Back sacs?

 

The only thing I remember dreaming last night--or at all recently--was that I had an awareness of my physical body in the dream. I was trying to discern if I was "ok" or not. 

I had a vague feeling that I needed to do a self-exam, so I began feeling around. I discovered a pair of fluidy sacs hanging limply from my back, like two bulbous external lungs. 

"Yeah, this isn't right," I said to myself. I consciously woke myself up at that point and was glad to be in my own, everyday decrepit body.

Don't know how much more of this I can take

 

I'm not a patient person. 

I can't stand being alone. 

I'm miserable. 

I'm insecure. 

I'm in a bad place. 

Thoughts circle around in my head and I can't stand them. 

I have no recourse. 

Therapy is a joke. 

I may wind up in a 72 hour lockdown to prevent myself from ending my life. 

I've never felt so hopelessly out of control of my own thinking process. 

I hate being me. 

I hate that I'm so emotionally needy and insecure. 

I can't keep playing this card over and over. 

I've lost hope. 

Fuck it. 

No one reads this anyway. 

Anyone who reads this and also reads my Facebook will see a great disparity between the two personas. 

I can't even be honest with myself. 

If I am honest, I'll have to admit just what a pathetic lonely loser I am. 

And I hate how weak I am for giving in to these fucked up thoughts. 

I just want to be happy. 

I hate the saying, "It's normal to feel XYZ, blah, blah, blah..." 

Who cares. 

If normal is like this, I'm truly not cut out for living.

Love, acceptance and forgiveness...and farts, not necessarily in that order

 

I'm throwing around a few words and trying to make sense of them. It's a work in progress, not a finished philosophy, so bear with me. But these 3 concepts, love, acceptance and forgiveness are on my mind, and I'm trying to make sense of them. How do they interrelate? Which of them is foundational? Can they exist independently, and if so, to what degree?

Let's start with love. What does it mean to love somebody? 

I probably have to go back even further to define terms. Who or what is the somebody that you love? Is it a body? With a brain? A soul or spirit? Is it the collection of likes, dislikes, actions and behaviors that make up a person's person? 

To love someone, do you have to love every single thing about that person?  Do you have to love all of that person's perceived sins and faults? Or can you "separate the sin from the sinner," so to speak. Or perhaps, rewrite the rule book altogether, so those faults aren't really flaws but unique personality traits. 

My wife used to tell me, "I love you, but not your anger." 

"I love you, but not your farts," was my response.

"You'll miss my farts when I'm gone!" she'd say.

As much as I am not a fan of farts, generally speaking, I had to admit it. I missed the farts, dammit!

Which brings us to acceptance. You may love somebody, but not love one hundred percent of what they are about.  You may not agree with their politics, their sexual leanings, lifestyle choices, etc.. What percentage of not loving stuff about them takes them out of the running altogether? Can you love someone and not like them? 

Acceptance is like a compromise. OK, you are completely different from me. We share nothing in common, except perhaps some DNA. You are my son, daughter, brother, sister, so I love you--on some theoretical level. But really, don't I have to first accept you, flaws and all, to claim that? Is love even love without acceptance? 

You love your husband, but he sleeps around. You don't like the fact that he does so, but somehow the percentage of other things that you love about him outweighs the infidelity. You accept what you don't love about him, because your love for the rest of the person he is overrides that. Or you kick his ass to the curb. No love lost, as they say.

Sliding right into forgiveness. Perhaps you don't love or accept the behavior, but the person you love has also declared that they regret said behavior. They promise to change. Or try to do better. No more anger. Or malicious farting. If you love them, you can forgive them. As many times as it takes. 

If you can't, then possibly at that point you don't love them anymore. It could be argued that you never did truly love them, because love is eternal and unconditional, not dependent on a person's conforming to certain standards. 

I suppose that type of conditional love could be considered to be a form of love, but not really. It's more like an agreement or contract, "I'll love you as long as XYZ, but in the case of ABC or 123, I'm out." 

If you love one hundred percent of everything about the person, this bypasses the need for acceptance or forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, and everything about them is seen as a thing of beauty and is treasured, not merely accepted.

If one were required to love each and every thing about another to qualify as love, then true love would be about as rare as a DNA match. I think, as humans, we must be granted a bell curve in our definition of love. 

 

**Editor's note: (3-25-21) This disjointed, unfinished treatise was not published on its original date, but left a draft. As I go through my past posts, inserting pictures and editing for grammar, I am publishing older drafts, whether or not I deemed them worthy at the time. I think I just didn't like the tone I was taking in this one. Too pedantic and preachy. Like I know a fuck about love. 

My dreams are being given a run for their money

 

I dreamed of Sharon last night. It shouldn't be that rare or odd of an occurrence, but sometimes it is, due to the timing of it all. 

