Note: Herein are four separate journal entries. The reason I am publishing four at once is twofold: firstly, I often write sporadically and transcribing the entries from my journal is fairly time consuming (my scrawled, barely legible handwriting prohibits anyone else from doing this task for me); although, I find it a pleasurable activity when I’m in the mood for it, which is typically late at night while listening to relaxing music, as I am now – and secondly, I don’t want my email subscribers to wake up with four different email notifications of new entries – despite how thrilling that may (hopefully) be for some.
– L. Black
16 Feb: Amused
She’s in the watercolored, pinkish, burning-orange of tonight’s sunset. She’s walked by me in soft, well-worn shoes, and in a long black paisley-patterned skirt.
I created her because the song I used to sing – the one once again trapped in her heart – I can’t find the words to it anymore. It’s lost for all time like an ancient family recipe, but the soul of it lives on. In my heart and in my writing, somewhere between a memory and a dream.
A man (an artist) without a muse must invent one in his heart, if only to remind him why it beats. And so we beat on, if only to keep dreaming. The love of Marina Keegan, in all of us, beats on. Beating on in dusky moments like these. Moments fated to end, endings we are fated to witness.
But I’m not sullen or sad; this is normal. I’m coming to accept this, this “essence” of who I am (But I must remember the words of Haley S., who said to me, “I’m a different person than I was two months ago”). And I could dismissively apply an adjective like foolhearted to it [my disposition], but that wouldn’t do my appreciation for life justice – my zeal. I’ve got a damn zest for life like Papa Hemingway, I’ve got it alright. Cursed to want to taste my own blood after the punch, to catch the biggest, best fish of my life – ending it’s own with my fillet knife while ad-libbing a Native American prayer to it’s soul. For I believe in the souls of fishes and in mice and men.
Yes, I have zest for life. Zest enough to cook that fish for you and I. Zest enough to fall in love again. Enough to beat on – on the longest way round – hoping I don’t run into myself again, knowing I will.
18 Feb: Helocene
Growing up, growing up, growing.
Spirituality manifests itself in very material ways. Our job as spiritual beings is to impart deeper meanings to the synchronistic occurrences we experience. For none but ourselves can give meaning to our lives. Regardless of how meaningful external things seem to us, we ourselves must orient our lives in the direction we wish to progress. And it’s the spiritual truths, as decided by us, that give us the deepest clarity and guidance, clarity and guidance we find when we need it most – when we open ourselves to it, when we open the doors of possibility and reveal the doors of perception, unlocked and waiting, slightly ajar, the light of our inner truths, our consciousness, – our souls – shining through.
Who would have known that after reading Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead, I would discover it’s deeper meaning (for me) in a dollar book reluctantly purchased from the library sale today. I suppose the universe did – or my inner voice, I’m coming to see they are one in the same. As Neil De Grasse Tyson exclaimed, ‘we are not only in this universe, but of this universe’.
Light a spliff, watch the sunset, listen to Helocene.
Watch your neighbors face the burning cotton-candied sky through their phones, turning away to mindlessly post a moment that they themselves (as souls) never recorded.
One more thing to write about. You had hoped to hear from her, to see her here again. Well, you didn’t; c’est la vie. Savor it.
24 Feb: Sing
A procession of sunsets, the days dawdle on. Weeks on, months on, years on. Then life is gone. So I sit here chewing on these almonds as life eats me up. But what am I going to do about my inevitable exit from this world?
I mustn’t go quietly into the night. I’ve got to sing all there is in me. I can’t go down under the weight of unborn dreams – or of dreams past, neither regret, nor nostalgia, nor grief, nor great heights, nor depths deep and dark.
27 Feb: SunKing
The sun sinking away behind the row of houses on the isthmus, once again, like the final glimpse of a golden crown on the head if a king riding over and down the hillside towards his destiny. For like the sun, the king never says goodbye. A silent display of confidence that he will be back again, once more.
