Today, I am so burdened…
Food has lost its taste, I feel suffocated and weak, music(my healer of all) makes my already churned up soul churn even more… and the churning, ahhh… I want it to stop. Like in the case of a tummy upset, I need the topsy-turvy sensation to stop, I want to “throw up” so that I can feel better.
And in this deplorable state that I am in, I find myself thanking God repeatedly for this gift… this gift called writing. For this is the only way that my mind can “throw up”. I imagine that the way I feel now is the way the vampire, Lestat, must have felt when he chanced upon David Talbot to whom he could transfer his centuries worth of living experiences to and have him write it down… and not have to kill him after telling him. To have him love him and keep him company without compulsion. The ability to purge freely, to one who will neither judge nor withdraw from you, to one who will understand that the way you are now(perhaps you cannot help it, perhaps you can), good or bad, is as a result of the accumulation of the things you have experienced. To one, who will either hold your hand and walk you through it or offer you silent comfort. Yes… I suspect this is the way he must have felt, the poor thing.
That is why I will always say that generalizations(all of them) are false… and that good and evil is very relative. Also why I feel like a bit of a kindred spirit with the so-called villains… Joker, Niklaus, Maleficent, et cetera. Even some of the real life society ones… for isn’t there a Joker et al amongst us, in us? Who knows them? Who understands them? Their loneliness, their struggles, the reason why they are the way they are? We think that it’s by choice but I say, find what a man truly believes in, what he loves, find out his history, the crosses he has had to bear, re-live what he has lived through… and there… therein lies the real person you seek. Not the fanfare surrounding him… not the apparent evil, or apathy, or ice… no… those just distract you from the real person inside… the one seeking to be found. How can we judge, when we haven’t experienced? But ahh… I digress. Apologies.
As I was explaining…
This writing… this expulsion of whispering thoughts from my jam-packed mind… it is a salvation of sorts. For the “paper” and “pen” are the only things that voluntarily look at me, in all my apparent “monstrous” glory, and still stick around. I don’t wake up one day and find them gone, they don’t love me today and hate me tomorrow… Indeed, I can always rely on the consistency of their “feelings” towards me: Unbiased. That is why I always spend an inordinate amount of money on books… The smell of the pages as I turn, much like entering a warm bakery and standing in the middle and inhaling all the wonderful scents of baking treasures… The clarity of the print, like, the words are right before me and so won’t/can’t be denied… How I can be in a sad and dark room one moment and in the next moment be in the flowery and rum filled quarters of the old-time New Orleans, enjoying the warm night air on my cotton-clad skin, listening to the street musicians playing the sax and the guitar opposite the café that I am sitting outside, and exchanging banter in French with the smiling wraith of a waiter who has just brought me my fifth glass of St. James rum. Ahh… mon Dieu… you see vat I mean? Ze bliss… ze pure bliss…
Why am I in this mood today?
The answer is simple.
I wish I were more than I am.
I want to be sublime… above human mistakes and failings. I don’t want to be the impatient person that I sometimes can be… I want to be able to sit in a room full of shit and reeking of it, literally or not, and just inhale it, and not having to always want to clean up immediately and restore order like I am on auto-clean or something. To be able to enjoy complications and clutter without wishing for and working towards simplicity… oh, for once!
I want to never be physically tired, like energizer bunnies, so that whenever I have to help other people, as many as they come, I just up and do it…
I don’t want to ever feel anger, or inordinate hunger, or pain of any kind… I want to be able to take away the pain of others without making it my own somehow, without owning it…
I want to not feel like crying some times, to not let the intensity of what I may be feeling inside of me seep into the other areas surrounding me…
Like Queen Akasha, without all of her selfish parts… an Akasha without the desire to be worshiped… letting humanity suck of my life-giving blood freely and without consequences.
Healing every, making strong the weak… letting them suck of me should they need it… not depleting me… no… for Akasha could never be depleted. For the fact that they gather around me seeking my fluids, that is payment and pleasure enough. To be able to give of me constantly without sickness, or fatigue, or the economy or other conditions getting in the way. Without any of the human failings trapping me. To give and not be depleted. To be a fountain of constant life and bubbly.
