity made you slow down and look. Now you have to move on. Move on. How stupid can you  be? As if the years that you spent were not part of you, as if you're supposed to become someone else, someone new, and pretend that what you were a year ago was not real. Move on. The most cruel word you can hear.

You can move on if you were hurt by someone you loved. You can forgive and forget, or at least ignore the person that caused you the pain, you can move on if you were the victim, but not if you were the culprit of your own demise. Not if you were to blame. No. That crime's punishment is that you and your tormentor are locked in the same body forever. You will be entwined for the rest of your days. He will not let you forget, nor will he relent in his torture. You will be your own sadistic fiend that wakes you up at night and tears your mind from the inside out, depriving you of sleep, of thought, of a will.

What others don't understand is that you also become the grateful recipient of that torment. You accept the pain and cherish it. You feel the burning of the loss and would not let go of that burning because you know that to let go of that pain is to let go of the last remaining good thing in your life. The last remaining trace of a love you lost.

People say letting go is not easy. They don't understand that sometimes letting go is not an option. Letting go of the last trace of decency in you will leave you empty. Perhaps you lost your chance at being filled with bliss, and with your decisions allowed that bliss to leave you, leaving behind her the pain as a reminder of your mistakes. If you let go of the pain it will only leave the void.

We've been corrupted, as a race, as a species, as men, when it comes to love. We have been lead to believe that there was such a thing as absolute and universal love. A gargantuan ethereal repository of pure love in the Universe from which we draw our buckets and drink if we wish. A source of love that can heal and replenish our losses so we can be once again filled with bliss and "move on".

There isn't. It was all concocted by generations of marketing that sold us on to the idea of the universal healing love. A scam that lines the pockets of every self help guru, reiki enthusiast, holistic doctor, shaman, priest, and charlatan alike. They can use it to convince you that you have been replenished with love, and in fact you'd be living the fake life.

The real life says that when you do something wrong you pay the price. That is Karma. It does not change. It does not accept offerings. It does not offer redemption.

It is immovable, unwavering, forceful, and triumphant.

When you are the cause of your own pain you will remain its recipient to the end of your days.

Literary Tyranny

I still can't shake the shadow that hung over my head for a long while when I wrote. It used to define everything I was and everything I thought. What I liked, I would ask myself "would my overseer like that too?" What ever I wrote I would find myself wondering if it would be taken at face value or analysed and de-constructed by my dark companion until what ever I wrote became twisted and mutated into something completely different then what I meant.

When I would protest such literary tyranny my shadow would just say that that was what I had meant to say subconsciously. That deep down I felt different then what I wrote. That I had hidden thoughts and undercurrents that shaped my writing.

Suddenly what I knew I was would be challenged by what my ethereal companion said I was.

And I would become yet again entrapped by her will. By what she told me I was trying to be, trying to say, trying to become.

I still haven't decided who I am. I cannot remember who I wanted to be before her.

It HAS been an eternity, and you HAVE been immortal. The world you feared would end someday, didn't. You dug your grave and waited for me, but I never came.

You let go of Love because you feared its end. You let go of people because you were afraid you would have to watch them go someday. You spent your thoughts on everything that mattered, except what really did. And now you come full circle to find only I am here to receive you.

Are you ready to tell me what it all meant? What did you make of it? Where has it led to?

Here. Now. This is what. This is where. This is all there is. All there ever was. All there ever will be, and this is exactly what you never expected. This is exactly what you never imagined, never thought of, never calculated. This is what never had cause to exist, but it did, because you did.

Am I being to cryptic? It must be the drugs. 

The weight you carried on your shoulders was only a ghost. There was no temptation. There was no pain. There was no wall. Now, look around you. As far as you can see, or you think you can see - because here you can see as far as you can think - as far as you can see there is nothing. No one. Except you, and I, and this endless void.

Now think and we - YOU - can fill this void with anything you want. There is the road to your house. There is your first tooth that fell loose at six. There is the pencil you borrowed for your final exam. There is your car, your keys, your jacket, your cell phone, your tickets, your bag, your books, your hat, your camera, your eyes, your mouth, there,there,there,there, 

Is that enough? Look around. We're neck deep in all that is you.

Now tell me again.

Why are you here, and not there?

Why are you here, with me at the end, and not where you are not?

Why are you not old? 

Why are you not sick?

Why are you not buried in debt, and worries?

Why are you not holding a child?

Why are you not crying?

Why are you not with her, instead of here with me?

Why are you immortal, spending an eternity, with me, at the end of a circle, instead of there, with her?