Dissolution. We are all in the midst of drowning in the subconscious. The virus has made sure of it.
Things are silent. I drove by the Bart station a few weeks ago and maybe 20 cars were in the parking lot. 9:30am on a Monday morning. Where is everybody? Home? In bed? Covers pulled over the eyes? It is like the middle of winter in September and we are all in hibernation. Hibernation sounds sweet actually. Just a break from all things. Just a red0 of life.
A part of me has longed for the isolation. There as been a cutting away of all things unnecessary to make way for more drowning to take place. The water is dark and thick. I choke on it. I want to force it in, get it over with, take my last breath of the old life. I tell others that the old life is gone. At least that is how I feel it. I never dreamed there would be such a dividing line to cross from one life to the other. But it has happened. In my hand I hold the shiny silver cutter. I wield it, flipping it over and above while the glint sparks new ideas in my mind. And I cut and I cut and I cut. The biggest cut has been Facebook where my old life lives with the things I have done, the masks I wore, the people who wanted to have a relationship with me but I couldn’t seem to cross that bridge. They are all there. I am here.
I need to write honestly. The old life forbade me to be me and I went along with what ever projection you put upon me. It was a great distraction being someone else. Rock Star, therapist, fix it person, happy-together-being, dumping ground, clean up woman, the blunt New Yorker-Californian. It has not only served me but it has helped me to survive until I could swim my way to the bottom’s bed of the watery conscious. Lying here I watch the flakes of skin dance away, rising higher to freedom, celebrating their true desire of just being skin flakes without having to hear the hateful body image words come out of my mouth, too this, too that.
So who am I? Who are you? Do you even know cuz I don’t think I know much of anything anymore. All of reality is just a belief from that perspective dot of where you take up space. With this new shift down at the bottom bed I can look around. Looking up I see you. I watch as you hold on tightly to the boat’s edge, kicking your feet against the water, screaming silently for help. There is so much fear of the future, of your own possible drowning. Of just letting go.
Down here in the freckled streams of light I can see how important using the right words are. It takes so much effort as I push out the word “me.” I see the bubbles swirling slowly up and out of sight. I think about the amount of energy that each bubble contains. I think about how easy it is to let go of me.
I have a need to write. I have been working on a book, one that I have been working on for a long time and have been saving as a “to-do” for later in life. I have accumulated 20 years of notes and have started gathering them into one place. I am also working on new songs with some very talented musicians. Both the book and the songs are all about water, about rivers and about oceans and getting into the bottom of them all. To lay at the bottoms and just witness, allowing them to gently roll me along their dancing sands like a water massage. It feels good to remove the ashes of who I was. The solvtio is upon me. It is upon us all.