I dreamed she was present on my little couch downstairs, sitting upright and looking not at all disabled. I had to do one of those double takes and realize that it was her and she looked healthy and like her previous self. 

My mind kicked in and said, "Hey, I think I see an opportunity here. All those hugs I should have given you, when you were here, bedridden, that I withheld for one reason or another--well, here you are and here I am!" 

I descended upon her with hugs and kisses and much tenderness, feeling around and noticing that she was certainly intact and in fine condition. I got that naughty vibe from her, like she was still her good old sexual self, ready to take me on another ride and try to make me forget about any new loves. Or at least make sure that I never forget her, because she gave me such wonderful lessons in that department.

I woke up, as usual, before, you know, anything happened. But it was a nice feeling, like as much moving on as I might be doing in my life right now, that she hasn't forgotten me or us and wants to make sure that I always remember her. 

It's true I have a new love, but I'm not required to leave behind someone who gave so much to form who I am. I'll always carry that spirit within me, and I won't trample on the memories just because new ones are being created. Everything is preserved perfectly in its place, and sometimes I guess that includes my dream world.

My real life world is seeming like a dream these days. My intense connection with Lesa is something I never foresaw, but it has been the undercurrent of my life this past few months. It is the reason this blog has fallen by the wayside and become a simple notebook for dream recollections. 

I am focusing my creative energies on crafting the perfect love letters and devoting my brain activity to the perilous path of being in love. I only have so much jam in the jar, and I'm busy spreading it on both sides of the toast with Lesa, leaving very little left over to blog about the rest of my life. 

Which is exactly what? I dunno, she seems to be my all consuming focus right now. But I feel it is making me a more loving person in general, as love tends to soften the rough edges and make folks nicer.

I'm still working on universal application, however, and I can't say I'm Jesus-like just yet. I still get petty and have irks and things that get to me. But overall, I'm making progress. And I think I can say, I owe it to the loves in my life. All of them. 

But right now, owing to a renewed and particularly heartfelt communication from Lesa, I'd have to give her the credit for my recent turn towards the light. I still don't know how Sharon feels or would feel about her. I'd like to think we could all share in the love, that Sharon had something to do with engineering my recent re-connection and that she approves. But my spidey senses tell me that women don't always feel so cozy with other women getting a hold of their man.

So, if this blog and it's pages are absent too much mention of Lesa, it is because I'm writing volumes to her in letters and messages. I'm pretty sure she knows how I feel about her. This blog gets the leftovers, the random fill-ins and notes to self that occasionally need to be jotted down. Sorry, dear readers, you'll just have to wait for the book.

This blog has really gone downhill

 

I think I'm too self-conscious of my readership (ha) or I just don't want to give voice to the thoughts in my head that are so distasteful to me these days. Sure, I still have them, but when I put them down in the form of writing, at least in this venue, I feel like I'm legitimizing them. Like I'm saying, "Looky what I made, ain't I proud!"  

In fact, I would be just trying to acknowledge them, so they could leave me alone. Kinda like saying, "Uncle" so the bully will let you get on with your day. 

So, what do I have to admit to today? Broadly, it is envy, self-pity and doubt. Specifically, I don't wanna talk about it. I would just like these broad categories, and all their sub-categories, to disappear from my poor, aching brain.

Haven't I had enough go rounds on the wheel of human emotion? At least let me land on Red for a change. Black is the color I seem to get stuck with, time and time again. I wish to not be so unfairly shifted into dark side of things, especially when I've really been going out of my way to embrace the positive and nice inner me. It's a long, hard road and fraught with setbacks, that's for sure. 

So, I've said nothing, alluded to much and admitted to everything, without being specific. That was a waste of time. The gods demand drama. A sacrifice of my pure energy, in whatever form or color it may show up. Sorry, gods. Not this time. I'm looking for a little more give and take with you. My emotions are not for display at this time.

Mom hugs

 

I dreamed of my mom last night. (Hi, Mom, if you ever read this. Love you!) I was in my little room downstairs about to watch a movie, and you were there on the couch about to watch it with me. I was going to sit on my chair but you pointed to a spot on the couch next to you. 

At first I thought, "Oh, that's weird," like there was something inappropriate about such a cozy arrangement. But as I sat down and leaned myself into a comforting embrace, all that awkwardness slipped away. 

I felt that everything was just right. Nothing could be more beautiful and honest than falling into the arms of the woman who bore me and gave me life. I felt like this was as natural an appropriate as anything in this world could be. I also felt like, "Damn, why have I been missing out on this my whole life?" But it didn't matter as we settled in to watch a movie together as comfortable as could be.