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All
there is is love, and
I am
too out of touch with
myself most
of the time
to feel it. It is so
difficult to find
myself, to
love myself, to feel
open
enough to the
pain
and loss and
starkness
of life, to feel the
love and
the hate and the fear
that I have
for everyone,
to let myself feel
what there is to feel.
To let myself
feel me.
What
if there is nothing
there? What if
I’m not as
interesting as
TV, or the next
meal?
Or the girl next door?
What if I hate myself,
or I’m
bored, or I can’t
find who I am,
or I’m
lost, or I waste my
time,
or I don’t know
how to love, or
no one
loves me, or I just
don’t
care? What if I
just don’t care?
What if I just can’t
feel? What if
I hate
you and hate myself
and
just can’t feel?
Sometimes -
often -
I’m lost, and I just
don’t
care.
How
do I find myself?
Do I
have to be
more quiet, less compulsively
active? Do
I just sit
and feel more,
not try so hard to
defend myself, just let
the world
in? God, I
fear you and hate
you and loathe you
and
need you so
much. And I am so
powerless to keep
you from
hurting me.
And I feel your
confusion and fear and
hatred
and love, too.
It makes me so
afraid that I have to
plan how to
get away
from you and to
control you and to
be more
powerful
than you so that you
can’t hurt me and
get at me and
leave
me alone until I need
you
and only then
for a certain time
so that I can run
away again
soon. I
have to make myself
powerful with money
and
prestige so I can
control you and
so
you’ll love me and
then go
away and
leave me alone with
my treasure of
money and
power
and love.
Everything
that happens is
a test,
no, a meeting of inner
and
outer worlds. Am
I here? Am I
actually
letting myself feel
what's happening in
the
moment? Or am
I in my head,
rushing
to a later moment
better
than the one
in front of me? Do
I deserve all this?
Why is
precisely this
happening to me
right
now? How am I related
to
what I see before
me? I’m adrift
between
fronds of circumstance
in an ocean of time.
Can I see
where I am?
I’m blind with fear
and
memories of where I’ve
been, where I need to
go, who
loves me, who
hates me, and
how to
save myself from
drowning, alone, in this
ocean
of love and fear
and hate and of
my
certain death.
Why
am I alive? What
is my
purpose here?
What is there for
me to do? Is there anything
for me to do?
Perhaps there is
nothing for me to do
than to just
be, to let
myself unfold. Can I
let myself unfold?
How do I let
myself
unfold? Can I be that
unmanipulative of my
life, of my
self? Do I
still have a clue as to
how to be that
innocent, that
virginal,
that guileless unto
myself?
Who
am I? Am
I
worth
living? Is
my
life
worth living?
Where is
the juice
of
it, the rush,
the
excitement, the
meaning, the
exaltation
of just
being alive?
What
do I do when I
lose
it,
when I lose
that
exaltation,
when
I
lose the great
feeling?
Is
that when I doubt
myself - when
I lose
the great feeling? Is
that
when I’m afraid
I can’t feel at
all - when
I’m not feeling
anything
special in the moment?
Is that when I doubt
myself and
hate myself
and avoid others?
We
are lost in this sea of
life "Till
human voices wake us
and we
drown."
I
want to drown in
myself. I
want to feel myself
going down
for the
last time into myself,
never to awaken again
from the sea of life,
totally
identified with
life and my body
and
the moment forever.
No!
Wait! That is not
what I want!
To be
totally identified is to
be
totally lost from my
true self,
my larger self,
the self that sees
all
this and guides me
through
the valley of
the shadow of
death,
that guides my mortal,
trembling body through
this
hell.
Save
me from this
hell of life.
Can you
save me from the hell
of life? No, to live authentically,
moment to
moment, I have to
live in hell. I
must let
you have access to
me,
to really get me
where it hurts,
where
I can’t protect
myself, where
we’re equals in power
and defenselessness. Where you
can hurt me. And
you will.
This
essay was written
in June 1999 after
seeing
Robin
Williams'
"What Dreams
May Come." At first
I was
too ashamed to read
it out loud or to show
it to anyone because
I was
afraid that
my guile or craft had infected
my words
or
crept between me and
my truth. But
after
receiving lots of
positive feedback
(particularly from
people
saying
they had
identified
with my feelings),
I
decided to bring it
forward.
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