Remembering, and the unbearable burden of staying still.

Tomorrow. Later. Next week.

The minutes slide by seemingly unnoticed, the earth’s rotation lulling us in its subtle rhythm of moments come and gone. Each day, then year and finally decade filled with so many glorious memories and trivial trials that fade the vibrancy of the dreams we once promised we would never forget. With the best of intentions and the most complacent of energies, we put it all off. Let it all go.

And when those dreams sing out in the quiet of a sleepless night, it is a painful pang of what was once so important. We remember fully, a time of personal glory when we felt so capable and determined to be unlike those who told us we just could not. We remember the obstinance that filled our blood when those who gave up told us we should be responsible and realistic, and give up, too. We remember what it felt like to be sleepless for the passion, the excitement, the anticipation of chasing what our hearts wanted so, so badly. We remember.

Then there are times when the burden of staying still suffocates us, when the weight of life’s formalities and banalities presses down so hard upon our chests that we can no longer taste the sweetness of our breath. There are times when we hit a wall or a ceiling, and we are jarred fully into that vague feeling that has been steadily gnawing at our soul. And we know.

The clouds grow darker and thicker, and roll over one another to build an impenetrable tower of doubt, an un-ignorable, cascading shower of knowing that drenches us in what is and what can no longer be avoided. The lightning of clarity pierces through over and over again to send a vibrating, screaming sound of truth through the universal distances and viscera of our own being. And when those storms come in, heavy and shattering, we can be washed clean, bathed in the glory of wisdom that we are so close to claiming. And we transform.

Or we do not. We build walls to stop the waves of consciousness, and when the crashing breaks through the walls we’ve built, we build levies to send the waters somewhere else. We stand with our feet planted in the quicksand of denial and ignorance, and scowls scar across our faces and we raise our arms in protest to the inevitable crashing of knowing. We turn our backs and the weight of the ocean knocks us to our knees and still we shake our heads and refuse to comprehend. And we are washed clear off the planet. Or we transcend.

We transcend the whole construction that we have built up around us. We transcend the fantasies and the fakeness of what we thought was “real” and would get us “somewhere.” We open our eyes to see that the currency we traded to buy this house, this car, this “life” was actually all we ever truly had in our own possession: our life. The beating, living, breathing, screaming, dancing, falling, crying essence of our life that once pulsated so heavily, so tangibly that it scared other people who had already let their life die. And we start.

Or it isn’t so strong, so revolutionary. It comes quietly. Stalking in the night so imperceptibly that it nearly goes unnoticed, but we notice. Like a crack in the wall that we can’t help but investigate that is so small, so nearly unimportant that we could spend our whole lives without paying it any mind at all. But we do. And when we press our eye against it because we can’t help but know what lies on the other side, our pupils dilate, our pulse quickens, and the light that was nearly dark suddenly shines so brightly that it blinds us and we cannot un-see what we have seen. And we remember.

We start not later, not tomorrow, not when we feel we have the right tools or the right space or the right time. We start now. We start.

Some of us full of fear and misgivings, afraid to give up all that we have built- the relationships, the shelves that hold our things, the bank accounts that promise us a future. Full of fear of losing the people we love, the respect we’ve earned, the stock options we’ve accrued. Full, so full, of fear that we are going to be giving over to this unknown urge the only things we actually know, or think we know: security, stability, this clean, mowed path.

We start despite these things because we cannot possibly drown out the precious dream that still lives within the subtle selves that have been hidden, slain, pushed down beneath the surface. So we start.

Some of us with nothing. Nothing to support us and therefore nothing, not one thing, left to lose. Not one thing standing in our way between then and now and here and wherever we could possibly shoot off to if we hung on to the starlit dreams that for so long were the only thing that ever mattered and seemed to light up the entirety of existence.

Still some of us are filled with wonder. We fear not, anticipate not. We do not wish or hope or doubt. We simply wonder. What could be? What is that light feeling, that un-nameable feeling that tickles across the back of our neck and makes us look about as if someone had just whispered our name? What promise is there to be fulfilled or to be broken or to remain undone? How could we ever know if we did not close our eyes and smell the imperceivable aromas that waft upon the breezes that drift in planes unseen? How could we spend the rest of this life- which remains indispensable whether it is one of many or the single solitary one- how could we spend the rest of it wandering in a haze of duties and deadlines and stifled urges? Why would we do that? Why?

And this is where so many lose the way.. we ask why and see no reason why, so we lose ourselves in no reason, no why, no way to go but into the blackest depths of no meaning. We are so close to the answer of who and why and the push of what could be, yet we stumble and accidentally take the path of no.

If we weren’t to stumble, if we weren’t to flail out after stubbing our toe upon the questions and land upon some No-named path, we could be saved. We could be saved from mediocrity. We could be saved from existentialist “ism”s. We could peer into the crack and push aside the crumbling walls and step through. Step through to the other side.

Step through to what could be, what might be, what may never ever be. Step through to adventure and intrigue and scary, lost moments. Step through to wander through the avenues of a world that is conceived of every moment upon the constructs of our own imaginations. Step through to the manifestations of a life meant to be lived, rather than the life projected, invented by the confines of a mind bound and tethered.

If we could but live upon the potentialities, the multi-dimensionalities, the surrealities… we could become more than we ever knew possible. We could become who the Universe always wanted us to be.

This very first blog post is inspired by my own remembering. Since I was six years old and first learned to read and write from Mrs. King, my first grade teacher, I have wanted to write. It is the blood in my veins. There are times when this urge is suppressed, but I have remembered again. This society is built upon the stifled dreams of so many locked to desks or roles or identities that they simply can never fit into, but all is becoming clear now that this no longer pays off. I hope that this post helps someone out there remember their soul's dream.

#essays #soulfire #fear #dreams #Writing

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