I've given up on trying to be happy. I'm gonna stick with things that make sense, like a wall between me, and the rest of the world. A big wall, with a moat. And crocodiles. And alligators. And a few Japanese Koi. And a fountain.
I've stopped speaking to my Heart, as well. It's delusional. A real Goody fucking two-shoes. From now on, it skips down the road less traveled, alone. If it ever claims to have picked up the scent of something, and runs in circles, shrilling excitedly, "Oh, Patrick, this is the way we must go! It's the only way, the joyful way, the chosen way, I know it!" again, I'll drag it to the moat as an offering.
Its capacity for hope, and failure, surpasses my own.
Idiotic Fuck.
No Question
I've always operated under the hope that right after we die, during the transition time between this world and the next, we're ushered into a small office where we get 5-minutes of face time with the Big Man: God. We're allowed to ask anything we want, or make comments about The Grand Scheme of Things, or provide suggestions about what needs improving. It's our time to vent, or sing praises.We choose.
Until recently, I only had one question I wanted to ask:
"Yeah, nice to meet you. No, don't get up. Listen, what's up with chickens?"
That's no longer the front runner.
Nothing is.
Not an, "I like what you did with the Sky".
Not, "Where does music come from?"
Not a request for a last, and final burst of Laughter.
Nothing.
I'm simply walking in hard and laying a chest bump on the guy. I might back him into a corner. I'm locking my eyes on his, and holding them there until my time with him is up. I want him to peer in at the cargo I carried, so he understands the density of empty. I want him to feel how heavy a void is. I want him to memorize the smell of everything rotten, or decomposing, so each time he inhales the memories of all that he's lost are awakened again. I want him to feel the weight of Alone.
At least, that's what I tell myself I'll do.
I doubt I actually will.
I know the reception I'll receive. I know I won't drape myself arrogantly in attitude, either. I'm aware that I'm not qualified to teach anyone what my lifetime was trying to teach me. At least not until I pass the exam. Which is why I can't die. Not yet.
Shh! Aim.
I called my brother a few nights ago to get his thoughts on things. He's the only person I have left in my life who can offer both genuine insight, and historical perspective with me. I count on him to point out the pile of shit I'm usually standing in.
This brother has unique perspective, and like most perceptions that challenge the ones we're used to, his is a marriage of the most sought after traits, and those we hide from in terror.
As a boy, he was independent, self motivated, and focused. He was so far ahead of the curve it needed to be called a circle. That, by itself, isn't a beacon, or posture of warning. Mack's tend to be intelligent, and of the six in my family, he is the most.
But we Mack's incubate all varieties of perception required by the world, and we do it without discretion. It's unfortunate that so much of what we harvest was planted deeper than our scope of awareness reaches, and too long ago to remember. It's not unusual for a member of our family to make a discovery of something that's rooted in them, only after they notice the fruit it's bearing. In my brother's case, it was a schizophrenia gene, and it appeared, already in full bloom, in his early twenties.
Your front line of personality traits will be decimated with a 100% casualty rate in an instant, and when that goes, so does direction. Before you know it you'll be riding the city bus in a birthday suit, and playing a guitar you can't even tune on a street corner, for money. You'll wander the coastal foothills all night, every night, and sleep through weeks of daylight. You'll travel so far down the rabbit hole that you'll forget what a rabbit is. And when the people who love you, and care about you, rush forward to provide assistance, you won't know 'what for'. Until that terrifying day arrives when a scrap of the old you manages to slip through, and you realize you're no longer him, and there's no way back. At least that's how my brother once described it.
This brother has unique perspective, and like most perceptions that challenge the ones we're used to, his is a marriage of the most sought after traits, and those we hide from in terror.
As a boy, he was independent, self motivated, and focused. He was so far ahead of the curve it needed to be called a circle. That, by itself, isn't a beacon, or posture of warning. Mack's tend to be intelligent, and of the six in my family, he is the most.
But we Mack's incubate all varieties of perception required by the world, and we do it without discretion. It's unfortunate that so much of what we harvest was planted deeper than our scope of awareness reaches, and too long ago to remember. It's not unusual for a member of our family to make a discovery of something that's rooted in them, only after they notice the fruit it's bearing. In my brother's case, it was a schizophrenia gene, and it appeared, already in full bloom, in his early twenties.
Whatever schizophrenia is, and whatever method it uses to secure itself to its host, is only hinted at in academic textbooks. Witnessing its development in someone you love is inexplicable. If you come away with anything bordering on insight (and you don't) it's this: If the brain in your skull ever decides to turn itself over to the mind, or a hidden gene decides it's time to do so, you don't stand a chance.
Your front line of personality traits will be decimated with a 100% casualty rate in an instant, and when that goes, so does direction. Before you know it you'll be riding the city bus in a birthday suit, and playing a guitar you can't even tune on a street corner, for money. You'll wander the coastal foothills all night, every night, and sleep through weeks of daylight. You'll travel so far down the rabbit hole that you'll forget what a rabbit is. And when the people who love you, and care about you, rush forward to provide assistance, you won't know 'what for'. Until that terrifying day arrives when a scrap of the old you manages to slip through, and you realize you're no longer him, and there's no way back. At least that's how my brother once described it.
