On Love, Existence, Being, and Other Parts to Life’s Relativity

Yesterday was probably the worst day of my life so far. And I feel like there are only worse days to come. Worse days out of some of my worst nightmares – and not the stupid ones about white mannequins and vampires and mummies and bat people and a fat lady in a polka dot dress and the evil dude from Ferngully, but the real ones. The ones I have when I’m awake. The things I truly fear the most, in my consciousness. I wouldn’t be at all shocked if my greatest fear came true even today or tomorrow. I feel like things are changing for the worse, things that I want to change for the better. It seems impossible for the things I want to get better to ever really get better. It seems if I let myself fear something enough, it’s bound to happen, or if I let myself care about something too much, I’m bound to lose it.

I checked to see if it was there…it was there. And so I continued laughing and joking and loving life, knowing that it was there. Then, thinking about it, I checked if it was there, and found it gone. To think it was there just moments before, and then it was just gone…I forgot about it, I expected it to be there for just a brief span of time, and I lost it. How long until I lose it all?

‘It tears me apart every time’ I said. So you did it another way. And I cried and begged you not to be that way. Realizing my hypocrisy I could only cry harder, and say the only things I could say, my voice barely working. I swallowed so many words, like ‘stay’ and ‘don’t go’, knowing how unfair it would be to say anything. I had expected it to be there when I felt for it, and expected it to still be there after I’d left it alone. I had lost it. I had no right to demand it be returned to me. Even as I watched it break away from me, I knew I had no right to reach out and grab it and pull it back to me. I had let it go. I gave it a false sense of freedom: I could not bring it back in and hold on to it as my own. I had no right to it, no claim to it, and certainly no ownership of it. I had been wrong.

Thoughts and words and feelings and emotions all are different things, and I failed to see how one depends on another, or rather, how they should depend on each other. Trying to keep things from spoiling, from staining, it seems I missed a spot. And trying to heal scars, I only made them worse.

It seems the painkiller is no longer enough, or perhaps it was more than enough, and the dullness of what might just be reality, or might be what my mind projects to be reality, or what the mind of a higher being says is reality…the dullness has turned into a numbed and distant sort of pain. The kind of pain you feel in the head, though you know it comes from deep within you. It’s not really pain, because pain is the sort of thing you feel when you get hit by a brick. I suppose this is kind of like getting hit with a brick, though it’s more like getting slowly suffocated with a pillow. Slowly you lose consciousness, you lose your touch with reality, and you even lost your comprehension of pain. What you don’t lose, though, is your ability to think. And so everything is now up to your thought process.

The kind of emotions required to comprehend feelings such as pain have long gone away, they seem like the musings of ancient philosophers who dabbled in the possible and not the probable. They are gone and buried and decayed. Like fallen angels, what were once higher beings are now consumed by the grave, by what drags us down into the dirt – the evil in our own hearts and minds. I’m sure that is something else that does not go away. You strip a man of all that he is, body, mind, soul, heart, till all his feelings, thoughts, what makes him who he is – till all of that is gone, and what will be left will be the dredges of existence. The evil that latches on to being itself, and feeds off of it as an timeless, lifeless, boundless parasite, the epitome of decomposers. Then we see the true colours of humanity, what is truly at the heart of every living thing. Perhaps that is what lies at the core of nature.

But I for one cannot believe that this is anything but the doing of man. What is in our hearts is of our own making. And perhaps we can blame that life has twisted us into the ghastly form that we are, but in the end our life is what we make it. We are given life as a gift, and rather than cherish it and use it as a selfless gift should be used, in a selfless way, we think of what life can do for us, what we will get out of life. We even have the nerve to complain about our existence. We have the nerve to say that life is not a good gift, that being able to breath and see beauty and experience love and accomplishment and feel pain and happiness and sadness and pleasure and to taste and smell and hear and admire all of creation and all that is life and being… We have the tendency to hate. We have the arrogance and the desire for more so much that we can reject the gift of life as not enough. Or we are so drawn inwards to our own being, and so captivated by the darkness and void we find within us, which we do nothing to lighten or to fill, that we can even reject the greatest gift as too much. A gift is not something to be rejected.

