by whatname

Created on: May 13, 2009

Stream of nothing too relevant

In this river I have been abandoned, thrown into it without my consent. Yet I can go back to that day that has vanished from my memories, the day of my birth, and ask:

Was there a reason for this, or will there be? Perhaps I'll never know, but what I do know is that for as long as I live, against currents I'll willingly swim, so that I am not carried away as if my context were determining my life for me, as if I could not co-create my direction with the water that surrounds me.

No. I will not cease resisting my inner inertia, choosing instead to push my self beyond its limits, letting passion energize and wear me down simultaneously, living the best and the worst in a way that is just lived, outside the realm of right and wrong, of desirable and undesirable, of either/or.

Experiencing my every cell die and regenerate until the day that my heart can beat no more, until the day that I return to the womb, in the river I will swim, gradually realizing that the river is in me, that the river is this I.

Whether empowered or vulnerable before what tears me apart, finding myself or being found, with a static or ever changing heart, with or without this sting in my soul,

I have no choice but to live until the day I die, yet I have the choice to live willingly, in spite of it all, doing all I can, with the little that I have.

Even if there is no path for me to the ocean of universal wholeness but this river that I am, I am for me and I'll be here for as long as I live, flowing in myself, going like all others towards the same no-place.

I will move and live beyond myself in spite of my heart and the currents and elements that make this flow unpredictable in extensity and intensity.

I will wait, in faith, yet without stagnating in hopes and illusions that are distant in time. I will become who I am by being, without fear, in spite of being the open wound that I am, the wound that bleeds any time it takes the band-aids away, the blood that reminds me I am alive, the alienated truth that dwells beneath protective veils, the inner truth that is divine even if unknown.

To life I release a dangerous plea. Nothing can life do to me but do what it already plans to do: to remove itself from me. Well, dear life, give me your fullest, your all, to be loved with all of who I am, or give me none, and let my body fall like a log and decompose into the ground.

To embrace this internal resistance in me, identifying with the sting that

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