Homeless by choice, human by association.
Day before burning man.
I just got the call that my October plan has been canceled.
The next 8 days are the only thing that I know till January.
I will be on a dry lake bed and surrounded by people with a common purpose.
We don’t all know what that purpose will be.
I don’t know my purpose.
Last night I spent on a couch in the kitchen of one of the greatest people in the world.
That night, prone on the cushion-less sofa was one of the loneliest times I can remember.
The preceding day was 11 straight hours of planning and shopping and “debt please”.
The preceding week was “hello”s and “how have you been”s and “I am ‘fine’”s.
The preceding month was 4000+ miles and seltzer water, broken radios and turmoil.
A process to leave behind the viral remora of should and “how it is done”.
Like the bodies’ process of heating up to kill the foreign microbes so too is my journey whose purpose is to leave all things not inherent to the self, myself. Like Buddhism the only truth is no thoughts, only the moment of the body and its connection to breath and extrasensory tactile feel of the entire universe. I am hoping that a week in a desert with survival a constant reminder of fallibility and frailty will allow my vantage to turn inward and thus be better able to see truthfully out.
Lonely because Rachel left me to the couch to better spend time with her surprise visitor. Lonely because I spent the day with an ex-girlfriend, however necessary the break up, there is still a subconscious desire for that tried and true feeling of elation implicit to all relationships based in attraction. Being presented with things that you don’t want has a way of recounting to the self that which you do want; sometimes ini-mini-moe is just a way to force a decision, and the tiger was caught in a vain attempt at democracy.
Lonely because I chose to give up the possibility of love to follow the idea. I should look to Plato and learn to seek the ideal, but also incorporate the Dr. Phil and allow the actual. Seeking is the way one grows and learns but one also needs to be aware of actually finding the pot of gold. There is a reason for myth and fable. Not only to teach our children of the existence of princes and gold and goblins but to remind them that they are real and attainable; though some how the second half of the story is left off, the days after the happily ever after; the days of stains on tablecloths and domestic disputes over the color of the living room. To make an analogy, like so many wonder diets, the pounds fall off and happiness ensues, but where does the plateau form? Where in the literature does it show how to manifest a lifestyle for sustained weight and a healthy mind and a working body? That is the transition between childhood and adulthood. “Wait what? The prince leaves his dirty socks in the living room and always forgets to take out the garbage?” “Wait what? There are taxes on the pot of gold?”
Lonely because I create a moat of fear and illusion around myself so I cannot be truly seen, I learned at an early age that the true self is much less desirable than the ability to mimic a self. The fear is the reeds that line the bank through which I look. The illusion is the elaborate gates and gardens that I have planted and crafted to make my battlements look enticing. In a system where there are so many people and ones skills can be translated into money or sexual prowess it makes sense that there is a goal, an ideal person, a personality and job and body and house and car that marks you higher up in the hierarchy. I have learned how to mimic Ken. A firm handshake and a nice slimming shirt with the top button left un buttoned and the sleeves rolled up to ¾. Do I have any more going for me than most? No, but I have learned how to seem like I do, and therefore have had the opportunity to manifest this: Self perpetuating prophecy.
Lonely, because in this world I know an ever increasing list of wonderful people, and realize that there is not enough time in the life to play poker with each and to learn the names of all their siblings and to dance at their wedding and to make sweet loving to them in the dunes of the cape. I can reel off a list of names, to which I would want to relate at least a small token of esteem on my death bed as long as my packing list for burning man; a nice place to start. Now what? What does one do with an ever growing list of people to go to dinner and the opera with? [yes there are guys on that list, guys like opera too…well not really, but we go because it wins us major points and it is cheaper than jewelry. So let me amend: a growing list of people to invite to potlucks and pick me up from the airport.]
Homeless by choice, human by association.
