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18 April 2016 @ 05:22 pm
know the way (from anonymousblack's wordpress, burnbeforereading)  

this edge this feathered edge this edge of light, this edge of prismed light. this edge in leaded glass, this edge in a dense mirror. this edge of my identity, this edge of boundary, this strange unknown edge of who i could be. where the anger begins, because sometimes the anger doesn't seem to come from inside of me. where the anger comes from, because sometimes it seems like the anger is a pre-existing shape i can lock into in the physical world. we are all sometimes taking shapes of emotion that already exist in the external world. we are all often taking the shapes of emotions that already exist in the external world. we are all falling into patterns we never made, only endorsed, only supplicated ourselves to. oftentimes we are not angry, but enacting someone else's anger. oftentimes we are not happy, but wearing the attitudes of long-dead clowns.

the one consistently originating emotion, the one emotion that tends to identity us as unique, the one emotion we create, this is love. love shapes us. love gives us the true shape of who we are. love is a true emotion, so when we feel deep love we might be feeling something true. in the service of deep love, other emotions also become true: we are as we were as we always will be. anger in the service of love. happiness in the service of love. quietude in the service of love. fear in the service of love?

i’ve long believed that the shadow presentation of love isn’t hate, isn’t indifference, isn’t apathy, but fear. the author respectfully requests that you please hold all donnie darko references until the post has come to a full and complete stop. because this isn’t about abolishing fear. this isn’t about evolving past fear. fear is pretty damn important. it's limitations, mortality, boundaries. it's what might be necessary to make you act on love. remember that a shadow presentation isn’t the opposite of a thing, but that which is brought into being as a consequence of that thing’s existence. some might say it’s the "bad" version, the "evil" version, the "unevolved" version, but thinking like that forces these qualities to behave as antagonists toward one another when really it’s more of a fertilizing irritation. the shadow of a quality is the challenge of that quality. the shadow initiates one toward seeing what is actually there instead of what one placates oneself with the idea of. the shadow initiates. look, fear exists because of love. fear can be love’s vehicle. what are you afraid of losing? who are you afraid of never talking to again? who have you witnessed experiencing fear at the idea of your loss? i’d ask ‘and how did that make you feel?’ but i have an awful lot to say about that so maybe another time.

is it love where we name ourselves? is it love that gives us our true name? or is it love like an excuse, love to excuse us from ourselves, from our lessons, from our responsibilities? is it love we wear as a mask to hide who we are from those who know better? love is an exposing thing so love should make you feel exposed. lit up from all sides. somehow scrutinized in your most private moments. maybe not? we're always starting over is the thing. individuals who love, we're always beginning again. if you are resistant to the idea of starting over from scratch on a minute by minute basis, if you don't like the idea of trusting someone enough to love them even though you'll never really know who they are, if the idea of that makes you yearn for the sweet ease of death, then maybe you don't know what love is about.

that's okay. someone will be coming for you later.

yet on another level, love, as a concept; love, as a word; love as an assumption; love as a bonus with purchase: this sort of love can just as easily be another shape we take, another shape we force ourselves into. a habit. an addiction. something with which to distract ourselves from the horrible inevitability of death. we’re looking to become a person, we’re looking to draw some boundary lines to make us who we most want to be: what better way to do that then with the chisel tipped stinky perceived permanence of love as a product for consumers? i’ve done that. i've been that person. i’ve lived in denial of love. i’ve said that word when i meant it in an entirely different context than what i let convey. not that it matters, because once you've known love, the nature of who you are when you are alone changes entirely. what you need in your connections? what you want out of an experience? all of that changes in accord, though you can certainly pretend otherwise. i've done that, also. i didn't understand that was what was happening, at the time: i didn't know, so i went a little nuts. maybe insanity is another true emotion. maybe insanity is a tool of love. if crazy, if acting crazy, if thinking crazy, if re-papering your bedroom walls with seventeen manners of i didn't think i could be any crazier than that, then love?

then love, but maybe not in the way you were expecting it to present. maybe not in that way where you ever actually bring that crazy to another individual. maybe not. sometimes love we believe is directed toward another is misfired love, love we intended to direct at ourselves. sometimes unrequited love is love we need to reclaim for ourselves. love renames us. love awakens us. love forces us to be true to who we really are. if love is truly love, it cannot be concealed forever; though plenty of individuals have ended entire incarnations with their caged up love breathing wet and heavy all over them deep into the night. plenty of individuals have lost control of their current incarnations because of love, love that killed them slowly, love that could have just as easily redeemed them, brought them into the light and shadow of walking with truth, of walking with love. it's okay, even if it isn't. either way, love will swing back around and be waiting for them the next time. death isn't a reprieve from love.

love is, in fact, stronger than death.