1 Mar: Cauterised
Days of daze are over. Dreams risen up and fallen, gone away.
Goodbye to Daniella, Shannon, Genevieve, and Jen (footnote: 1). Freed like birds once kept in my heart – free to begin again, to move on – I mark these scrawled letters as the start I have so long sought.
I now enter into a new sacred compact with my heart, a romance built to last a lifetime, a love with the one I wanted them to love most.
I’ll love myself all at once as they did and as they did not. As only I can, I must, I will – as I do now.
I will grant myself gifts of kindness, compassion, forgiveness, health, success, comfort, peace, and joy. All that love is dwells within me, and should the pangs of old wounds return in nostalgic remembrances of things gone away, I will not allow myself the masochistic, caustic self-pity of devolving into the person I was and the state I was in when the damage was first done, “for the valiant taste of death but once”, and it’s not valor or bravery – but courage, emotional strength.
I do not espouse sending ones vulnerabilities into exile, but rather – bringing ones strengths to light. As is said: a smart man learns to endure pain, but a wise man learns to avoid it. And while I cannot thwart the inherent risks of loving truly, I can choose to be whole.
In moving on alone, ahead, onward toward my thirtieth year, I am complete. Devoid of nothing and no one.
One last thing on the subject of love. Have I been too toady, too servile, too schmaltzy, too self-sacrificial, too pollyanistic, too indigent, too infantile and infatuated? Yes – but disingenuous or insincere? Never. That said, there’s a certain balance of wisdom and maturity between my head and my heart that has never before existed within me. Too my surprise, I’m not in the least bit regretful about possessing this. I’m no longer sad that love will never be what it once was.
I’m no longer seeking a comeback. No longer seeking to incarnate the love of one in another. The Master’s Chamber in my heart is once again unoccupied and I am once again occupied in making a masterpiece of my life.
For the first time in my adult life I am in all actuality grateful for the misshapen gifts of my past – all of them. The incendiary bombs of love departed have kept the fire burning in my heart and my wounds are no longer septic, having now been cauterised by the ashes of love past.
I carry no more torches into the night as I have for the thousands of nights now at rest behind me. Since I am no longer dedicating my love to those who do not love me, I have certitude in my ability to commit my love to where it is most deserved. To I. To me. To mine.
Footnote 1: Chronological order of meeting – except I never actually met Genevieve as it was semi long-distance, and I only met Jen once, after a lengthy correspondence, but nonetheless, they entered into my soul [anima]): although, Daniella and Shannon I did spend the better part of a decade with in total. Either way, it is goodbye. It’s a season in my life for letting go. Something that (my inability to do so) has royally fucked me in the past. Bless them, but I need them not anymore, and do not care to be who I was before: the man who never let go. There’s simply no place in my life today or tomorrow for unrequited love.
p.s. Here’s a quote that felt appropriate to end these entries with:
1. The moment you realize that the person you cared for has nothing intellectually or spiritually to offer you, but a headache.
2. The moment you realize God had greater plans for you that don’t involve crying at night or sad Pinterest quotes.
3. The moment you stop comparing yourself to others because it undermines your worth, education and your parent’s wisdom.
4. The moment you live your dreams, not because of what it will prove or get you, but because that is all you want to do. People’s opinions don’t matter.
5. The moment you realize that no one is your enemy, except yourself.
6. The moment you realize that you can have everything you want in life. However, it takes timing, the right heart, the right actions, the right passion and a willingness to risk it all. If it is not yours, it is because you really didn’t want it, need it or God prevented it.
7. The moment you realize the ghost of your ancestors stood between you and the person you loved. They really don’t want you mucking up the family line with someone that acts anything less than honorable.
8. The moment you realize that happiness was never about getting a person. They are only a helpmate towards achieving your life mission.
9. The moment you believe that love is not about losing or winning. It is just a few moments in time, followed by an eternity of situations to grow from.
10. The moment you realize that you were always the right person. Only ignorant people walk away from greatness.”
― Shannon L. Alder