I guess I am basically asking not to be human anymore.
Ta-daaa!!! Ring the bell of blessinnnggg!
But danggit!!! This human flesh… it fails me constantly. For the things that I yearn to do, I cannot always do. Humanity… it traps me, limiting me. Sometimes I just want to sit in the bathtub and just scrub away my humanity. Scrub away this skin… unearth the thing underneath. I don’t want to make anymore mistakes. I want to live above all imperfections and pitfalls. I don’t want to break anything by error but to create on purpose instead. Oh this human flesh of mine… this flesh…
I realize that these traits of humanity have been put in place to remind me constantly that I am not God. That I am not perfect… not like the way He is. They are present to remind me, in those moments when I feel untouchable and superhuman, that I am after all human. Capable of errors, prone to trials. They are there to make me always rely on Him and His extensive supply of wonders, for what use is God to me, if I do not let him be God in my life eh?
And so though my imperfections may make my heart heavy and therefore make me hopelessly sad and weary on occasion, especially when it gets in the way of helping or relating with people, I will have to suck it up and keep being me. Warts and all. Over time, and only if the need arises, adjustments may take place. Depending. But ahhh… some parts of me will always be me. My fiery and ginger spice spirit, my selective impatience, my need to always be either here or there and never in-between, my compulsion to always set records straight to prevent confusion like the way I delete messages I have read because I want my inbox clutter free, the blunt way I might sometimes tell a person a truth, my somewhat unpredictable nature, my irrational and selfish expectation of sincerity and complete openness from everyone I meet; I ultimately demand your soul because I automatically give you mine; my intense nature burning hotter than laser; as though openness were as easy for everyone as it is for me, my obsession with being at peace always and so always running away from and deleting people as though they were random data should they become a threat to this peace… ahhh… these… these will always be part of me. I cannot help it. Depending on whom I meet, they could be bad or good. These are the parts of me that make me uniquely Sonia/Nneka/Nekaaar. My constants. Maybe if I hadn’t experienced some of the things that I have, or lived through some of the things that I have had to, I may have turned out different. But as it is, this is me. Partly survival mechanism developed over time, partly just the way I was created. My very human existence.
And so though I’m a burdened by this humanity today… I know that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will be fine with it. Tomorrow, it will not be a shackle, but wings to fly with. For I ask, who then is perfect? Who doesn’t have these trappings of humanity? Perfect as we all seem to be in looks and packaging, what about our hearts? How do we really feel in there? Bouncy always? I think not.
To those who make dieting plans and miss a day or more of it… To those who say they won’t get so angry and yell but later find that they do… To those who want to speak less and listen more but find that some days they just keep talking too much… To all of us who in one way or the other have fallen from our lofty perches at one time or another…
What can I say?
It’s your humanity reminding you that it’s still there. Don’t feel too badly. Lie a little longer on the floor if you must, but make sure you get up eventually, dust yourself, and get back on your perch. It’s your perch. No one will get on it for you. Don’t be sad when the people around you don’t stay or simply do not want to know and understand the reason behind who you apparently are… no…. okay, be sad but not for too long. Because hey, if they go away it’s because they weren’t meant to be there in the first place. You have to understand that the ones who will stay, will stay. They won’t be many but they will stay. And they will love you regardless. And you will drink rum together and poke fun non-stop at that humanity… that wretched humanity… the one that on occasion, also likes to make fun of you.
As I stop writing this… I know that somehow it will all be worth it in the end. My falling, my getting up, my thirst for more, my loss, my gains, that burning and heaving mass of emotions in my chest… it can’t all be for naught. It doesn’t feel tippity tops now, but hey. So I will publish this post now, lie in bed for a bit with the blanket covering my head, put a hand to my chest – say a prayer and will it to stop heaving, then pick up the book I was reading and escape.
With the blanket still covering my head. And with “Mercy” by One Republic, playing softly in the background.
Thanks for “watching” me bleed out guys…
To simply say that I appreciate your readership – your ability to sit still and watch me eviscerate myself time and time again without flaking, will be a gross understatement.
But hey, appreciate it I do.
I will put my away my knife or errm… pen(really?) or errr… typing fingers for now.
See ya next Wednesday.