A Day and a Night

The soul is such a taxing mentor.

I dance ceaselessly with the daemon Melancholy, tiring as days wind on into weeks, and weeks wind on into months. Months have given way to years, and still the dance rushes on, exploding with an ever driving tempo. Still, among it, the voice of Heaven whispers strange secrets in hidden ways about the nature of meaning— and perhaps moreso the secrets to why you must fight for meaning in the first place.

I cling, sometimes, to those points in time where the flow of wonder surrounded me utterly. When each new smell, sight or experience fed an unknowable pot of potent memories, that in this present time tug both mockingly and sincerely at the heart. I recall past heights of being yet, often, feel powerless to recreate them. Despair, when mirrored against Memory, creates a unique kind of torment — yet a torment that, I hope, has a softer side where a man may become better off for himself in the longer run.

I must now sunder the most honest love and bond I have ever had. My emotional heart collapses in lieu of my own reality, and the reality that I myself have brought it to this point, at least in part. As I write these words, I feel the shadow of the lunar eclipse casting unknowable shadows into every facet of the foundation behind the mundane. I see this drama play acting out, and I am powerless to stop it. My heart is dying, and I don’t know if I even desire to impede what seems so inevitable. Deus ex Catharsis.

This terrible thing, rising like a black island in an already dim sea, has focused all attention to itself. From a stew of small details, it rose first like a stone, then a rock, then a reef — manageable things, really — and in a surge of divine suddenness, this inescapable monument has driven the sea from it as it sprung up from unknown depths. Now, I curse my own knowledge of the human condition. I value that ability, that unspoken gift to get it — and yet now it torments me, staying my hand as it shows its true Face as death the harvester and I watch as my summer fields are reaped before me. For in a strange way, I know Death and the gift of Understanding of its work that man may come to possess through experiences. This terrible thing, I am lacking in a will to stop it, and I am filled with confusion and regret.

With this agony, which cannot easily be shared as a burden with other souls, comes other sensations: a sense of acute and uninhibited feeling. Beneath endless levels of numbness, a passion stirs in pain. Catharsis. A certain chain around a blue heart is cracked, the potential for a liberation. Yet, there is no gift of potential without Sacrifice. Such things, at this point in the journey, are as a kind of law. Sacrifice something for something. The soul must rise, perhaps, even as the body and mind is weighed down by exhaustion. I fear I may have nothing left to sacrifice beyond myself, yet still the heavens whisper strange secrets of purpose — a purpose I cannot, in this phase of life, fathom.

In the early Fall of last year, I was torn apart. I faced the Devil and God and couldn’t comprehend which force represented Good, beneath it all. I wrestled with Deception, spiritual manipulation and the demons of Control. Even as I write this, I shiver. I was injured there, beyond my capability to resolve. I am still injured. I was afraid of magic, or life, or Spirit. Magic and Spirit were Life for me, and as such, my Self was clouded from me. I write this in a past tense almost in wistful hope, that I can say that some day that injury to the person I had put so much work into becoming was healed for good. I am healing, slowly, and I have scars.

This terrible thing, newly thrust upon me, will sunder a relationship with the brightest star I have had the blessing to share a life with up to this point. That person was the only person that kept me from utter destruction when my reality was torn apart during that early fall encounter and I lost my ability to trust the universe and my part in it. She, beyond a partner, held the only example of true love in a death trip that showed me a side of the Universe that was cold, mechanical, damning and above all, an utter Lie. She gave me a rope as I dangled above a horrific abyss, without even trying, and pulled me back to humanity. Cliche’s aside, she was and in part still is the only light in overwhelming darkness.

Now I must end it. I must watch her Love others, and herself, and not impede her. I must, for I also must move on to what lies next for me, whatever that may be. I must smile, and not share this pain. I must smile, also and in honesty, because I am reminded I can still feel. With feeling comes the smallest bit of magic, and I can work with that. Understanding. Strange priorities. Multiple levels of truth. I get it. I get the Path and its various meanings and even in this I must accept those truths. That said, there is a gaping, sucking hole in my chest and a lifetime of mourning behind these eyes that I cannot yet release. It is agonizing. I struggle for strength.

As the next few days muddle on, the manner of things will become clear. We must close the door, and I know that on the inside, she knows this as well. I pray that she is cold. I pray that it doesn’t hurt her like it is and will hurt me. She deserves what I cannot give. I pray that I myself can find my way home from this ultimate Loss of Place.

I must relearn how to Trust in myself, in Spirit and in the magic that has given birth to me. I quest, a lost creature beneath a dim sky, to regain that hidden power, and for honesty and for a reason to desire meaning. I have told, but I have not told many details. Perhaps I cannot yet bring myself to dig fully into that risen black stone in a dim sea in fear of what may pour out from that hole. One step at a time. I speak selfishly to myself, and the fringes of the void that stares back, aiming these words at the blurry lines where the abyss of being meets the distant corners of cyberspace and forms a boiling quagmire of symbols.

S.O.S. Reality breach. Don’t know if she’ll hold out. Will press on until aid is received. Send backup.

Regards,

a strange sailor