I have nothing clever to say these days - no idealized, entertaining version of myself or thoughts to convey. Mostly I'm just sad and lonely and tired.
There's a line from an old Pink Floyd song, something about waking up to realize your race is run. Or maybe I'm just superimposing my own thoughts on a snippet, but that's how it feels right now. All the choices I've made leading up to this moment.*
My father is gone, just over a year, and I miss him. I miss having someone to call and talk to on the phone who truly knows me, and loves me, and listens.
Honestly, it's hard to explain why I'm here now, except to fulfill responsibilities to a few loved ones. If it weren't for my mom's dementia, and me poorly attending to her needs, I might've disappeared from my own life long ago - packed up shop and flown to Tennessee or Timbuktu or wherever, just to escape this existence.
But of course there's no escaping self.
I wake up most mornings and a thought arises, 'who am I' or lately, even 'what am I'?
Apparently all the moments in my life have led up to this. this moment of self negation & self discovery - a bardo state between crisis and awakening - but regardless of what you call it, it's so, very, uncomfortable.
If I could wave my magic wand and disappear in a puff of smoke - presto, chango - like Bullwinkle the Moose pulling a rabbit out of his hat... but then of course, it's a lion's head roaring at you from the darkness vs. the imagined relief of non-existence.
As Buddha dude, Joseph Goldstein, recently related via podcast, 'anything can happen at anytime'.
Meanwhile, old Zen masters would sometimes roar like a lion before slipping into the void. Ok, 'roar' may be hyperbolic but cool concept, nonetheless.
So yeah.
Rahr.**
*Yes, this is another unoriginal thought - this time lifted from 'No Country For Old Men' - but hey if you're going to plagiarize, Cormac McCarthy is not a bad choice.
**signifying nothing more than the end of my missive, btw
