MIA

I have about 30 drafts. Piling up, who knows maybe it’s only 12. It can be hard to share the truth. It’s snowed so much this winter and somehow I didn’t even notice I was getting buried along with all the bushes. So much so that I froze. Melting down for a late night. I’ve maybe never felt so detached from myself in one months time. Maybe longer. I don’t know. Floating above myself, watching. The thing about trying to do something consistently is that you see a lot more of yourself. That you start really seeing yourself in the bad moments too. We know things aren’t linear. In fact, they tend to pile up in layers, like that snow. Puffy and soft then a thin sudden sheet of ice. And the glowing sparkle slowly melts into grayness. It gets blurred and sludgy. I’m trying to confront it. I would lazily enjoy waiting it out, sinking into the white nothingness, and waiting to talk again till I’m surrounded by soft, blooming color. But there’s not enough time.

I just spent a week in Costa Rica after coming to terms with the reality of my silly little financial life. I didn’t want to cancel the trip despite being broke as hell and mid job-hunt. It all comes and goes, I tell myself, I would never miss the 30th birthday trip for my best good friend, I think as I watch Forrest Gump on the flight. Which was the most moving it’s ever been. I watched it on the way there and back. Cried both times. It didn’t start at the beginning either time so I basically watched it three times. It’s funny being on vacation in such a beautiful and relaxing place while feeling deeply undeserving of it. Which at my height and truth I do not believe. But, whilst thawing from the winter freeze, I hadn’t unsettled from the rocks I was stuck under. So the guilt clung. A practice in breathing.

I’m glad I went.

We have these ways that sit with us. I wonder, as I sit in the airport and write, about the patterns that are settled into the skin of all of these strangers. Could we all, those that have felt the same way at the same time, float up towards the ceiling tiles and see ourselves in a completely different form?

I often wonder why I attach to certain songs at certain times. Ha ha. Sometimes it’s really obvious, other times maybe it’s not so connected. But sometimes there’s a song you can’t stop listening to and it’s stirring up some kind of deep resonance. Or some past life. Some forgotten memory. Jacob sent me a bunch of songs a few weeks ago because I was feeling uninspired and asked. Two of which were different versions of A Whiter Shade of Pale, one being the original by Procol Harum, the other by The Everly Brothers. And I haven’t been able to stop listening to it. I almost wonder if it’s stirring up some future memory. It makes me feel like I’m missing someone I haven’t met yet. A few years ago, another friend of mine sent me the version by Dan Reeder. I guess it’s telling, the song feels so melancholy, which I guess I have been too though you maybe wouldn’t know it if we hung out or ran into each other. I am an actor. “I don’t care”. I want to will a reality into existence. The difference is that I’m not faking it. Sometimes you can just separate it but still feel it at the same time. I can hold you and be with my friend and smile and be filled with the joy of existence. Then, on the way home I can blast A Whiter Shade of Pale and let tears fall into my lap.

It all sounds so melodramatic when I write it down. But I am that way. I’m trying to exercise my honesty because it’s a gift to be able to. I’ve probably said it before because I think about it all the time. But once, a friend was talking about how you will never be truly loved unless you share your Truth. It’s kinda like the truth will set you free. Free as in letting love in. As you become more and more yourself, and honest with yourself and the people around you, even in the littlest ways, they know the truth about you. Then, you can be truly loved. Because if someone is loving an expression that isn’t really you, you are essentially blocking all of that love, none of it can soak in.

When I had a 6-month stint with therapy I would cry during every single session. I had a hard time even talking and sometimes we would just sit (on the computer because it was virtual, which is ultimately why I stopped) and she would have me listen to a guided meditation while I cried. And once she said “you ever think that you’re crying happy tears?” and at the time I was like…wtf. No. But I think I get it now. Sometimes it’s just overwhelming. Like this mushroom trip I had once. I cried and cried for hours, snot running all down my face like a baby. Then I’d laugh after I realized I didn’t know what I was crying about, till I got overwhelmed again and it all started over. I guess, the work is to be able to sit with the joy and sorrow as if they were back to back. It’s all pretty beautiful. Even if it may sound sad, it all just…is. Getting more okay with That.

Anyway, here’s the version of A Whiter Shade of Pale that I’ll share with you.

More soon.

♡⑅ॱ˖•. ·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .•˖ॱ⑅♡

Kate Bush Wuthering Heights version 1 video + recent saves from pinterest