I am beginning to wonder if I am short-circuiting on all levels. It seems that lately when I make a smart-ass, cynical comment I am taken seriously and then get shoveled a huge mass of philosophical psychobabble. On the other end of the spectrum, I make a serious statement and am treated as though I must be joking (or maybe I am the butt of the joke? the punchline?) or insane. I am not quite sure what is going on, but I guess it does seem to fall into place with the chaotic, topsy-turvey unreality of all other aspects of my life. Why should my opinions and conversations not be included into the absurd confusion of the rest of my life.
Maybe it is another sign that Life As I Know It is coming to end? No, I don't mean my life (I feel I had better quickly clarify before that too, is misconstrued and I have a suicide crisis center calling me), just Life As I Know It. Let me explain, before misunderstandings run rampant and I am being analyzed, philosophized and ostracized; I feel that I am heading for a cataclysmic change, an event or chain of events that will turn my life upside-down, shake me like a rag doll, and drop me in a manky heap in a stark, new reality, a new Life. Much of what I know as my Life, the day to day living, the trappings of my personal reality, seem to be crumbling around me, deflating, eroding, collapsing, as insubstantial as a zephyr.
I will say, I was reminded today of a quote by Henry Beston, "It is only when we are aware of the Earth and of the Earth as Poetry that we truly Live." It is from his book, "Herbs and the Earth" which he wrote in the early 1930's. I used to have that quote painted on the wall of my kitchen, a lifetime ago, and I looked upon it every day and knew the truth of it then. It spoke to my inner Hedgewitch, spoke of truth and dream, past and future, reality and fantasy. I think maybe I have lost my way a bit since then, but beneath it all I still dream of having my own little patch of earth, my own Herbs and the Earth, my own inspirational garden to harvest the gifts of Gaia. I have been trying to reach the point of having my little piece of the world, a piece of heaven on earth, but feel continually thwarted by the aforementioned short-circuiting.
Maybe I do need the cataclysm, the massive event, the epic failure of Life As I Know It in order to begin from zero, to rebuild on a clean, flat surface instead of the debris pile of previous incarnations. But that is beyond frightening, it is panic-inducing. I know that it isn't like the movies, or gentle tales of redemption. Instead it would be a vomit inducing agony. Pain tantamount to giving birth to a 50lb baby with no medical assistance. A gut-wrenching, gruesomly glorious purge. I don't know if I can willingly inflict such anguish upon myself. I see that future and feel my pulse accelerate, my blood pressure crescendo, my brain throb with the tempo of panic. And then I breathe. In with the good, out with the bad. And I think. And I know deep within every muscle fiber that the end results would be worth every shed tear and every drop of sweat. But it is stepping off that edge, into an abyss with no visible bottom, no way of knowing how long and how far I must fall before hitting the bottom. Or how much damage I will sustain on impact. How much must I pay in suffering to earn my dream? I will never know if I'm not willing to test my mettle. No one else will do it for me. No one will hand me my dream. It is a lone pilgrimage to prove my worth, and worthiness.
Nothing truly worth having comes easily or cheaply.
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