Clarityzone
I don't know if he remembers, but my brother once described the darkness that settled upon him as choice, or a curiosity, at least. He said he could see a great sadness in people, and the life that we all agreed to live. He said he had it in him, until the seed took root. When that happened, he said, he was presented an alternative. He didn't know what it promised, exactly, except the promise to feel more of life, or the mind, or who knows. All he was certain of, he said, was that if agreed to making the passage, he wouldn't be able to make the passage back. He agreed. He's a Mack, after all.
It's ironic now, to think of some of the things he went through in his desperation to return, and how he used to say he "ruined his soul". It's ironic because when I need God to show up, and help with my direction, he speaks with clarity down a vacated passage, and into the ear of my sibling. He assures me I'm not lost, or forgotten, through the tested, ruined soul of my brother.
When I spoke with him the other night, he did what I count on him to do. He convinces me to reflect some more, and to agree to be where I've been led. He convinces me that the moment I'm in, and the confluence of fear and frustration and hopelessness, will congeal into a perfect prism to look through. This time, I'm not so sure.
I fought him on this one. I usually don't. I fought him on this one because things happened this time, at that school, with those students, that was worthy of a lifted eyebrow. Everything I believed that I was, and a lot of what I believed I could do, was done. It happened, and it had an affect on them, and on me, that surpassed what I previously hoped for. How, I asked him, do you pull the plug at the moment the orchestra reaches the crescendo?
It's one thing to rationalize your dead ends when you secretly know you planned them, or contributed to their appearance. It's an implosion of hope, and a disintegration of trust, when you finally reach the expansive space of fruition only to have that come down upon you, as well. How can there be purpose behind anything if even the times you abide by the rules, and follow the footsteps, you see your life come apart on mistakes made by others, others who remain insulated from consequence, and apology.
I have been held accountable for every mistake I've made, and for many made by the family who convinced me to carry theirs. So, brother, are you sure you're not still crazy when you tell me I won't be abandoned? Are you certain the voice you're hearing isn't one of the random, or imagined ones that still rise? Because I don't know what else I'm meant to follow.
The truth is, I didn't need him to answer, and I don't need reassurance. I'm not going to be allowed to return to where I was, and I'm not yet where I belong. On the surface, the two missing courses have become a University demand that I re-do the entire years worth of courses from 2006, because everything is "tied together". After going through their program twice already, and having similar difficulties both times, I won't be doing it again. That door is closed.
Beneath all that, I know what my brother was asking me to do wasn't him asking me to do it. If you are a spiritual person, and you pray sincerely, you know God speaks through other people. If you don't pray, and you doubt this, try it, and perk up your ears. You'll hear the answers to what you ask, and when you hear them, you'll know they're for you. Just as I did as my brother spoke to me the other night.
Before we hung up my brother began to apologize for the length of his sermon, and the ridiculousness of what he was encouraging me to accept. I stopped him. I told him that although he wasn't aware he'd done it, he had delivered an answer I'd been looking for. It was related to teaching, and two other things I haven't discussed with another human being. As my brother spoke he addressed all three, and he offered a solution, that when I heard it, I knew it was the one for my dilemma. It just wasn't the one I wanted to hear. I probably wouldn't have, had it come from anyone other than Him.
It's ironic now, to think of some of the things he went through in his desperation to return, and how he used to say he "ruined his soul". It's ironic because when I need God to show up, and help with my direction, he speaks with clarity down a vacated passage, and into the ear of my sibling. He assures me I'm not lost, or forgotten, through the tested, ruined soul of my brother.
When I spoke with him the other night, he did what I count on him to do. He convinces me to reflect some more, and to agree to be where I've been led. He convinces me that the moment I'm in, and the confluence of fear and frustration and hopelessness, will congeal into a perfect prism to look through. This time, I'm not so sure.
I fought him on this one. I usually don't. I fought him on this one because things happened this time, at that school, with those students, that was worthy of a lifted eyebrow. Everything I believed that I was, and a lot of what I believed I could do, was done. It happened, and it had an affect on them, and on me, that surpassed what I previously hoped for. How, I asked him, do you pull the plug at the moment the orchestra reaches the crescendo?
Done
It's one thing to rationalize your dead ends when you secretly know you planned them, or contributed to their appearance. It's an implosion of hope, and a disintegration of trust, when you finally reach the expansive space of fruition only to have that come down upon you, as well. How can there be purpose behind anything if even the times you abide by the rules, and follow the footsteps, you see your life come apart on mistakes made by others, others who remain insulated from consequence, and apology.
I have been held accountable for every mistake I've made, and for many made by the family who convinced me to carry theirs. So, brother, are you sure you're not still crazy when you tell me I won't be abandoned? Are you certain the voice you're hearing isn't one of the random, or imagined ones that still rise? Because I don't know what else I'm meant to follow.
The truth is, I didn't need him to answer, and I don't need reassurance. I'm not going to be allowed to return to where I was, and I'm not yet where I belong. On the surface, the two missing courses have become a University demand that I re-do the entire years worth of courses from 2006, because everything is "tied together". After going through their program twice already, and having similar difficulties both times, I won't be doing it again. That door is closed.
Before we hung up my brother began to apologize for the length of his sermon, and the ridiculousness of what he was encouraging me to accept. I stopped him. I told him that although he wasn't aware he'd done it, he had delivered an answer I'd been looking for. It was related to teaching, and two other things I haven't discussed with another human being. As my brother spoke he addressed all three, and he offered a solution, that when I heard it, I knew it was the one for my dilemma. It just wasn't the one I wanted to hear. I probably wouldn't have, had it come from anyone other than Him.