Amidst all these thoughts, I sit here in front of my computer, pondering existence as an angsty teenager who thinks life is the pits and whose hormones are running circles around her heart and her mind, causing her confusion and dizziness that leaves her to blackout and fall to the ground, momentarily losing consciousness until she tries to get up again, feeling numbed…and then it starts all over again.

Numbness…is that the absence of all feeling? Or is that simply the dulling of all feeling? Or is it only the dulling of pain? I do think that pain is one of the hardest things for us humans to ignore, but its one of the feelings we choose to ignore the most. Up there on the ignore list is love, too, on both accounts, because it is hard to love. We have boundless love to give, but giving it is hard, for it means that we are opening ourselves up. We are giving love, feeling it and passing it on. Thus if our love is ever rejected or ever tried or ever bent or marred and tested or scarred…well, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. It seems pain comes with love, as every gift must be received, and every true gift is something that comes from the heart. And if we wish to give something away, receiving it back in our hands is like throwing the biggest metaphorical rock ever at us. The love we reach out with snaps back at us and smacks us right in the face.

But that doesn’t just happen with outright rejection, and that’s why love is such a difficult thing to feel…and not difficult to just feel, but difficult to manage, difficult to hold on to, and most of all, difficult to understand. Love is supposed to feel good. Love is supposed to be a wonderful thing. But what is love without something more than just pleasure? If all it is is just frolicking through the daisies, what’s the point of it? There’s a lot of happiness and laughter and pleasure and sense of being and sense of purpose, but the only way for something to be substantial is if it is obtained through hardship, through what living things learn quickly to hate the most: pain. And this is emotional pain at the very heart, effecting the very highest most powerful emotion, which most people learn to fear the most. If true love were just true love, without any pain or struggle, it would just be another part of existence itself. Because to me, life is 3d…no, 4d. The first dimension is that of existence, of life as it is scientifically defined. The second dimension is that of thought, of logic and forms, of science – the technicalities and the blueprints that make up what humanity is able to understand about the ‘how?’ of being. The third dimension is that of emotion, of feelings and deep understandings through senses that do not come into direct contact with the physical world, which skews our observance of existence. The fourth dimension is the beyond, the things that in our hearts we know exist somewhere, perhaps in our minds or our dreams or our souls, or perhaps deep in the folds of time and creation, but which we cannot reach or understand at all except through inklings of feelings in our guts that tell us we can tap into this beyond, though not now, not yet...

True existence is when the three dimensions are brought together in our physical existence, when we are able to reach the higher plane that is true existence and both differentiate from the physical and the beyond, as well as bring the two together into what we can see and understand through not only our eyes and our thoughts, but also with our hearts (and if you’d like, our ‘third eye’) and our feelings. Understanding does not necessarily have to be explained. The words and expressions of thoughts and feelings that we have are not enough to describe anywhere near to the fullest what we experience in our existence. We say a lot, but express very little of what we could potentially express.

All four dimensions are brought together only in the fourth dimension, only on the highest plane of existence. When we reach that plane, the purity of being is revealed to us, and all sense of ‘dimensions’ or time or space or feelings goes away. And all there is then is…being.

Love is on the highest plane of existence, the 3d plane, that combines the physical, the mental, the emotional, and the beyond. The beyond is being. God is being. God is love.

And that is why we are afraid of love, and often do not deserve it.

...

Yeah...

I typed all of that last night…was up well into the morning. Things kept me up, as usual. Plus I’m just nocturnal. I think best at night. I write the most freely at night. And I brood the most at night. Yeah, that’s my night life.

I think I take some sort of sick pleasure in being depressed...

But a lot of things change, even in less than a day...