is love truth? truth is a tool one can use to find love. truth is one tool; longing is another, more unstable one; stillness another. stillness will let love ripple its surface. stillness will celebrate love with countless widening interlocking circles rippling out in every direction: and here is love here is love here is love and here again is love is love is love is love is love love love love, laced up and interlocked, a ring for every finger, a line at every cancerous throat. is cancer a tool of love? cancer has a certain absoluteness to it it that can resonate truth. but cancer causes strange behavior in a lot of people who generally seem perfectly capable of loving, so i don't think it's a s simple as cancer plus truth equals love: i think cancer plus truth equals fear, equals avoidance, equals grieving:

but listen. as it turns out, where there's grieving, there is love. if love, then grieving. there is no truer answer to what you love than what you mourn. listen, is there something that needs to happen here? listen, is there something i should know? i walk through the apartment in slight spring humidity, in strange, strange light. i carry the censor. i call the quarters. the quarters call back: the tickle down my ear canal, the stickiness far up my nose. i clear my throat. i walk my path. around every corner. over the hardwood floors. everything is salt and mystery, at least in the end. what is happening? why is it happening? why does this occur?

music: moljebka pvlse - arising
(Anonymous) on April 21st, 2016 02:50 am (UTC)
Have you ever wanted to use a word, one of those 3 dollar words that not just anyone can use and get away with it so you let it pass and rarely if ever do you later use it, I mean I don't know about your family reunions but most of the words bandied about at our literary lunches are one syllable grunts or two syllable groans so if I threw out that 3 dollar word gobsmacked you'll just have to take my word for it but did you ever see Deliverance?

I have asked you before where one might purchase the concordance or annotations to your posts and the response I got at Barnes and Noble made me think the clerk was an alumnus of my family reunions.

Though I spent most of my read bobbing with my head barely above water(I may have this confused with the floods we have been having in Houston)I was able to get what I think the general direction you took with this treatise on love.
Firstly though I know you were not consciously channeling that old apostle Paul in his treatise on love in First Corinthians chapter 13. But I got my large print bible down from the shelves and read along with you and Paul. The two fit well together. One of my favorites is
" I walked through the apartment in slight spring humidity, in strange strange light..." Now Paul- "... for now we see through a glass darkly..." I put Paul and his ilk back up on the shelves and read your post again.

You never fail to have a point in your post that I find so about me that I think She's been reading my mail then realize I don't get mail only bills and I know many of us think oh yeah that's me. My only question is when are they coming for me?
selva oscura: [magritte] it's not an appleanonymousblack on April 21st, 2016 09:50 pm (UTC)
actually i'm fairly confident that 1 corinthians 13 informed this piece, consciously or subconsciously. i read an excerpt from it at my grandmother's funeral. you know. trying to keep from totally losing it at a podium at her church in front of sixty people. reading from blurred text in a voice that wobbled, but didn't fall down.

paul is the first name of the friend i lost last year, so that has a little extra weight right now. he's in here.

see, when you go back to b&n you gotta look for the witch. there's usually a witch, somewhere. i worked for a b&n affiliate for half a decade and would frequently observe the staff at other stores, trying to figure out who s/he was. one of the women in my circle is a merchandising manager at a b&n out in the county, so my guess is that this tradition carries on. hint: unnatural hair color can be a tipoff. mine was green for a little while, then burgundy for a little while after that. problem being, for me, that hair dye is a home wrecker in the literal sense. i destroyed a good number of pillowcases, back in the day.

my not-quite-complete bibliography can be found at librarything, but that's probably overwhelming, as it includes all the freebies and impulse purchases from my near 15 years working as a bookseller. (just the stack i took home from my last day as a borders employee would be enough to make my father sigh heavily and suggest i seek some variety of professional help for my little addiction.) also my mom worked at a library and i was never one to be shy with the paperback swap rack... just pretend you don't see my assortment of '80s preteen gunk. the "favorites" tag may be of assistance. not responsible for irresponsible spending on literature. ;-)
(Anonymous) on April 22nd, 2016 01:41 am (UTC)
I've decided to take a cue from the car service drivers at the airport and just stand in front of Barnes & Noble with my cardboard Witch? sign and see who responds.

I had a road to Damascus moment much like our mutual friend Paul years back and got rid of ties that bind and gave away 95% of my books, all my vinyl and just had a general cleansing and loved it. I made a deal with the little bibliophile that lives within that for every book purchased one must depart so I was not prepared on any level for your Library Thing. It is book porn pure and simple and the more I looked the more I felt I should be under the covers with a flashlight. You wicked wicked girl. You are lucky I saw it late in my cycle because if I had seen this in my in my prime it would have been the last anyone ever saw of me

I think I say this everytime but I think this post is my favorite. It was different everytime I read it and if my internet did not go down on Monday and Tuesday I might have ended up in some dervish whirling chant and none of us wants to see that.
selva oscura: [rs] stairsanonymousblack on April 22nd, 2016 09:37 pm (UTC)
ha! it's true what they say: once a bookseller, always a bookseller. let's just hope that karma comes back around for me if a bookstore-stocked publisher ever gives me a second look.

i might be inching toward a similar philosophy of equilibrium in book acquisition, tho, if only because someday we are going to move and moving my books from illinois to maryland (five years about after i moved to maryland), then to the storage locker, then eventually to our third-story apartment with no elevator... [sheepish]. i still feel pretty horrible about what my papered excesses did to the loved ones who helped us move. but, yeah, i mean, i also had boxes of notebooks. and rocks. and weird, fragile statuary. i might need to get my act together...

just make sure if you do manage to identify any witches with your method that they know the secret handshake. of course, i cannot describe it to you, as i've been sworn to secrecy.