On Beauty & the Wasteland - v.4 / issue 4 - I am Afraid.

 

On Beauty & the Wasteland 
v.4 / issue 4

I am afraid. 

I am afraid of being invaded by my own thoughts, my own aridity.

I am afraid of the desert. The barrenness, the wastelands, being buried alive in quicksand. Sand so fine, it cannot hold moisture. <3 Bones with no meat, no juice, no skin, devoid of marrow, bleached dry by a blazing infernal inescapable sun. Then the cold. So fucking cold. No food or water anywhere. No life. Deprivation. I hate myself.

A part of me longs to drown in vast oceans.
A part of me longs to be digested by the earth.

So much better than being buried alive in quicksand.

When I am around people who are dry, I become emotional. I express all the emotions. When I am around people who are emotional, I become the desert, an ice queen. This makes it very hard to connect with other people. I do want to connect with other people. I’m afraid of not being able.

***

Who is trapped inside this tomb — buried alive? 

Wellsprings could bubble up as I excavate her?

(I am both afraid of and excited by the prospect.) Can you help me unearth her? Or is this something I must do alone?

(I am afraid) I cannot do this alone (from my stance of deprivation.)

I long for her. I feel her absence. She is so sweet, gentle, kind, innocent and genuine. I long for people, for the whole planet, the whole universe, to grieve for her with me. Our tears mingling, creating floodwaters to destroy this foundation I am (we are all?) trapped inside.

(I feel as tho I have been going backwards in time for I don’t know how long. Then enslaved in the desert. Now the biblical flood. Next garden of Eden? Followed by? The Big Bang. Then Nothingness — the land before time? Maybe, it’s a mystery.)

Can you lend me your tears?

I ache. You ache. She/he/it aches.

WE ACHE.

I wail. You wail. She/he/it wails.

WE WAIL.

My fear is that no one can feel me. No one can hear me.

No one can meet me in this.

Can you hear me? Can you feel me?

Can you meet me?

I am trapped in this. Am I / are you / is she he it/ are WE:

too much? not enough? all alone?  invaded/suffocated? Invading/suffocating? the ocean? the desert? fire? ice?

a gentle underground spring of water – an oasis in the desert?

an invading/depriving woman? an abusive psychopathic man? a withdrawn frozen child?

(Rescuer, perpetrator, victim. Do I/you/we exist? How can I/you/we/ exist beyond this?!? 

The witness. Turning a 2D triangle into a 3D pyramid. 

Maybe I am mummified inside?)

What is the foreground? What is the background?

Inside, outside, upside-down.

What is beauty and what is the wasteland?

Goldilocks — I need it just right.

Does this need matter? Can I be met in this? 

Probably not on the internet.

Too much not enough, all of us.

I hate me passionately. I hate you passionately. I hate her/him/it passionately.

I hate all of us. 

Passionately.

I also love me passionately. And love you passionately. I love her/him/it passionately.

I love all of us. 

Passionately.